The glitz and the glamour

As trip comes depressingly close to the end I had a great day, for which I am struggling with what was THE highlight? Two things stand out and what contrasts.

Was it the stunning mix of money and glamour of Puerto Banus. Or was it the old barking woman in Marbella town? Yeah, you heard right. Barking woman. As I was sat, minding my own business, having a couple of cervecas and a plate of olives I suddenly heard this very authentic barking noise. Having to investigate, I discovered an old woman on the balcony of her apartment having a barking contest with a little jack russell type dog. And I have to tell you, she was coming out on top, and drawing quite a large crowd to boot.

So, the other highlight was Puerto Banus, playground to the rich and famous, some 6kms out of Marbella town. As I was in no rush, and it was a gorgeous day, I took a stroll from Marbella to Puerto Banus taking just over an hour. And it was so worth the walk. A beautiful marina in which some of the world's greatest boats are moored. Honestly, its breathtaking to think that people actually own these boats. You could fit my apartment in the life raft attached to the sides of some of them.



The cars parked along the port kind of give the game away. Two white Lamborghinis, a red and a jet black Ferrari, numerous Bentleys and the odd Aston Martin thrown in. Oh yeah, and a pink Audi TT.



I had already made up my mind I was coming back in the evening, and the first stop was Astrals cocktail bar for a macho drink to start the evening. This must rank amongst one of the nicest drinks I have tasted. And I have had a few. Not cheap at €10.90 a pop but I felt like a millionaire for the night sat in the bar, on the beach, overlooking the boats. It must have gone to my head slightly as I ordered a second. Slightly different cocktail but no less macho!



It was then time to stroll along the front of the port, alongside the marina hugging restaurants. And this is where I needed an elastic band around my head, to keep my jaws together and to stop my tongue falling out. I just hope those girls were wearing clean underwear as the whole world was gonna see it as soon as you sat down.

I first wondered how many girls could have forgotten to get dressed and come out in only a very short, very figure hugging vest I know it is warm but that's just bloody ridiculous. It then dawned on me that they were supposed to be dresses. Not in my day young lady! There are no photos for legal reasons :-)



I also realised why there were so many cosmetic surgeons in town. Their results were very impressive and after paying so much dinero it was obvious these girls wanted the whole world to know where sugar daddy's money had gone. Money well spent Senor.

This, i'm afraid where my night came to an end. I would love to report how I spent the night partying, dancing the night away, seeing the sun rise from the deck of one of those impressive boats, and wandered home with a half empty champagne bottle.

However, despite having champagne tastes, I had a lemonade budget so the night ended with me quaffing a few wines back in Marbella old town.

But what a night!

Seville to Malaga to Marbella

The end to my short Seville adventure started with a short walk around the Barrio Santa Cruz one last time. It really is a beautiful place, enchanting. After a little desayuno (breakie) I had an hour catching the early Seville sun and watching the locals hurry to work. How I miss that ha ha.

I then slowly strolled the 1.5kms to the train station in readiness for my 12:35 train to Malaga.

The train journey, as with the one a couple of days ago was painless. On time, clean trains and plenty of room. The 2 hours passed in a breeze and my first job on arrival in Malaga was to find out how I get to Marbella.

Again, all too easy. It turns out that the bus station is right at the side of the train station, so within 15 minutes I had secured a ticket and was sat on the 15:00 to Marbella, my first ever foray on the Costa de Sol.

Passing through such beautiful towns such as Torremolinos (!!) I was hoping Marbella offered more. And it did. In spades.



I got off the bus and decided to walk to my hostal in the old town. I was glad it was all dowhill and it was quite a trek in this heat. My hostal, Hostal del Pilar, is right in the old town, around the corner from the Plaza de Naranjos (Orange Square). A very picture postcard perfect spot for eating and drinking. And with the beers at €1.50 a pop, I wasn't complaining.



First impressions? A very nice town. Big wide beach. Lovely promenade for strolling, and laughing at the lucky lucky men as they play an amusing game of cat and mouse with the Policia, and enough bars to lose yourself for a week.



I ended the night in a beautiful restaurant, in a narrow alley in the Old Town, quaffing wine! Perfect. Tomorrow? I hit the glamour of Peurto Banus.

Beunos Noches amigos!

Adios Seville

Well, this blog post actually started out in the best traditions of
Hemingway, in the trusty Moleskine notebook. A schoolboy error on my
part saw me neglecting to pack a European plug adapter! If this post
ends up with no pics it's because I have eventually posted from my
iPod touch.

So back to the good old pen and paper, not that I expect it to make me
any more eloquent. There is also another tenuous link to Ernest
Hemingway in that I went for a guided tour of the Seville bullring
today, probably one of Hemingway's favourite past times, after
drinking of course.

The day started with me seeing Vincent onto the 8:15am airport bus and
I have to admit that I immediately missed the little bugger. We had a
great time aimlessly wandering around, dropping into cervercarias for
beer, when they would serve us. What is the English male's obsession
with taking their tops off?!? And I must admit that a quiet bedroom
took some getting used to. It's amazing how you can miss someone's ear
splitting snoring :-)

Once Vincent was safely on his way, I jumped on the Tour Sevilla open
topped tour bus and spent a very pleasant hour basking in the sun on
the top deck as we circled Seville. This really is one beautiful city.

The afternoon was back on foot as I explored the Barra Santa Cruz, a
labyrinthine maze of cobbled streets. Really amazing and a fantastic
place to lose yourself for a few hours. The backdrop to all this is
the imposing Seville cathedral, in the shadow of which I paused for a
late lunch of tapas and vino blanco, or 3. This necessitated the
obligatory siesta and I snoozed away til the early evening.

Suitably refreshed, and following coffee to awaken my senses, I set
off on a bar hop, culminating in having a late dinner in a fantastic,
simple tapas restaurant. A great selection of jamons, chorizo, salami,
cheese and breads. Washed down with copious white wine. A very
pleasant evening of eating, drinking and watching the beautiful people
of Seville go by!

Madrid to Seville - Tuesday 23rd

How I slept on that I will never know! As it was only a single bed, we took off the mattress for Vincent and I slept on the base. On closer inspection this morning, through somewhat hazy eyes, it seems I got a raw deal. I had the wooden base but at least I had the pillow.

More cloak and dagger followed, to extricate Vincent from the premises, having to fore-go the hostal's complimentary breakfast. After coffee and pastry we headed down to Atocha train station, securing 2 seats on the 10:05am to Seville from where I am currently typing this. Coffee is keeping me awake, beer is keeping Vincent talkative, as we pass through the Spanish countryside on a train that puts ours in England to shame.
Good job that the train isn't full as there are loads of Americans travelling with the biggest suitcases I have ever seen. They must be on the road (or rails) for a whole year and using their suitcases as emergency beds judging by the size of them.

We swept into Seville around 1pm, exiting the station into the gorgeous Andalusian sunshine. And after a short stroll we were at Samay hostel with which I am very impressed. Big, bright hostal with very friendly staff. A twin room greeted us which was a relief as we will both have a real bed tonight. And the roof of the hostal? Check it out. What a beautiful little sun trap.



Bags dropped off we went to explore the city of Seville. And what a lovely city. Cobbled, orange tree lined streets, narrow little alley ways to explore and many great little cafés and bars.



Its lunchtime somewhere in the world so it must be time for a cerveca (or several). But maybe not in every bar. We were refused service in one outdoor bar that was bustling and looked perfect for a little refresher. I think the reason, although my Spanish but not all that great, is that the waiter objected to Vincent sat there with his top off, with his tatts out in all their glory! Suitably attired we wondered off to find a less discerning establishment.



Needing to rest up after a long walk exploring the city, we retired (via the bottle shop) to Samay hostal to catch the late afternoon rays on the rooftop garden. This is when I rediscovered one of the many wonders of staying in backpacker hostels. The “free food” section, left behind by travellers moving on. However, what I found wasnt food as such, but cans of beer labelled as “Free”. I dont think I have ever seen Vincent smile so much :-)

Happy days!!

Hola Madrid

After sampling the fabled Holiday Inn “complimentary breakfast” we made our way to the airport for the 8:25am flight to Madrid. It was at this point that we had the first casualty of the trip. Vincent had packed all his toiletries but neglected to follow the guidelines of 100mls limit per item. He had (had been the key word here), the largest shower gel in the world, enough hair gel for the whole cast of “Happy Days” and tubs of sun cream that would stave off sunburn until the first frost of the year set in.

Needless to say, he wouldn't follow my advice to ditch them, instead choosing to hide them amongst his underpants, in the hope that the scanner wouldn't be able to see through cotton and detect them.
Boots have good range of toiletries, as Vincent subsequently discovered.

The flight to Madrid was good, albeit with the standard Ryanair short delay and we were whizzing under the streets of Madrid on the Metro, en route to Sol, where the hostal was. Oh, did I mention that we only had a single room booked? And it was probably the smallest single room I have ever had. On the 4th floor, on a street off Calle Arenal, it was literally somebody's house, with rooms let out. I had to walk through the living room, with an old Madrileno watching telly, to get to my room. And as it was only booked as a single, we needed a covert operation to get Vincent in. Much cloak and dagger.



The weather in Madrid was beautiful and we were soon sat with a cold beer, plates of tapas watching the Inter and Bayern Munich fans engage in a friendly sing song. The atmosphere was good and we spent the afternoon bar hopping and wandering around the plazas of central Madrid. Very pleasant way to spend the day.



We did have good intentions to return to the hostal before dinner, but as they say, when the drink is in, wits are out. And we ended up just drinking through, snacking on the free tapas we got with each round of drinks. Needless to say, we didn't make it up to the Santiago Bernabeau, instead, watching the game in a bar off Plaza Mayor. I remember that Inter won the match, I even remember the goals. I don't remember buying the kebab that ended up down the front of my t-shirt. Enough said. And with that, it was time to turn in.

Road trip from hell?

And so the day came. One that had hung over me for a long time. The day I took a bus to Stansted airport that took 9 hours from Halifax. Yes, 9 hours. How could it possibly take 9 hours? Well, factor in stops at Huddersfield, Chesterfield (for a change of bus as ours had overheated), Milton Keynes and London Victoria, you will be some way to understanding.

So how to approach this mammoth journey? The best way possible, with an early breakfast in Wetherspoons, with caffeine to fortify the spirit. Yes, it was Halifax. And yes it was only 9am. And yes, people were drinking beer! Alas, not us. That would come later in London.



The journey itself turned out to be very painless. Couple of newspapers, a good book to finish, and a few tunes and before we knew it we were in London Victoria, catching the late evening sun with a pint of cold, thirst quenching cider.

Vincent had obviously worked up a thirst, quaffing 3 pints to my solitary one. This could be an interesting night.

The final leg to Stansted seemed the worst in some respects, crawling out of London in the evening commuter trafic. That said, after a short hop on the hotel bus from the airport, and a painless check in, it all became a distant memory as we were tucking into dinner with a few chilled beverages.

Did I say few? Oh yeah, that was me. As for Vincent? Well, lets just say, he likes a drink.

The Special One?

As the sun sets on the English domestic football season, over in Italy there is one man on the verge of making history in Italian football. Mr José Mourinho, the self styled "Special One" is one step away from achieving an historic treble with Inter. With the Nerazzurri claiming victory over Siena this Sunday in the Scudetto, Inter added the league title to the Coppa Italia. Next Saturday will give them the chance to add the Champions League trophy, thus emulating the great Man Utd side of '99.



If they can nullify the sparkling talents, and lightening quick feet, of Messi, Xavi, Iniesta et al in the same way that they brushed aside Chelsea, the Special One will become the youngest manager to win two European Cups, having previously lifting the gargantuan trophy with Porto, via a fortuitous victory at the Theatre of Dreams.

And I may be there to witness it. That is if the dreaded spectre of the volcanic ash cloud, code named E15 (the first letter followed by the number of letters) by the US Military as nobody can pronounce the real name, passes benignly over the UK airspace. As things stand now, airports across the UK are closing again. I need them to be open next Saturday so I, together with my cousin Vinny (yes, really!), can fly off to Madrid.

In the event of the situation worsening, I could indeed be asking "Who needs the Champions League?", and be watching Inter and the Special One make history down the local.