Costa del Sol

Another day, another sleepless night dreading the process of extracting our rental car from the parking garage. I don’t know how the locals do it. It would take years off of my life if I had to do this every day.

We have one more big move left in our trip, this time to Marbella, where we plan on dialing things down and mostly relaxing on the beach. This is an area that has been aggressively built up over the years so I know going in that it will be far more carefully curated resort than old Spanish fishing village, but if Roy Kent can spend six weeks here during the AFC Richmond off-season, I figure I can give it a shot.

Unfortunately, initial reports are not good. We have a great place just a few steps off the beach but, so far, everything here seems to be geared around squeezing in as many condos as possible and then filling them with British people tired of the rain back home. It’s a vacation style that I know plenty of people love (someone is renting these condos after all), but I feel like OJ trying to put on a glove that just don’t fit.

But wait, it gets better.

As we turn in for the night, I turn to my fellow traveler and ask where she got Ben-Gay and why she put on so much that my eyes are watering. Puzzled by her answer that we have never owned any Ben-Gay, I start dissecting the bedding to try and track down the source. The answer is pretty much everything – mattress, sheets, duvet, pillows. Ponder that for just a moment. Who uses that much Ben-Gay and what did they have to do in this bed before we got here to spread it around so much. It’s Halloween, so fitting if that haunts your dreams.