Competa to Motril, Spain, Tuesday December 23rd

We had a leisurely breakfast before driving down the mountain to Torrox Costa and the bus stop. We had packed so much into the four days with Jane and Brian and had learnt lots and enjoyed their company very much. Now we were off to Nerja to change to a bus to Motril, where we would stay with Bérenice and Michel. Also couch surfers, we would stay with them over the Christmas period and leave on Boxing Day.
We arrived in Motril and left our big backpacks in the bus station lockers. The part of the town we walked through was not distinctive, but led to other areas with narrow streets and interesting shops. We were aiming to find a tourist office, but we were hungry and so once we found the Park of the Americas, we settled down to eat. Just behind the hillock that we chose, a mixed group of youths was chatting and lazing around the main statue. Two naked men, giant sized, were reaching out to each other, with one looking as if he was from South America and the other looking more classical, so we guessed that he was Spanish.

No anatomical details had been left out of these statues, but all were being ignored by the boys for whom this was no more than a meeting place. The plants in the park are all from the Americas, and it will be the site of an educational plantation of sugar cane as part of the town's heritage in the near future.

We were enjoying the garden setting and the sunshine, mildly aware of a group of young men with packs and bed rolls who picnicked a little closer to the lake. I drowsily thought that perhaps they slept out in parks as I rolled over to have a read of the Lonely Planet Guide. When I awoke, about an hour and a half later, the men had gone. Keith had ended up snoozing too for a while, but he had woken me because it was time for us to walk back to the bus station and meet Bérenice and Michel at five o'clock. I was disappointed that I had wasted the afternoon, but I was feeling refreshed so the sleep had done me good after all my late night and early morning reading.

Bérenice and Michel, a couple originally from Belgium and France who lived in Belgium, have been living in Motril for the last three or so years. They started coming to a nearby village called Almúñeca years ago, and a few weeks visit ended up as coming for most of the winter of each year. When they made the decision to move permanently they looked for a town with all the facilities within walking distance. Michel drove us to their apartment, which is in a block behind a gate and a fence with good security. Through the window we would see the ruins of the sugar factory, which will be restored and developed into a museum in the future. We sipped on hot drinks and devoured slices of a delicious apple cake.
Bérenice speaks excellent English and Spanish, and both of them are attending Spanish lessons that sound fantastic because it is language learning in context. One class is a computer skills class and the other is for nature lovers and includes walks with the group into the nearby mountains. On the whole we spoke French, since it was the language we could all speak. It was fantastic to have another chance to use it and to have a bit of coaching. Keith is very confident now and much more fluent. We will be speaking French again in Morocco soon so a little refresher is great.
We all went for a walk to buy some wine, and this time we saw more interesting aspects of Motril. Everyone was out and about, and there was a festive atmosphere. We passed the ornate town hall, the theatre where Bérenice and Michel often go, and the Museum of Sugar Cane for the Pre-Industrial Era. The lady at the Tourist Information Bureau was very friendly and explained that we would have no problems with buses on the 26th since it is not a holiday here. She handed out a map, and two very informative tourist magazines about the history, nature and monuments of the area. The difference in materials and service for tourists in different places has been extreme, with some places only selling maps and pamphlets, some only answering exactly what you asked and offering nothing else and others, such as this one, giving you heaps of really interesting information. Motril is not generally regarded as a tourist town and yet it is doing a great job for tourists.
Bérenice had commented that the Spanish look after their older people well, with facilities that provide social outlets, activities and meals at extremely low prices. This is not like the Australian Senior Citizens, which is like a club and meets on certain days, but more like a cafe/restaurant/games venue with social outings drop in centre where people call in at any time they feel like. Bérenice and Michel are regulars here and participate in the bus trips to other towns and cities. They chatted in Spanish with some men who were their friends. There are not many foreigners living here, so Bérenice and Michel are not part of an ex-pat community. Instead they have learnt Spanish and developed a circle of Spanish friends and feel that they are well integrated into the community. Certainly our walk was punctuated with them meeting and greeting Spanish friends and acquaintances, and they both seemed very much at ease as they dropped into speaking Spanish.
When we went into the church, we saw the most elaborate and beautifully made belén which we walked around. The centre was a mountain and there were scenes of village and rural life leading all the way to the stable. There were many models with moving parts, such as a woman feeding turkeys, a potter sitting at a turning wheel shaping pots and a carpenter planing a piece of wood. Fires burnt and a field had been planted with real vegetable seedlings and seeds. The lady at the tourist office had given us a list of thirty-five belénes open to visitors but it was hard to imagine one more magnificent than this. Another nativity scene, minus Jesus, was set up near the altar.
When we came out, we could see a 'traditional' Father Christmas and a non-traditional elf who looked like he was one of the clerks from the town hall, not used to holding the sack of lollies and not dressed up. A little girl, who had been entranced by the belén in the church, looked down at him from behind the bars at the edge of the church's terrace. When he turned his attention to her, she was terrified, and no amount of lollies given to her mother for her could convince her that the strange man was all right. You could tell that this was just the sort of thing that the elf had dreaded, and he shook his head as they slunk off, ringing their bell in search of more receptive recipients of good cheer and sweeties.
The wine shop was closed, so Bérenice went in to the cafe over the road to ask about it. The lady there said that she would open it when her helper arrived, so after a little while we all trooped over. The wine was in enormous barrels and was sold by the litre into containers that customers brought along. Bérenice bought sweet, semi-sweet and another variety, with the price being 1.50 euros a litre (Au$3). When we tasted them later, they were not like French wines, seeming to me to be stronger and somehow thicker, and a little like sherry with a stronger kick. It must be remembered that I have no wine knowledge and little experience so these comments are sure to be disagreed with by all.
Further along a group was gathered around a stall where zambombas were for sale. They are a musical instrument used at all fiestas. Made out of a clay pot, a skin is stretched across the top. A stick pierces the skin and goes down into the pot, with the top end being decorated with brightly coloured streamers. Once Bérenice had explained that we were Australians who had never heard a zambomba, the seller wet her hand and rubbed it up and down the stick, creating a sound a bit like a double bass. We were surprised and delighted, as were the little group who watched on.
Night had fallen by the time we reached the apartment. Bérenice had made a very tasty soup, and with salad, cheese and cake, we enjoyed a lovely meal. I tasted a delicious fruit called kaki; a round red fruit with lots of seeds in it. We talked a lot, as we dusted off our French, and we discovered that Michel and Keith worked on the same time schedule of very early rising and that Bérenice and I would not emerge before at least eight o'clock. Although Motril was not particularly beautiful, we knew from what we had seen and from what Bérenice and Michel told us that it was a town where strangers could make a home and become part of the community, and where people were friendly and kind. We sank into the bed and, despite our naps in the park, were soon dreaming.