At times, it seems like the entire population of Spain walks. Throughout the day, you'll see old women carrying two, three, four bags of groceries down the small alley-streets to their homes, but that's not really what I mean. I'm talking about the practice of taking a stroll, which is a fine art down here.
Our favorite place to watch the walkers in Nerja is the Balcón de Europa, one of the most famous sites in the town. A long walkway that extends into the Mediterranean, it was called the "balcony of Europe" by King Alfonso XII, and the name stuck (which explains why there's a statue of the monarch on the Balcón, where everyone is required to take a picture):
Robin and I end up down here pretty much every evening ... our excuse is that it's time for an ice cream, but it also extends our own stroll. We sit on a bench, eating our cones and watching the people walk by. You can tell which ones are the tourists ... they walk towards the end of the balcony with a sense of purpose ... "here it is, let's get down there and take a picture so we can go back to our hotel and plan tomorrow's activities." The natives are there simply because it's a nice walk, everyone else is there so you can see your friends, and they walk with no purpose in mind at all, outside of simply walking.
I'm not sure how they all meet at the same time. Do they have a regular "date"? Do they just happen upon each other? Do they call each other on the phone and say "hey, let's go for a walk"? Whatever it is, they must walk, and so they do walk.
Many of the native walkers are old folks, viejos and viejas who have probably made that same walk thousands of times. (Robin notes that some of the tourists are Spaniards, themselves, and perhaps they are more like tourists than like Nerja natives ... I can't tell.) Some of them need a cane ... but they're still walking. One woman last night had a special shoe for her club foot, plus she needed a cane ... but she's still walking. Some people have a pair of crutches ... but they're still walking. Need a wheelchair to get around? Have someone push you, because no matter that you can't walk ... you're still walking. There are some young families with a different dynamic, but the viejos are the most interesting. There are couples, hands behind their backs, looking straight ahead, rarely talking. There are pairs of couples, jabbering and walking, usually with one of the men trying to dominate the discussion. There are groups of men (see pairs of couples, above), and groups of women, where, in lieu of anyone dominating the discussion, everyone talks at the same time. The viejos are dressed in that combination of formal and casual you see so often here: short-sleeved shirts tucked into full-length pants (no matter how large is the belly that hangs over the belt), never sandals, rarely a hat. The viejas actually seem to dress up for their strolls ... you'll see a group of women walking back and forth, arm in arm, dressed more formally than casually ... they have clearly chosen their clothes carefully, even if it's just to decide which outfit will be easiest for an 87-year-old woman to put on without help.
Like I say, I wonder why/how/when they all manage to find each other, night after night. But then, Robin and I are also there night after night, so perhaps I should be asking myself why/how/when we make our way ... still walking.
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