October 29, 2009
But it's all worth it for a stay in the Hostal del Anon. Built by Suzanna, an attractive American/Austrian ex-hippy and her Spanish husband (sadly passed away), its layout of winding passages, small Moorish-style courtyards and hidden nooks and crannies mirrors precisely the chaos of the town itself.
On this, what was in essence the seventh day including our previous stays in this hotel, we still find ourselves opening wrong doors, walking up and down confusing small flights of red-tiled courtyard stairways as in an Escher drawing, some built around a tall and majestic banana tree, only to realise we are back at the beginning - and scratching our heads, slightly puzzled.
But being able to get lost among the plants and the terracotta is just one of the quirky things about the place that makes it so special, and gives it such a cosy feeling.
And this trip we have the additional adventure of climbing through a low window to sit on our balcony in the warm evening breeze - there is no door. Life is an adventure...
Ok, maybe I didn't smile so much when I discovered a pair of dirty socks left by a previous occupant of our room, and half-hidden among the newspapers under the table, but this is the sort of place where you can forgive almost any minor sin.
The staff are friendly and ever-helpful, and the restaurant a good standard, with a wide range of dishes. It can be hard to leave.
And so to bed - it's been a knackering day, and I had only slept a few hours the night before as we had to get up for the flight at 10 am. Cheek.
Click here for my Flickr photos of Andalusia
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