The sky above was pastel blue slashed by smoldering shafts of light. The mountains of Sierra Almijara lie ahead and so was the horizon. Far off the grasslands tipped into the empty reaches of the sky. On looking through the lens, the sky that looked crimson red appeared close. The salty wind blew free almost entangling my hair. I was on the road exploring south of Spain beyond the advice of a guidebook. Brick red with road dust we drove into a sleepy coastal town of Nerja. A half Irish, half British and all bohemian in his floppy hat greeted us with a warm welcome at our hotel. Nodding and beaming with bright smiles, women & gentlemen around the café were sipping their 5 pm tea alongside scones, shortbread cookies, and lemon cakes. None of the tables eyed on, had tortilla de patatas ( Spanish omelette) or bocadillos ( Spanish sandwiches). Rare sights in my day. But they felt themselves. After fueling up with the cornish cream tea, I retired to my room for a quick freshen up. Beginning to feel a little frazzled look down from the balcony. Below was a collection of craggy rocks rising out of the water. If you thought the sun loungers may be sitting on the remotest beachside of Costa De Sol, the answer is no but the place had the best scenery to gaze at even at the comfort of a beach towel. Probably this is what a Seaview room technically means to which an Indian like me had the least idea. After spending hours laying out & hearing the Sea so close from the sun deck, the tradition of walking the famous Balcón de Europa, a palm-lined promontory built on the foundations of an old fort couldn’t go amiss. The square offers panoramic views of the cobalt-blue sea flanked by honey-colored coves below. History has it that Northern Spaniards from Asturias, Valencia, and Galicia came to populate the town of Nerja. The threat of the Islamic forces lurked the town and canons were placed in the Torre de Los Guardas – now the Balcon de Europa. 1812 Nerja saw tougher times. It was the outbreak of the Spanish civil war. The time when the British gunships supported the Spanish guerrillas on the coast of Granada, against the raging forces of Napoleon. But it's only after a disastrous earthquake, when the English King Alfonso 12th visited the town and stood at the balustrade in 1885, Nerja's most famous viewing point was coined as the Balcon De Europa. In the world of looming skyscrapers, Nerja had brushed off developers to put high rises only to retain a low rise village-like charm. The cannons today have become a selfie point though still giving off the watchfulness of its past. The sun was setting, but the inescapable Spanish heat welded into the holiday vibe of Nerja. There were many narrow, cobblestone streets lined with shops and tapas bars around the Balcón de Europa. It is only when you take some time to wander in the back-streets you’ll know there are eateries serving authentic English Pub Lunch and packed up sports bars showing English premier leagues. And definitely the charming square of Nerja featuring the iconic large round balcony on a cliff now echoes with "hellos" instead of "holas". After a short stroll, my back was sheeted with sweat and had to sit under a shady orange tree. As I slipped my backpack beside me, I heard a sound of music from the nearby bench, next to the shade of another tree in the square. The tune didn’t sound Spanish but a romantic kind. Smiles reappeared in the summer heat, tourists had halted their stroll, restaurant staff stood listening at the doorways and locals hung from balconies overhead. Euros were handed down to the artist’s hat, who bowed down with a heavily accented thanks. Couples hand in hand and those other Beatles fans across ages & culture came up requesting a replay. My husband joined them humming “The long and winding road. That leads to your door. Will never disappear. I've seen that road before. It always leads me here Lead me to your door ....” What impact can music do on minds I saw very close that day. My workaholic husband gave me a man-of-your-dreams wink that would have made me swoon had I been in my teens. It was a significant moment, it seemed that I had come to Nerja at the right time, to lend my ears to the Beatles being played on a harp. It's not hard to imagine a community or a country implant their footprint on a foreign place that continues to echo each time you visit. But for some, their footprints can be overtly rewarding. As the moon showed, I heard another sound. It's a sound you know all too well: that gurgling, grumbling growl deep in the pit of your belly telling you it's time for dinner.