A few weekends ago I had the pleasure of going to the beach. The weather was warm, but not quite warm enough to sunbathe, though I'm sure the many British tourists laying out in their bikinis would disagree with me. I take it as a sign I've gotten used to the weather in southern Spain. I no longer think 7o degrees is warm enough to go outside in a tank top, let alone in a swimsuit. But I'm sure if I'd spent the winter in Seattle I'd be out there with the rest of them, soaking up the heat. As it was the beach was still enjoyable to stroll down and the town was a quiet relief from city life in Sevilla. I'd already visited Nerja four years ago when I was studying in Granada, so I didn't see much I already hadn't. The big surprise of the weekend was actually a little town located in the hills outside of Nerja.
Frigiliana is something out of an Anthropologie catalog. White houses snuggled together against bright blue skies and brown earth. The streets are set with tiny stones of different shades playing out patterns of swirls and the like. Plants take over every doorway, windowsill and hillside in the town. With every turn I took I couldn't help but expect to see a model perched on a ledge while a photographer snapped away. Nothing of the sort passed and that's what's so perfect about Frigiliana. It's quaint, it's not contrived, it's completely unplanned, it's beautiful.
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