amw (amw) wrote,

Day 7

This ferry sucks. Well. Objectively it is bigger and more luxurious than the other one, but in reality it feels cheaper. The coffee shop serves coffee in paper cups, and the sandwiches aren't grilled. There is no luggage cabin... i guess you are supposed to leave it in your car (!?) There are also no spaceship windows or 70s-era reflective ceilings. But, you know, there are tons of chairs outside and the café has a big mezzanine level with a bar in the middle and everything is wood on the inside. More Spanish than Moroccans on this one too. I wonder why people would go to Motril? Málaga i get - there is an airport and tons of resorts. Almería, nothing particularly interesting, but very good tapas and nice scenery and some tomato and watermelon farms. Motril barely even has a Wikipedia entry (in English, at least - in Spanish it shows lots of beaches, though i have no idea if they are actually in town). Well, it's an adventure. Off to another Mediterranean port town everyone just drives through to get somewhere else.


I found the luggage hold! It just wasn't a "chuck your bag on the rack" place - you had to get a ticket from a guy. And paper cups are awesome for taking your drink outside. I'm such a ferry noob.

In other news, there is no wifi. And i have a back ache.


I spent most of the ferry ride on the upper deck with the sun in my eyes and the wind in my hair. Arriving at Motril i realized it appears to be a fairly recently-converted industrial port. You literally walk off the boat from a staircase into a parking lot with some warehouses. There were two buses waiting, one to Málaga and one to Granada. Qué? Why bother taking a ferry to Motril then? So i went to the one shop across the road and said i wanted to stay in Motril. He was somewhat surprised, but gave me directions both to downtown (bus comes every 20 minutes) and to the beach (20 minute walk). I felt i deserved a "proper" seaside hotel, so i walked to the beach.

Checked into a 4* beachfront hotel, though not with a beach view. Then walked back toward the port where i had passed a very busy pub. This is a solid blue collar joint. I sat down for a beer and bam! No tapas menu, but here's a whole goddamn fish. Order another beer, bam, some kind of squid or octopus or something. I don't know what parts i'm supposed to eat, or if i'm going to die after eating the wrong part, but this is pretty neat, i must say.

Well, now i just got a plate i don't even know what it is. But it's deep-fried. Squid? Octopus? Scallops? Something with tiny tentacles? Seafood is so fucking weird-looking. Tastes okay, though, i guess, with some lemon and a slice of bread.

I think it might be time for a wander down the beach.


Yep, this is the Mediterranean i remember. Miles of stony beach, and holidaymakers sizzling on their towels. I don't mind seeing it on my last day, especially not at this time of year when not many people are here. I don't really get it, but it's okay. I'm at a beach hut that doesn't know how to make cocktails, so i got a bizarre "mojito" that's actually a cuba libre. It's fine. It's cold. I am relaxing. Somehow tomorrow i have to get to Granada and fly back to Berlin, but for now just laying around is the perfect end to this vacation.


Wandering along this beach i stumbled upon a walled resort. What a sad waste of what should be the true public space - a country's coastline. I came back and passed what is probably a very chi-chi beachfront nightclub in the high season and headed back to town. I'm at another little beach shack with a Moroccan/Hindu/Japanese theme (i guess it's a thing?) They are playing Boney M and James Brown and other classic European party songs. But there are just a few three-generation families sitting about.

We were one of those, growing up. We spent at least two summers in my grandparent's flat in Menton, France. Stony beaches, sunburnt tourists, container ships on the horizon, disco music... This same vibe somewhere in the Balearics gave birth to the British rave scene, so i guess something interesting has come out of it. Mostly it has the stereotype of being the place where people escape their dull jobs and their tower blocks to get a sun tan. Here, only the Spanish are coming - apparently to get an even better tan.

I guess it's been going on for thousands of years. The Romans had beachside resorts too. And i am just another sunburnt tourist. From dozing off on the boat i now have a superhero-esque diagonal strip across my cleavage where i forgot to take off my bag. Too late to fix that now. I could call myselt The Trannie With No Name. Del mar. Del sol. A la playa.

Oh shit, i see the bartender knows how to make a caipi. I think there will be one more drink here before looking for a restaurant, which no doubt will have a varied menu of fish, chips, fish AND chips, or seafood.

Best sight of the day, a bunch of dock workers grabbing a beer then one of them quietly asking the bartender if the girl a couple tables over was single. Brilliant. Now i am totally in the mood for some fish and chips. After my caipi.


I am now very drunk and have not eaten fish, or chips. A typical yet wonderful old beach sleaze... He gives me his number, buys me a drink...


It seems he bought all my drinks. He scared away two Dutch gay boys who could not speak Spanish.

Hilariously, i am even drunker now at my hotel, and some old Dutch drunks walked in with half (!) a bottle of Campari because the hotel didn't have any left. They are so unbelievably wasted it's epic. I hope to be equally as drunk when i am 64. But i hope to speak a little more Spanish than these guys. Hotel bar. Hilarious. Perfect end. I hope i am not to hungover to get up tomorrow.
Tags: travel

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