Some places have reputations that precede them. We make a point of visiting places like Venice and Barcelona, arriving with high expectations which are, of course, not disappointed. As a tourist, they are near impossible to dislike. We have the luxury of time to visit more out of the way places, and are lucky to discover gems. So it was with Marbella on the southern Spanish coast. Perhaps the Brits who have invaded the Costa del Sol are more familiar with it, but this pair of Aussies had never heard of it. We stopped there for no better reason than because it was 100kms from our start point the previous day. I expected a monster tourist town full of 60's high rise and multilingual menus offering fish and chips . Not a pretty old town with white marble paved streets and pretty public squares lined with orange trees. (Not yet ripe although they looked it... I optimistically tested more than a few...)
In the evening, we donned our best jeans and sneakers and joined the locals for the evening promenade. Christmas lights and carols filled the streets. Six golden angels on stilts marched by, accompanied by an elf and a oriental king, singing 'Navidad, Navidad'. Three bulldogs watched from a second floor balcony, a little confused by the spectacle.
The decision to dodge bad weather in southern France in favour of riding through Andalucia has been a good one. There have been stretches where we have had no choice but to ride on the motorway, and days of passing nothing but greenhouses. Some plains look silver because they are utterly covered in plastic roofing. It is not pretty and probably not environmentally friendly, but it does look like they are feeding Europe. Occasionally we have headed farther from the coast into barren land that looks deserted, although there is the odd bar that looks like something out of a Robert Rodriguez movie and thus best avoided. But in all, the sun is out, the beaches are beautiful, paella makes great cycling fuel and we get to ride along pretending we are cowboys on the lookout for banditos hiding in the hills.
A few days ago we finally clocked 10,000kms. It was Bertie the bike who chose to remind us of this momentous occasion by demanding immediate replacement of chain, cassette, and cogs. But now, he is born again, as smooth a ride as ever. Meanwhile, the humans are starting to look like scrappy perpetual travellers. Matt has a beard like a swagman. I wear jeans with old racing flats like it is normal. But noone seems to mind.
