We're on the road to Maarrbbbeeellllaaa. Michael didn't stop (and really hasn't stopped) singing that to the tune of the Judea song in History of the World Part 1 since we left Madrid. I can't really get too annoyed though, because Marbella was worthy of a lot of singing. The drive in itself was amazing, as we saw the influence of the Moors grow stronger in every town we passed. By the time we reached the southern coast on the Mediterranean most of the buildings, including the townhomes, just started to look blatantly like Mosques.
We pulled into the cobblestoned old town section of Marbella, and searched the tiny streets for our hostel. Michael chose the place for its story - a 17th century monastic residence now owned by self-proclaimed "accommodating Scots" - they forgot to mention "completely crazy but in mostly a good way." We arrived to the warmest welcome from Mike (said Scot) and a free beer to boot, were shown to our little room and given advice on where to eat, where not to eat, etc. Mike gave a lot of advice. Approximately 25% of our time in Marbella was debatably spent listening to Mike's advice. It came, of course, served with a hearty side dish of insane ranting/frustration with Spaniards. But man, that place had wacky charm.
We started with tapas and beer on the beach, and didn't stray far from there (besides our day trip to Gibraltar that will arrive shortly in it's very own post!). Wake up, laze, have a beer with Mike, walk to beach, eat tapas, drink more beer, walk main street, drink wine on Mediterranean jetti until midnight. That pretty much sums it up. Marbella is truly lovely, especially after our rough first week and a scorching jaunt in Madrid. The weather was insanely humid, but rather mild, and the sea was warm. The food was relatively cheap and the beer was cheaper. It was a unanimous must-return location and again, we were tearing ourselves away to head to Valencia.
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