Hola España!.

We arrived in Algeciras just as the sun was setting, and the town was coming back to life after an afternoon’s siesta.

We flew into very hot Malaga that lunchtime, but decided not to waste a day down in the party city, instead just taking  walk along the water front and through the water fountains, where would be finishing our trip anyway, and instead make our way to the working port of Algeciras, just over 100km from Malaga, and looking out into the ocean over Morocco and Gibraltar.

The guide books had left us feeling that Algeciras would purely be a stop off point for cheap sleep, and an early bus to Gibraltar in the morning. Referred to simply as the gate way to Tangiers, Algeciras was brushed over in every guide we read as dirty, dangerous, and unwelcoming, full of sellers who had come up on the ferries from North Africa. There was no mention of places to stay, things to see, or eateries to tantalise the tastebuds. Just the odd paragraph explaining how awful it is.

But as the warm golden glow engulfed the town, and we made our way through the small back streets, past pretty churches and cobbled streets, we knew instantly that the opinions of those in Lonely Planet and Rough Guides was utterly wrong.

Shoe shops, transport stations, and old buildings, admittedly some derelict and collapsing, fill the lower part of the town, intercepted with small cafes and eateries, mixing Spanish and North African, with the odd kebab house.

Maybe it’s that we are both from working dock-towns, be it in Poland and the UK, or maybe it’s that we actively seek the untouched, tourist-less places, but although Algeciras was a little rough around the edges, we had no fear of being there and were simply eager to get out and explore.

Our Pension was tucked down a narrow side road, with a simple sign hanging out of the front. As we pushed the old brown door open, we were greeted by a smile, and welcomed in to a dark reception/ TV room but an older gentleman. A mix of broken Spanish and English (it was at this point that I realised I had forgotten every bit of Spanish I knew and had to let my boyfriend take over) and we managed to book in and pay, our passports photocopied and the card reader chugging out a hand cut receipt.

We headed up to our room, not before receiving a lesson in how to use the remote control (side to side for channels, up and down for volume, just in case you needed to know…) and threw down our bags, grabbed a shower, and headed back out to see just how wrong the guide books really were.

A gentle stroll up the hill left me utterly speechless, as we came upon the town square. Clad in Andalucian tiles, the little centre was bright and colourful, full of children playing and laughing under the light of wrought iron, decorative street lamps, and the gentle glow from the main church.

The streets on all sides were full of open doors and small tables, welcoming people to sit down and enjoy a cold cerveza in the warm evening air. We couldn’t resist, and chose a little place near the square, with flickering heaters outside, and a tapas bar full of the most gorgeous looking delights.

This was our first proper meal in Spain, and we couldn’t wait to try everything!

We started ordering, and dishes started arriving, with small plates of prawn fritters, pulpo (octopus), and the stunningly succulent rabo de toro, filling the table, along with tumbler glasses of local beer off tap.

The friendly waiter explained to us that due to it being Easter Saturday, and because Spain was still celebrating Lent, we couldn’t have an pork products, which meant our hunger for the juicy taste of authentic Spanish chorizo would have to go unfulfilled for another couple of days.

After filling ourselves with gorgeous food, we strolled on back through the town, passed the now filled church attending Midnight Mass, and down to the port where the ferries waited patiently, and finally back to our little room, for a good night’s sleep, and to put our remote control lesson to good use.