Dia del Mercadillo, Nerja

A cloudless start to the day, bright and breezy requiring the toldo be wound in after breakfast. I took the ten to eleven bus into Nerja to buy some honey from Competa to take home for a present, and called into the shop for a brief visit before catching the next bus back. I got to Parada Monica with a few minutes to spare and there was a larger bus than usual waiting for passengers - the shuttle for the Tuesday mercadillo which takes place all year round in the recinto next to Urbanizacion Almihara, where the Chaplain's house used to be located. 

I remembered how easy and convenient it was for us to do food shopping there and buy occasional special things: herbs and spices, cured meats and fish, and every kind of olive in bulk, at excellent prices. I could have bought local honey there, but it would have meant an extended stay in town. The shuttle left at the time the Line 3 bus was scheduled, earlier than some visitors expected, so they were wondering when the Line 1 bus, which takes you close to Urbanizacion Almihara would come, the next best thing. It's a walk of a couple of kilometres from Monica, much of it uphill.  The Line 3 bus was fifteen minutes late, not surprisingly as the roads are so much busier when the mercadillo is on.

After lunch, packing and preparations for our early departure tomorrow morning took up the afternoon, but we did go down to the sea using a footpath from the clifftop down to the secluded end of Playa Vilches for a walk along the shore, and a tea in the restaurant at the other end, before climbing the hill again, to finish the evening quietly. I started a new novel by Umberto Eco, translated into Spanish, which I found in the church shop. I gave up reading after a couple of dozen pages of detailed description of the setting in obscure vocabulary. The character telling the story seemed to me most unsympathetic, loaded with anti-semitic and racist stereotyping language that I found most unedifying. Whatever the purpose of this is, I can do without it. Let's see what I can find at the airport tomorrow.

With great effort we both headed to bed by ten thirty, but I took me a long time to settle, checking and rechecking things I need to take with me and leave behind. I've only got an under-seat bag loaded with my cameras and computer, leads etc. It looks bulky, but actually is the compliant size. Travel nerves with an early start in the morning, an airport taxi booked for seven thirty.

In the return trip I chatted with a man from the west of Ireland. We were the only passengers heading out of town. As I reached the bottom of Tamango Hill, churchwarden John appeared, driving the church car, and waved as he turned towards Torrox. He's taking it to a bodyshop to get an offside front bumper scrape fixed while I'm away.