How to spend a day in Melilla

We woke slowly, enjoyed a hot shower (a luxury we can’t always enjoy, being on the move) and I nipped off for a morning walk. I wanted to check out the marina for bars that might be open to show Anf another area of my sweet town. Meanwhile, Anf explored the possibility of getting some clothes washed at the hotel.

My friend had said the night before that much had changed in Melilla in the last 10 years (I guess it would – and I guess the border being closed for the last two years would also contribute to the place changing). He explained that the marina was not frequented as it used to be. I wondered if this was a reflection of our ageing 10 years rather than simply 10 years passing by…! (When I was there, we’d hit up the marina most weekend nights and there’d be a buzzing atmosphere – music, chitter chatter, people of all ages milling about, and you’d always bump into people you know. One night I even met a guy from Wales who became a very good friend.). In any case, this morning the marina was as dead as a dodo.

I walked down to another place I used to go: Sully’s bar. They were serving tostados (small toasted sandwiches/bruschetta like things with grated tomatoes, etc.). I wanted to show Tony some more Spanish gastronomical delights and it was one of the first times this trip I felt I could enjoy being outdoors, exercising a little in a relaxed way, without feeling like we had to be moving on/going somewhere else. I headed back to the hotel to collect the ol’ geezer and show him the power of extra virgin olive oil and crushed sea salt with Mediterranean sun-kissed tomatoes. <3

Morning exercise under his belt, we sat across from the sea, under the misty (but no longer orange) skies, supping our cafes con leche (milky coffees) and munching down some brekkie in the morning freshness. Tone seemed to enjoy the tostado and the relaxed ambience.

We made a plan for the day and agreed that, without being able to get into Morocco, it might be wise for us to head back to the mainland. After all, we’d seen most of what Melilla had to offer (and, from a personal point of view, knowing we couldn’t get past the border fence, psychologically troubled me – I felt trapped!). We also needed to start making our way north soon or we’ll not get back by 27thish.

With our mission now complete, having touched African soil, we hit up a signwriters, gave the van a little make-over to celebrate the achievement (see previous post) and, passing by a petrol station, decided to fill up the van (and the jerry cans!). With the “special operation” in Ukraine and tensions rising with Russia, fuel prices across Europe seem to be soaring. I think it must be the media’s subject of the moment as I’m receiving lots of memes from UK friends on text! Anf and I have noticed that, the further south we’ve gone, the cheaper the fuel is (and that, as time has gone by, the more expensive it has got! Did I mention we were planning on a trip where the fuel was dirt cheap?!). The chap at the petrol station explained that €1.308/L was expensive for Melilla, with prices normally sitting at around €0.80/L. We’ve decided to hang on to the jerry cans, anticipating fuel prices to continue to increase so we’ll do what we can to capitalise on the cheaper rates down south ahead of big rises.

All tanks filled, the next job was to find a launderette. Running errands made the day feel much more like life (as opposed to being on a jolly) and walking through the streets alone (whilst Anf snoozed in front of the drier) reminded me of the ways of life in Melilla. I missed that feeling, until I started to notice the looks I got when I was on my own, driving a van, and the hassle in the streets and then I remembered what it was like being a white, blonde female here. I very much welcomed this slower pace and we enjoyed a Moroccan tea whilst the washing was spinning. Purr.

In driving around to find a launderette, we went through the more Muslim area of Melilla, where there are more clothes shops, markets and religious buildings suited to the Islamic way of life. The sound of the call to prayer rang through the streets as we enjoyed our tea. Precious. Purr, purr, purrrr. (It feels like I’m going into a lot of detail about Melilla – I bloody love it so much!!).

We also saw clusters of dark-skinned teenage boys throughout town whilst looking for a launderette. We deduced they were refugees, not least because they were all wearing the same navy jackets and trousers, which we concluded were provided by the temporary stay centre. Massive assumptions and so I’d like to look into this more (not least to see if there’s something I can do to be helping - maybe my language skills could prove helpful?). Stream of consciousness. Apols.

Back to Melilla. Launderette. Moroccan tea. We headed back into town for a bite to eat and I suggested we check out Melilla’s bullring. We parked up the van and ambled around the bullring. The smell of orange blossom filled the air. It was magical and I will remember that moment for years to come. If only I could pop it in a jar!! <3

A few pics from our Melilla mooch

Anf explained he was keen to eat like a local and enjoy the delicacies Melilla has to offer and we settled on Anthony’s pizzeria(!), just next to the bullring. Whilst we had wifi, I took the time to email an old colleague to see if he remembered me and fancied catching up for coffee.

My colleague responded immediately saying he couldn’t believe it was me! <3 He invited us to his house for a beer and we gladly, and very excitedly, accepted. (Well, I did…! And I dragged Anf with me. :-D  Anf had said he wanted to indulge me and he was easy with whatever decision I made. It felt a bit uneven but I thought that, when we get back to the mainland, I’ll do what I can to indulge him.)

We found my old colleague’s house fairly easily and checked out his new pad, reminiscing on his visit to Bristol (and to Saltford!). He explained how he remembered my dad and that he was a very welcoming man. <3

We spent the rest of the evening at a tapas bar, just around the corner from their pad, and we called another old colleague to come and join us, who similarly couldn’t believe I was there after so long. The drinks were flowing, the tapas was rolling and then time got the better of us and we had to cut it all short to head to the port. It was so lovely to see old friends and to pick up where we left off. The power of people and love. <3

 

I’ve explained a lot in this post but one thing I haven’t touched on is the uneasiness I felt when we were parked outside of the launderette with the refugees kicking around. I was conscious that Melilla is the gateway into Europe and I’ve seen the lengths that some people go to, hiding around car engines, etc. Given the grilling we got on the way in, I was anticipating some searching on the way out and I didn’t really want the guardia civil to discover someone (well, I also didn’t really want someone to hide on the van somewhere!). When we got to the port to board the ferry we were searched pretty thoroughly and, had we not understood the significance of Melilla in the Africa/Europe landscape, this would have seemed excessive. As it was, it seemed completely in line.

 

We drove on board, left the car deck, found our cabin and got our heads down, knowing we’d be getting into Almeria early the next day.

Sweet, sweet Melilla. Everything you are and everyone you have. I love you. <3