I wonder what springs to mind when the place Marbella is mentioned? Perhaps for Gen Z, the names of Hugh Grant, Simon Cowell or Sir Alan Sugar might come to mind, all of whom have, or once had, holiday homes in the area.
Those older might remember it as the place where the notorious "Great Train Robber" Charlie Wilson lived and finally met his end, being shot there. I think, to be honest, that was MY first thought, perhaps an image that Spain would rather like to shake off.
Having visited St Tropez a year or so ago and greatly enjoyed it, I wanted to visit to see how it compares to the chic French oasis.
My second thought is that Marbella is a town of two distinct halves: the beautifully-kept, florally-abundant old town (below), which is where I chose to stay on this trip and the Golden Mile area stretching to Puerto Bañus where you are more likely to spot celebrities or be spotted by gangland murderers out for revenge depending on your lifestyle choices.
The centre of Marbella old town is undoubtedly the Plaza de Los Naranjos (orange trees), shown here with Christmas installations still in place at the time of my visit.
Leading off this square are numerous narrow streets of shops and houses painted white, many displaying copious amounts of flowers in buckets or hanging baskets.
Marbella is said to have its own micro-climate due to the backdrop of the Sierra Blanca mountains. You turn a corner and wow - what a backdrop they are!
And so on to the Golden Mile and Puerto Bañus.
I am guessing that in the same way that the exclusivity of St Tropez is aided somewhat by limited public transport options, a similar concept applies here; after all, I can't imagine seeing Sir Alan Sugar on a bus, so there's not much point in running that many.
Anyhow, I WAS seen on one of the rare buses with its odd cash-only fare of €1.12 (pocketful of tiny coins, anyone?) making my way to the Embarcadero, an iconic pier belonging to the also-iconic Marbella Club which I strolled through, possibly successfully looking like an icon myself. Let's put it this way: I wasn't told to leave.
From there, I walked all along the Golden Mile to Puerto Bañus, and you will never guess who I spotted on the way.
Absolutely no-one.
I have to say it was a blissful afternoon. On reaching the marina, I didn't hear a single English voice; mostly Russian was being spoken: I can only presume everyone was talking about their impounded yachts but I can't be absolutely sure as there seemed to be plenty of yachts there.
The presence of security deterred me from taking photos around the marina, apart from this one. I didn't feel that any identities would be compromised.
The beach was largely deserted; I know it was January, but it was certainly warm enough to lay on the sand, if not to swim.
I thought the lighthouse was pretty cute, but I couldn't help thinking it was a bit small for such an ostentatious place. Perhaps they got the scale wrong on the drawing or something.
And so, I made my way back to the old town on the poor man's bus, having neither bought a yacht or a Rolex, to plan for the next part of my journey...