It's an old town, Mojácar, stretching back when the mood takes it to the very earliest times. Juan Grima, a local historian, says it moved about a bit during the millennia, but always on the same fall of mountains, dodging Moorish corsairs, Phoenicians, tourists, Christian conquerors, tax-inspectors and Visigoths - in no particular order. Now the town is white, before it was brown. There's probably a double meaning there if you care to look. But it was always a little aloof, crouched on the final hill or two before the Sierra Cabrera clambers in jagged steps down to the sea below. We don't have much to show for it, there's no museum or particular collection of memorabilia in the Town Hall although they have just placed some old memories and a piece from a flour-mill down behind the 'Fuente' - an area that could do with some more parking, but the years show in the old stone work, the narrow streets, the broken bits of pottery, in the eyes of the old women.
Mojácar, from the prehistoric... all the way to 2015.