In Torremolinos there are half a dozen beaches and stops, but its a drab, soulless landscape of kitchenette apartments and half-finished developments.
The local council have been trying to give the resort a facelift, the main feature of which has been the construction of a new seafront promenade and the renovation of the old town, the narrow alleyways of which are not without charm.
Is definitely different, this place lined with sweeping beaches and infinite shooping arcades, crammed with Irish pubs and real-estate agents, has a large permanent expatriate population of British, Germans and Scandinavians.
Its a weird mix, which, in additions to thousands of retire people, has attracted – due to a previous lack of extradition arrangements between Britain and Spain – an extraordinary concentration of British crooks and more recently Russian mafia bosses.
Torremolinos’s social scene is strange, too, including, among the middle-of-the-road family discos a thriving pram-pushing, gay transvertite scene.
