This is a postcard I sent to my friends in Switzerland, inspired by
the work of Martin Hicklin.
It celebrates our visit to Fuengirola and includes items found on the beach, and some confetti from a carnival we happened across in Ronda.
Here are my sketches from our visit to Fuengirola, Costa del Sol, Spain, 2nd-9th March 2017.
Drawn fom outside the Castle. It rained a little. Fuengirola is ahead, and you see its new bridge. There was a lot of construction work near the bridge.
From the flat, the view towards the sea. When the building we were staying in was built, it had a view to the sea. Then those tall flats went up.
Drawn in the amazing and unexpected Alcazaba in Malaga.
Very windy and cold in the high fort above the Alcazaba, but I did a picture. You see the shipping port of Malaga, its dry dock and shelters for vessels. There were tall chimneys, like those of tin mines. We did not discover what they were.
We drove to Ronda, an hour and 45 minutes. We had a meal in a restaurant near this bridge. After we walked around, we encountered a carnival, with children dressed up as superheroes.
From the terrace restaurant on Paseo de los Tristas. The view of the Alhambra was magnificent. The food was mediocre. We stayed at the Casa Morisca.
A quick sketch during the 15 minute pause in the tour of the Alhambra. The guide said 15 “English” minutes, not Spanish ones. And when he gave the french version he said the minutes were ” Swiss”.
A longer sketch from a similiar position, but looking the other way. I did this when we were on our own, after the tour.
Note the time. The castle closed at “14:30” according to the leaflet. But as I drew this, John went for a walk around, and found we had been locked in.
I drew this by the castle gate, while we waited for them to come and let us out. This was after John has explained in approximate but emphatic Spanish and English, on the mobile phone, that we were inside the castle, yes, inside. Good thing we had a mobile phone.
Lounging on the beach, after release from the castle.
in Malaga airport. There was a strike of French air traffic controllers. So there were long queues.John thought he recognised someone in the queue. He mentally blackened the white hair, flattened the large stomach, and smoothed out the wrinkles, and saw an old school friend. But he couldn’t be sure. The airport was full of English types.