In Presentation on July 3, 2013 at 4:24 pm
Two strips of the AP-7 curve away high overhead where we park beneath a dizzyingly tall flyover and make our way down a dirt track, not all that sure if we’re in the right place. Tired legs make the uncertainty that much more tiresome but there are promising signs as we make our way – a couple of cars pass by and there are people coming the other way who carry towels and wear bathing costumes. A kitsch restaurant where the track begins proclaims itself The Roman Oasis.
We walk for ten minutes or so, reassured – once we’ve asked someone – that we’re not lost. Finally, on our left, we pass an abandoned old pension, or perhaps a spa, with the words Baños Romanos de la Hedionda on its façade and then, on our right, a path that descends to the river.
We’re near Manilva, just four kilometres or so inland from the Costa del Sol, the coastal strip of hotels, resorts and retirement communities that stretches in a great concrete swathe from La Linea to Málaga, then more quietly eastwards. There’s no sign of any of that here but it’s hardly deserted – preserved Roman baths may not have much appeal amongst the Costa clientele but they are very popular with the local families who come here each Sunday during the summer months.
We don’t have any Roman history in Ireland; I don’t think they had the stomach to pick a fight with us. My first thought as I take in the squat, white structure that houses the baths is that if we did More
In Practice, Production on November 19, 2010 at 10:38 am
“I think we’re cool”, says K.
We’re on the way back to Tarifa, having spent a few days in our favourite; Granada. We have been winding our way through the mountainous Malaga hinterland for nearly an hour and now we are nearing the city itself, crossing the snake-like Guadalmedina numerous times as we navigate its sheer, precipitous valley. A few spots of rain hit the windscreen now and then but the weather is mostly blue sky.
We’re always sad to leave Granada. Always. There are few things, I have learnt, on which K and I agree absolutely and unequivocally (most of our decisions are reached through complex negotiation or protracted periods of mind game and emotional manipulation). This epic city is one of them. More
In Plenary on October 25, 2010 at 11:43 pm
…doesn’t arrive on the two pallets that are left, after a bit of pushing and shoving, outside our front door on one of the narrow laneways of Tarifa‘s casco antiguo. We drive two hours to get it from the cargo terminal at Malaga airport. The terminal isn’t what we expect – it isn’t well signposted for a start and when we get there it looks like a warehouse. No “customer” area or seating. No indication of where to go.
We ask some questions and eventually find ourselves in front of a clerk with fluent English – an exact reproduction in fact of the blue collar home counties accent. He helpfully informs us that he has nothing matching our dispatch number. More