Mornings in Nerja

Waking up before 8am without a piercing sound from an iPhone alarm going off. Sun is on it’s way up and far off a dog is barking in one of the towns hundreds of alleyways. I pull a sweater over my bed head, put on a pair of tights and my running shoes and go outside. The air is humid and cool. You can feel it’s going to be a warm day as soon as the sun gets a chance to do its work.

I run out on the narrow streets, dogs barking at me as I pass by their territory, cats staring at me from the window sills. The town is empty on tourists as it’s early March and the sleepy retired old men haven’t made their way out just yet. The woman working the bread shop is dusting off the glass display, the man running the fruit store on the corner rearranges the bright oranges in their crates. I feel as if I'm in a Disney movie where people should wave and shout my name, but it's completely quiet except for my breath and soles of my shoes hitting against the ground.

Making my way down to the sea, it’s easier than usual to put one foot in front of the other. Usually I give up before I’m even tired, because it’s so damn boring to run. But today I could go for what seems like forever. I reach the shore. The cliffs, the ocean, the pink flowers decorating every white house wall.

When I get home, my mom is brewing coffee in the kitchen up on the terrace. Fresh mangoes and oranges, aged manchego cheese, creamy yoghurt and fresh bread is on the table. We eat as it gets light out and the sun burns our backs. No rush to get anywhere, make it anywhere. Just eat and drink and then maybe move over to the sun bed with a book.


Booked a ticket to go be with my parents at their house in Southern Spain for 9 freaking days. 30th of June can't come soon enough.

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