A nostalgic journey back to the 1970s, when the love affair with Nerja, Spain, began. Based on the true story of the Edwards family.
In 1972, smooth-talking London bookie Jimmy Edwards was horrified by the daunting prospect of a tax-grabbing Socialist Government. With a pioneering British spirit, he sold up and voted with his feet. Seduced by the balmy climate and low costs, he crammed the family into the Rolls-Royce and headed for Spain, still under the iron fist of a Fascist regime. Blissfully ignorant of the politics, linguistically inept, and without relevant experience, they purchased a half-finished hostel from a dodgy developer in the quaint fishing village of Nerja on the eastern Costa del Sol.
The bureaucracy was a nightmare, and rip-off builders were laboriously slow. But Jimmy was smart. He appointed a Spanish lawyer in Málaga who spoke English. What could go wrong?
Unsurprisingly, the project was delayed and then delayed.
In 1974, well over a year behind schedule, the Fontainebleau opened and was immediately at loggerheads with oddball ex-pats, eccentric guests, demanding tour operators, and the dreaded Guardia Civil. With family harmony falling apart and bankruptcy looming, their only hope was luck and a gritty determination to succeed.
The Fontainebleau
Where the love affair with Nerja, Spain, began.
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The Fontainebleau in Nerja
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