Technically, we didn’t actually breakdown but we still managed to frequent the local garage twice in the same week.
Gibraltar is a weird place. The first time we crossed the border and were standing on Main Street, I couldn’t decide if I was in awe or if I totally hated it.
I was 15 the last time I visited Nerja. At least I think I was, I could have been 16? Eamo was 16 the last he visited Nerja. Weird, huh? Maybe we crossed paths and didn’t even know it.
All the memories came flooding back to Eamo, the second we arrived in the little Spanish town. For me… nothing. I don’t remember a damn thing about this place. I really should have, but all I remember is that I was here once upon a time.
Nerja is beautiful, it really is. It’s a quintessential Spanish town with cute white houses and perfect little villas overlooking the Mediterranean. Palm trees bustling full parrots line the Main Square all the way down the promenade to the Balcon de Europa, where you can get a pretty awesome panoramic snap of this part of the Costa del Sol.
It’s the middle of January and it’s 20 degrees; what more do you want, right?
Motril was a complete wild card for us. We’d never heard of it, didn’t know anyone that had ever visited there and we had no idea what there was to do in and around the place.