Spain in a Campervan

It was a relief to find the old quarter at Torremolinos, the part that has been all but swallowed by the post-Franco era horrors that sprouted when Spain became a top holiday destination.

Torremolinos doesn’t help itself with its bawdy, “throw it up and rake it in” architecture, string of terrible English/Irish/German/Dutch bars that seem to attract the less desirable elements of society.

Torremolinos is a mixed bag of sweets; most of them some sort of unpleasant chewy mint that sticks in the teeth and destroys your amalgam fillings.

It’s hard to summarise Torremolinos; it’s not as bad as I expected, no excess of neon a la Las Vegas or Blackpool, but still not somewhere I’d choose to holiday or live.

The magical moment of finding the waterfall at Barranco Blanco, Andalucia, came after an extensive search of the area. Part of that search took us up the river beside the…

We found our wild camp spot at Puente Real, Torremolinos at a good moment; just in time to catch the sunset.