Nick Foulkes’ guide to ‘magical’ Marbella

I usually describe Marbella as perfect in its imperfections – and it has many. As is often pointed out to me: the Greek islands have brighter, clearer seas; the south of France has ritzier hotels; while the Amalfi coast is unarguably more picturesque. And yet in spite – and perhaps because – of all this, I love the place.

I first visited Marbella one spring during the early 1990s. The dominant memory is of the Bang & Olufsen shop in Puerto Banús. Unlike any retailer of sound systems I had encountered, it had a bar and nightclub. I didn’t buy so much as a CD player that evening, but I consumed a fair amount of Dom Pérignon. Then, refreshed and invigorated, I embarked on a tour of the resort’s varied nightlife.

To this day, I do not own a single B&O device – the shop is long gone – and I have not tasted an alcoholic beverage since 1997. But I have been coming back to Marbella ever since: the city cast a spell on me. It has a magic to it – and like the best magic, I have no idea how it is done.

If I had to spend the rest of my life in one place, it would be here

Marbella emerged as a resort during the early 1950s, when the Marbella Club was opened by Prince Alfonso von Hohenlohe. Soon the place was swarming with the sort of people who were photographed by another frequent visitor, Slim Aarons. Now in its 70th year, the Club is much grander than it was in Alfonso’s day, but retains the décontracté elegance of its youth. If I had to spend the rest of my life in one place, it would be here: the gardens are lush with exotic plants; dinner on The Grill’s terrace is a summer ritual. As is an espeto of charcoal-grilled sardines at MC Beach, known as the chiringuito. (Over the years I have become something of a sardine connoisseur.) 

Radiating off the Orange Square, in Marbella’s old town, is a maze of streets sometimes so narrow you can touch both sides at the same time. At Vintage Déjà Vu, I have bought everything from a floor-length 1980s Brioni shearling to a splendid bookcase that had to be craned into the office of my cottage. Through the proprietors Rich and Amanda, I keep up with new places nearby: the current favourite is family-owned La Tienda Casa Curro restaurant.

Everywhere you turn there seems to be somewhere to eat, from El Ancla, with black rice as superb as its sea views, to Alba by Serafina, a chic pizzeria hidden in the gardens of one of the many gated communities that dot the hills. In what you might politely call the modest suburb of La Campana, El Bigote serves excellent seafood in a tiny tavern-like space crammed with Spaniards. Round the corner is Sidreria Manolo, with bizarre cider-dispensing dolls on the tables and the most sublime-tasting turbot. On a less exalted culinary level, there are churrerías: try Ramón, founded in 1941, or San Ginés.

There are golf courses aplenty along the coast, but I am far too lazy for any of that. About the most sporting I get is an evening game of backgammon with art dealer Fabien Fryns in one of the courtyards of his summer home, a rambling Moroccan-style hideaway. Backgammon is accompanied by a cigar: I once found three and a half boxes of Hoyo Epicure Reserva at Venta Los Pacos, an otherwise unassuming newsagent and cafeteria on the main road between Marbella and Puerto Banús.

Most summers I get around to visiting Málaga, an hour’s drive up the coast, to see what is on at the museums: Pompidou or Picasso. I also make the odd expedition to Ronda, a mountaintop city, to visit Hubertus von Hohenlohe, the Olympic skier, popstar, photographer and son of Prince Alfonso. I try to catch at least one sunset at the mountain home of Sandro Gamazo Hohenlohe, a local landowner who made the area’s first organic olive oil, Belvís de las Navas (you can buy it at the Marbella Club).

But the truth is that I quite enjoy being in one place for an extended number of days, weeks even. If I cannot get somewhere in my Mini Moke, I probably won’t go. Concerning the Moke, there is one other ritual that I observe when in Marbella: a visit to Chay Spelman of Mini World, a garage and repair shop down the coast in Estepona. Chay is a wiry, multilingual expat of whom I see more than I would like. Rather naively I imagine I will get through the summer without engine trouble; every year my optimism is misplaced. But who knows, maybe this summer the Moke will run flawlessly. After all, in Marbella, anything – including a hi-fi shop with a nightclub – is conceivable. 

Marbella Sol by Nick Foulkes is published by Assouline at €105