Yet another stunning morning in Estepona. I could really get used to waking up at 10:00am to a sunny sky and birds singing. I throw on a T-shirt and shorts, make coffee in the French press and sit on the patio with my book.

If I can figure out how to access the photos on my tablet to attach one, I'll show you my view.

Two days ago we drove the twisty road from the coast up into the mountains of Ronda for lunch. At €65 for the two of us it might have been one of the most expensive bare bones lunches I've ever had.  It started with bread and butter, which I know from traveling in Greece and Italy is an extra cost unless you refuse it. We hadn't encountered that yet in Spain so that was a €4 slip. I ordered a simple ensalada mixta at €6 but was told by the waiter that the house specialty salad offered much more and we could share it. Thinking it was like the little greens salad I wanted but with some veg thrown in I agreed to the upgrade. The new salad had no greens at all. Instead it was made up of grilled red peppers, chunks of tuna and anchovy slivers. It was indeed large enough to share, but since Andrew doesn't like fish it was all on me to eat it. He ate a couple of the peppers and declared them too fishy so left the rest. That was some €15 fishy salad.

Our mains arrived. Mine was an American sized plate of artichokes with the odd bit of cured ham thrown in to shake things up, and smothered in a ceamy sauce, too rich to finish. Andrew's steak and fries was also American sized but at least tasty. All that was washed down with a couple of cold beers. Being on a sun-filled patio in one of the most historic cities in Spain, in a plaza where Ernest Hemingway likely walked a hundred times, on a Monday is pretty satisfying. But when the bill came we were shocked at how quickly our simple meal added up, exceeding anything we had paid for at a dinner out and even the grocery bill. After that everything we priced became a reflection of the expensive lunch. As in, 'that boat is for sale at just 100 lunches.', 'those groceries were half a lunch.' And so on.

We soon learned that the portions for all meals are huge and have yet to run into the tapas sized plates we've been expecting. Maybe it's the heavy British influence in this area, I dunno. At home we often share one main when we eat out and I think we'll be doing more of that here.

In my last blog post I said I'd talk about ways the Spanish conserve electricity. Similar to what we've seen in Canada there is a big movement to compact fluorescent lights. The overhead lights in our Spain apartment cast a bleak unpleasant glow that is pretty much the exact wrong light to apply make up under. Reminds me of the lights department stores use in their change rooms. Horrible for trying on bathing suits. Perfect for locating cellulite.

Outside our apartment door we have glowing light switches that we press to light our way along the stairs at night. Someone has timed it perfectly, estimating exactly how much time it takes to get from the top (where our apartment is) to the bottom. Stopping to talk to a neighbour or pet Hulk, our downstairs neighbour's English bulldog, guarantees the lights will go out before reaching our destination.

However, I appreciate the efforts to conserve. The underground parking garage should have a motion detector but doesn't. Instead, in the middle of the day it is pitch black and soothingly cool. We use the car headlights to park in the teeny parking spot then have to run over to press the light switch on the wall to turn on the lights so we can empty the car. We have about 1 minute to get over to the stairs or elevator before the lights turn off. One day, some poor bugger was trying to change his tire in the dark. The Canadian in me immediately wondered how safe that car will be on the road, but then I remembered that this is Spain and they're less uptight about some things here.