Two On Tour

My Estepona post cut off on November 28. It was probably too long. Here’s the rest.

Friday 28 November

The fire is still upmost on our minds for most of today. It’s increasingly clear that safety standards were shockingly poor—it’s being reported that the fire alarms had been disconnected because the construction workers needed constant access to the emergency staircases. The latest death toll has risen to 128.

On a brighter note, we meet up with Cath and Daryl for drinks and dinner. It’s really, really lovely to see them. We didn’t know them especially well back on Lamma, but by the end of the evening we’re the bestest of mates. Lamma connections run deep. They’ve been living in Alora, a small town an hour from Estepona, for three years now. Cath’s increasingly frail parents moved there 25 years ago and her disabled brother has since joined them. We talk of the practicalities of living in Spain, life after work, and of much missed friends back in Hong Kong.

As we sit chatting, Estepona’s Christmas lights are switched on and the main street is suddenly lit up as brightly as Causeway Bay. The combination of the Christmas lights and a digestif of Spanish brandy rounds off a very special evening.

Saturday 29 November

After the excitement of our trip to Gibraltar and meeting up with Cath and Daryl, we’re happy to kick back and do very little. I finish off a ‘2.5-hour’ job for AsiaEdit that takes me in the region of eight hours. I’m really not sure why I still do this.

We only go out because I want a zip-up cardigan—Granada’s close to zero at night now, and there are still Black Friday bargains to be had. Google Maps insists that the shop we’re heading for is open throughout the afternoon siesta, but when we arrive it’s not. No importa. We come home.

The orange trees are heaving with ripe fruit. I’m used to seeing bananas, mangos, and even passion fruit ripe and ready to pick, yet seeing the streets lined with ripe oranges seems strangely exotic. I wonder why no one has picked them?

Sunday 30 November

Another quiet Sunday. Routine is settling back in now. For a third Sunday, I take myself out for an afternoon stroll with my earbuds plugged in. Part of today’s 90-minute ramble takes me along the beach for the best part of a kilometre, with Gibraltar looming in the distance:

Mum’s been at a big Rock Choir shindig in Birmingham this weekend and is keen to share, so there’s a rare three-way video chat tonight:

Monday 1 December

The hot water in the flat has been getting steadily cooler for a few days. We reported it a few days ago but said we’d monitor it before requesting any action. I’ve taken to shaving with water boiled in the kettle, and since the weekend I’ve been washing my hair by leaning over the bath rather than standing under a stream of tepid water. Finally, today the ‘hot’ water is barely distinguishable from the cold water. The owner pops round and immediately agrees to replace the water heater. That may still take a few days, but we’ll live.

We’re beginning to wind down in Estepona. Afternoon walks mean pounding familar routes—today’s takes us down to the marina, and on to Lidl. The plan is to catch up on more admin this week before we let ourselves loose in Granada.

Tuesday 2 December

Very little to report today. I pick up a cheap sweater in an almost deserted Estepona town centre during the siesta. We also sort out our accommodation in Madrid. Lovely day. Just very few specifics.

Wednesday 3 December

Womday this year finds us in glamorous Marbella. Although it’s only a few kilometres up the coast (the town is clearly visible from Estepona), it takes a full hour an a half to reach as the bus stop every few blocks to shuffle its passengers. We might be the only ones today riding all the way from Estepona to Marbella.

The coastal scenery en route is unremarkable, just ribbon development linking Estepona and a couple of other towns with Marbella. But inland, imposing mountains loom beyond the narrow coastal plain. Despite the lack of tree cover, it looks perfect for hiking: low enough to be accessible, but high enough to offer fine views.

We step out into a town all dressed up for Christmas. At this time of year, Marbella must look dazzling at night, but alas we only have a few hours to explore. We find a quiet restaurant in the old town with a few al fresco tables and order chicken paella, a tapa of crispy pork belly, and another of ham, egg and chips—although that description does it a vast disservice. All three dishes are delicious.

We wander down to the seafront to investigate, passing through the Avenida del Mar with its Dali sculptures. This is prime Costa del Sol real estate, yet the age of Marbella’s first wave of seafront high-rises is beginning to show. The ten-storey blocks visibly date from the seventies. They’re still smart and well-maintained but they’re also a reminder that the Costa del Sol’s tourism boom has a long history. We venture onto the beach to walk on the narrow strip of smooth damp sand at the high-water mark. I misjudge the strength of one cheeky wave and end up ankle deep in seawater with wet shoes and socks. K manages to veer away at the last moment.

Back in the old town, we wander the winding alleys, the charming Plaza de los Naranjos, and stop by the historic Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Encarnación, formally a mosque. And then it’s time for churros. We’ve been in Spain for a month yet this is the first time we’ve ordered a plate of piping hot churros with a accompanying cup of rich dipping chocolate. Really, this is how heaven must feel.

Brushing off churro flakes, we reluctantly leave the old town and hop on a bus back to Estepona, arriving back at dusk. The churros have left us so stuffed that we can’t possibly yet indulge in K’s birthday dinner. Instead, we stop by Leo’s Irish Pub for an (after)sundowner. It’s only our third visit to Leo’s, but the staff seem to recognise us and we feel very welcome.

With just enough space in our stomachs, we head along the espanade to a chiringuito we earmarked weeks ago for K’s birthday dinner. We’re just in time: their kitchen closes in ten minutes and we’re the last customers of the day. (This being our first visit to a chiringuito, we’re surprised to find that they close just as most restaurants are opening.) The staff are lovely, happy to indulge my determined efforts to massacre Spanish despite their obvious comfort in English. More excellent food, focused on a perfect wood-grilled sea bream. And good conversation, much of which continues to centre on the Wang Fuk fire. Given that K’s able to access a lot more about it (i.e. in Chinese) than I am, there’s always plenty to pick over.

And that’s Womday for another year.

Thursday 4 December

Any hope of our hot water resuming before we leave Estepona is looking slim. I think the new heater was supposed to be installed on Tuesday, but we’re still waiting. It doesn’t seem to be the fault of our hosts, who drop by tonight to apologise and to offer us a small gift of duro.

I’m bogged down with work for these final couple of days. Just before I wrap up for the day, Tim flags up on WhatsApp a concerning dark corner of the UK budget that escaped my attention last week: the conditions for making Class 3 NI contributions are being tightened from next April. Contributions are going up from around £200 a year to around £900 a year—but to continue making contributions at all, you will need to have made ten years of contributions while living in the UK. I can’t blame the government for turning their gaze on Class 3 contributions, surely one of the world’s greatest returns on assets. I’m too busy just now to do a deep dive into the changes, but after some initial fretting I suspect that in a worse case scenario I’ll get a pension based on 25 years of contributions rather than 35 years. That’s still over 70% of a full pension. Unless something goes drastically wrong, we can almost certainly manage with that, given our other sources of income.

Friday 5 December

Our last day is Estepona passes largely indoors as I wrap up one work project and plough through a second. Outside, it’s overcast and, when I briefly step outside late afternoon to take down the recycling, drizzling.

K’s developing a chesty cough so I check the Spanish for ‘cough’ and we drop by a pharmacy for some cough syrup. Then we wander Estepona town centre and the waterfront one last time until it’s late enough to present ourselves at El Patio for our final meal on the Costa del Sol. We’re almost the only customers at first, but the locals soon show up. Within half an hour it’s buzzing. Four boisterous but good-humoured blokes come in and stand at the bar behind me all talking at once at a volume that any self-respecting Cantonese speaker would be proud of:

Conversation continues to focus on the Wang Fuk fire, or more specifically what many people feel is the government’s paranoid, thin-skinned, and petulant response to it.

And that’s it. We wander back through Estepona’s quiet, charming streets and arrive home to a full moon rising over the old town. Goodnight Estepona. It’s been an absolute pleasure.