The first three days of our trip to Spain was spent in an idyllic little village called Nerja. Nerja sits on the southern Mediterranean coast approximately 50km east of Málaga, the largish city we flew into. In the words of Layla's mom, "Málaga is crap, go to Nerja." Layla's mom dispensed an awful lot of high-density truth before we left for Spain, and this comment was certainly that. Málaga is indeed crap, and we did indeed go to Nerja.
Nerja is a European tourist town of the typical sense—most the economy is centered around a primarily foot-trafficked downtown, and the bourgeois live in relative squalor safely out of sight of the cash-laden tourismos. Actually, the apartment buildings we found on the outskirts of the town certainly weren't unlivable, but were a dramatic step down from the quaint second-story apartments placed above storefronts all around downtown.
The Wikipedia article claims that Nerja has 20,000 inhabitants and swells to nearly twice this size in the summer—Wikipedia is likely full of crap, in this case. I suspect that the number of people living in the town proper is probably closer to 5,000 or maybe 10,000.
A great number of the tourists in Nerja are British. We ran into a bunch while we were there, and rest assured that they spent most of their time saying ridiculously British things.
Our hotel in Nerja had the best view out of the three we had during the entire trip.
Oh yes, that's quite nice.
Without a doubt, Nerja is a fairly typical relax-and-stay-a-while sort of Eurotouristdestination. The town is really really laid back and nearly everything there seems to cater specifically to, or be in support of things that cater specifically to, tourism.
That being said, it's not overdone. In contrast with places like Club Med or—gasp—a cruise, Nerja has enough indigineous life that it lacks the overly polished and would-you-like-fries-with-that veneer that most tourist destinations have.
Overall, I enjoyed my time there immensely.
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