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| A view from our balcony. |
Sitting here on our apartment's glassed-in balcony, I can see six bars in the pedestrian-only, wider than-a-city-street-square that stretches for several blocks, but there are at least five more on the lower level beneath our Nogalera apartment complex, and probably forty more further down the way. No one ever need go thirsty in Torremolinos, Spain.
Benches line either side of the square and restaurants, including Burger King, have outdoor tables and chairs to facilitate people-watching. Birds soar through this man-made cavern, delighting in the fountains and circles of carefully tented grass, trees and flowers, but it is man who dominates the space
Backpackers stride through the area—the train station exit is 200 yards from our apartment entrance—while gray-haired men glide their wheelchairs across the marble tiles that make up the square. The first morning we were here, the music of native Americans playing Peruvian flute songs floated up to our seventh-story windows, and last night we watched a man juggling three sticks of fire in the dusky charcoal sky that comes to southern Spain late in the evening around 10:00.
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| Town of Antequara |
While the local church just rang twelve bells to let us know the afternoon is officially beginning, there's little else here that is traditionally Spanish so it's not a spot we would have chosen if it weren't for our friends, former neighbors of mine in Ajijic, Mexico, who live here. We do have everything we need—three supermarkets within a few blocks, all the entertainment we could desire just outside our windows, and a view of the sea—but it is our friends who make this last part of our trip meaningful.
