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Marvelous level walkway leading to the lighthouse in the Port of Puerto Banus
A glimpse of one of the incredible black, green-eyed cats that make their home among the rocks at the edge of the Mediterranean Sea
Just one of many unique sea-going vessels that dock in Puerto Banus
Jim O'Hara begins an easy glide along the modern ramp to the edge of the Mediterranean Sea in Marbella
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SPAIN'S COSTA DEL SOL
—Spellbinding and Serene—
Story by Carol Oldham O'Hara
“Siesta time” on a Sunday afternoon on the magical Costa del Sol in southern Spain. We lingered over cappuccinos at an outdoor coffee house beside the ever-present Mediterranean, a step away from the postcard-perfect port of Puerto Banus.
A sunny afternoon at a crowded outdoor cafe in the heart of Marbella
As time went by, we noticed a young couple with a small child ever so slowly pushing the wheelchair of an older woman across the wide, deep blue and honey-hued Spanish-tiled walkway. A dark coat covered this lady's shoulders. A bright scarf encircled her head. The day was mild, yet clearly she needed added warmth.
The group seated themselves at a table next to us. The child and the man engaged in playful conversation, while the women carried on what seemed to be a most meaningful dialogue in Spanish. All the time their eyes followed the fishing and sailboats gliding in and out of the harbor; the antics of many the Egyptian-like green-eyed black cats that live among the harbor rocks, and the sun wending its way toward the sea. I wanted to ask for a photo, but I knew doing so would be an intrusion into their moment.
Rather, I contented myself by reflecting upon our most recent moments in Spain, a country we have come to love for its peoples' love for God and family, its charm, and its serenity. This time we had been in this sunny spot of “Espana” ten enchanting days. Tomorrow we would leave.
Marbella's fountain is a delight to all who take the time to enjoy it
I thought back to the moment our British Airways captain had stilled the engines of the giant jet on the runway at the Malaga airport, just an hour or so by cab to “our spot” in the Andalucian region of the Costa del Sol — Nueva Andalucia. This area so bewitching to us lies on the southern part of the Iberian Peninsula, below the mauve- shadowed mountain walls of the Sierra Morena on the north and the Cordillera Betica to the east and south — mountains not unlike the rugged Santa Catalinas that rise above the Arizona city of Tucson.
Because Jim, my husband and travel partner, adventures by wheelchair, he'd asked for assistance deplaning -- and for help in the terminal with luggage, exchanging currency, and clearing customs. His aide in this modern, large, and most accessible airport was so efficient, we were only able to pass by a delightful restaurant where it would have been pleasant to swill a coke while contemplating our days ahead.
Nonetheless, in the early hours of a star-filled November night and barely an hour after a smooth flight into Malaga, western gateway to the Mediterranean and home of the great artist, Pablo Picasso, we were ensconced in a taxi. Our driver spoke no English but understood my limited Spanish, depositing us where we wished to be — among the deep-pink and golden bouganvillas and rose-hued geraniums of our accommodations in Nueva Andalucia.
Although we had again “timeshared,” we'd also spent long moments at the elegant Andalucia Plaza Hotel just across the way from us. We love its massive lobby with its flat tile floor and comfortable wicker furniture -- and the radiant floral-filled ramp leading down to the refreshing pool is a breeze for a wheelchair. Smaller ramps lead to the lounge and the dining room; we believe this hotel offers the best of flamenco dancing in its “caseta,” also accessible for those with walking supports.
Spain comes to life at night. What fun we'd had sipping soft drinks and sampling hors d'oeuvres and sandwiches, while tapping our toes to the music of a combo in its lounge in the evenings. We'd whiled away time observing the gaming in the hotel's casino, and dawdled away delightful moments savoring the fruits, cheeses, and meats of the region in the dining room, overlooking the pool.
On several mornings, we'd trekked to the glass-walled supermarket that faces the sea and carries tiny vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream cakes under the name, “Romantica.” Each time, we'd stopped in the sunshine to observe our beloved Mediterranean while sipping a “coffee with milk” from the little round outdoor “croissanteria,” just outside the market's door.
We'd filled two sunny Saturdays at the region's flea market — just a walk or ride up the hill from our timeshare and the hotel. (While the hill is steep and the walkway narrow, the wheelchair made the climb.) This event stretches hundreds of yards from the region's bull ring into the streets and across the tiled walkways leading to the most elegant of shopping areas.
At this extravaganza, one finds a plethora of multi-hued flowers, pottery, clothing, and collectibles — most anything the heart desires — from stalls manned by folks from throughout the world. Best of all, it's wheelchair friendly, albeit the parts around the bull ring are a little bumpy riding.
This flea market,, high above the always azure sea, is the social gathering of the week for everyone in the area. It's the time when vacationers and residents from all walks of life and of all abilities and ages turn out to mingle and make a purchase or two.
While Jim had chatted with a local television personality, I'd bargained for delicate hand-made silver jewelry from the city of Cordoba, just outside Madrid. Together we'd purchased watercolor art, not yet dry, from an English painter. We'd quenched our thirst with fresh-squeezed orange juice while conversing with others from near and far away. We were lucky. Almost all spoke English.
On different temperate days, hand-clasped couples and families promenaded beside us as we'd strolled the movie-like atmosphere of Puerto Banus, including the mile or so walk along the pier, all of it on level asphalt. At its end, we'd paused to take in the magic of the Mediterranean from a stone bench surrounding a lighthouse.
We'd quelled hunger pangs with tidbits ranging from tacos to three-tiered ice cream cones in the sidewalk cafes lining the port, while marveling at the yachts from around the world, some of them boasting pads for helicopters. Happily we'd found the step or two into the cafes no problem for the wheelchair.
On a Wednesday, we'd taxied for half an hour to the town of Marbella for the day, bumping the wheelchair over the cobblestoned streets to explore again the shops of “Old Town” and contemplate the park with it's flowing fountain in the center of the city. Later, because of uneven sidewalks and construction, we'd taxied the short distance to the wind-swept white sand beach that stretches as far as the eye can see. What a joy to wander along the pedestrian-only beach walk, resplendent with laurel and palm trees -- and to pause at will under an umbrella at a sidewalk cafe for a cool drink or a full plate. Fish and chips are a mainstay along the walk. Marbella caters to tourists, and wherever we went, we felt welcome.
On a previous trip, we'd traveled to Gibraltar to laugh at the antics of its monkeys. We'd also experienced the haunting atmosphere of Morocco — with the help of an excellent tour guide. This time we sought only the sea's edge, a spot that seems more vision than reality to us. And we'd found what we came for — rest and renewal.
My reverie ended too quickly. The man and the child were hand-in-hand along the walkway. The young woman was gently retying the scarf about the older woman's head. The sun seemed to melt into the Mediterranean. The cerulean sky of an earlier hour was now bathed in hues of lavender, rose, and deepest gold. Soon moonbeams would chase the placid waves.
Jim's eyes and mine met across our table. He dropped a morsel to one of those incredible cats, and left our coins for the waiter. I unfolded his wheelchair. It was time, also, for us to leave.
As we sauntered to a taxi, the words of the Spanish poet, Luis Cernuda, came to mind: “. . .if ever I was asked what single word sums up the thousand sensations, suggestions, and possibilities that unite the radiant surface of Andalucia, I would say ‘happiness.'” And to that, we add “regeneration of spirit.”
© Story by Carol Oldham O'Hara, 2010
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