Bright and sunny morning and the sun is warm as we go to meet the bus at the campsite gate. The first bus arrives just as we get out, but no ramp. 20 minutes later the next bus arrives, no ramp. So Ali goes to reception and asks them to ring us a taxi. 10 minutes later it arrives complete with ramp and wheelchair space. We point on our map and ask to be dropped outside the maritime station but the driver misunderstands and takes us right into the port. We ask instead for centro, so he drives us around to the centre of town. Even with the detour the fare is only €14, and the driver, Fellipe, gives us his card and number to call him later to go back.

We are in the main boulevard [or calle in Spanish]. Hi-vis vest workers are using scrapers to remove gum from the marble pavements. The trees are all neatly trimmed with cylindrical heads which are hollow in their centres. We sit in the sun for coffee then make our way up to the covered market hall. The lower level is all fish, and the variety is amazing. From cockles and whelks to whole swordfish, if it's found in the sea there is one here somewhere.

Upstairs is meat and fruit and vegetables. The market has been refurbished since we came 10 years ago, and now all the stalls have uniform black and white signboards instead of the bright, hand painted ones we remembered. We buy some vegetables and strawberries and some chicken breasts to see us through the next few days.

We stop for a snack in a tapas bar, four drinks and four plates of tapas is only €13.50.

A short walk through small streets lined with Arabic and Moorish shops. Spices and tobacco smells fill the air from the narrow, partly opened doors. These streets lead us to the Alcazbar or Fortress. Its tall, pinkish stone walls grow out of the rocky promontory enclosing a vast area. Cactus and Aloe plants grow from fissures in the limestone.

Back in town we wander around the cathedral square and out to the Rambla which is a massive elongated paved avenue which bisects the city. There are fountains at intervals but none are spurting today.

We use the phrase books over a cup of coffee to work out the phone call for our taxi. Ali speaks to Fellipe and we all hope he understood as Ali has no idea what his reply was. But within 15 or 20 minutes he arrives, loads us into his cab and returns us to the campsite. The apocryphal worries about foreign cabbies didn't cross our minds with one as helpful and friendly as Fellipe was.

We spend an hour down on the site's own little beach then return to the van before getting ready to go up to the bar to try their set menu dinner at €7.50 each. How can everything be this cheap?