You just never know how things will pan out

On April 30th 1987 I was on holiday and in a bar. The bar was called the Bar Lennon just up by la Estación del Norte railway station in Valencia. Spain was still very new to me and, as I drank a beer at the bar my partner of the time and I talked about the odd looking drinks behind the counter. The barman was one of those nosy, talk to you types. "It's pacharán," he said, in nearly English. Zoco pacharán in fact, a sloe-flavoured liqueur though we didn't know that then. The drawing on the label looked like blackcurrants. Jaime, for that was his name, seemed to be keen on talking to us and singing along to the European Anthem. He, and his three pals who were in the bar, invited us to the beach the next day which just happened to be a Bank Holiday. We went to the arranged meeting spot not expecting them to turn up but they did and we went to the beach at el Saler. Not the obvious parts of the beach but to the bit that the locals know and the tourists don't. A beach that involved a trek. I have a diary entry that says there were 18 of us that day, all of us twenty and thirty somethings, and several of our number quickly divested themselves of kit and started doing what Spaniards do on beaches - talking, eating and drinking. It was a good day.

Monday of this week was the last day of Christmas in Spain, a Bank Holiday. The Three Kings had delivered their gifts the night before and people were about to have their last seasonal meal for a while with plenty of that typical cake, the roscón de Reyes. Pepa, who had also been in the bar all those years ago, and Jaime came to see us. It's been a bit intermittent over the years but we've never lost touch. Maggie and I had run out of food - no beer, no bread, so we took them over to Eduardo's Restaurant in Culebrón and he did us proud. Good food which allowed us to do what Spaniards do in restaurants - talk, eat and drink. It was a good day.

Holiday, holiday, holiday time

I was born in Yorkshire. Summer holidays were short as I remember, a week usually, and our standard destinations were close by - Scarborough, Brid, Cleethorpes, maybe over to Morecambe or even Blackpool. Relatively local with the occasional long haul down to Newquay or maybe away from the beach in the Lakes. Apart from the school trip to Switzerland I didn't get to Europe till I was eighteen and, even then, it was only to Paris.

Nowadays my pals back in the UK tell me that they've been to far flung destinations - Bali, New Zealand, Goa, the Maldives, Abu Dabi. To be different you have to give Skyscanner a good workout and head for Kazakhstan or Greenland and even then it's just another destination.

Talking to Spanish students about their holiday plans is a reminder of my Scarborough days. They seem perfectly happy to go to the nearest seaside resort, if it's not too far, or otherwise they head for some rural destination equally close to home. It's a massive generalisation of course but I read something today that backs up my perception.

The Spanish Holiday Habits survey carried out by Madison Market Research for Cerveceros of Spain found that 90% of Spaniards prefer to stay local during the summer holidays. Half of those interviewed, irrespective of their age, said that the beach was favourite though trying new cities and new cuisine was good for about a third of the sample. It's been the same for the past forty years.

The survey did note one change though. The family holiday home is now less popular than staying in a hotel. The other big change is what goes in your luggage. The mobile phone obviously goes but so too do the laptop and the tablet. It's no good simply going on holiday you have to prove it to your pals by posting where you are online. Facebook is the favourite social network followed by WhatsApp and Instagram.

Over four of every ten people said that their favourite holiday drink was beer. First day essentials were going for a beer on a terrace, the space outside the bar, and having a siesta. I suppose that they prove that you are on holiday and not caught up in the usual round of work and domestic tasks. 

Tortilla de patatas

What's tortilla to you? Is it that Mexican pancake or is it a thick and unfolded potato (and onion) omelette?

Tortilla Española or tortilla de patatas is a Spanish classic. Basically you fry some spuds cut into slices and maybe some onions too. With or without onion is a debate - cubed or sliced potatoes too. Whilst the potatoes are softening you beat some eggs into a bowl - usually adding a pinch of salt. Then, when the frying is done, you drain off the oil and add the potatoes (and onions) to the beaten eggs. You return the mix to the frying pan, cook on one side till the "pancake" starts to firm up and then you either flip it over, a la Shrove Tuesday, or you use a plate or lid over the frying pan to help  you get the sticky side back into the pan to fry. When it has set to your preference you slide it out of the pan and set about eating it.

Of course you could set it aside to cool, Tortilla is nice cold too. It goes well in bread rolls. I'm not absolutely sure whether it gets wrapped in silver paper when it's going to be eaten later as part of a mid morning snack, on the beach or even as you sit at your lunchtime desk but if not silver paper then it is cut into wedges and popped into plastic containers, always called tupper here, for the snack to come.

It was one of my little language exercises to get students to tell me the ingredients and method for making a tortilla. Everyone had some subtle variation. The students were convinced that we Brits, out of Spain at least, call the dish Spanish Omelette. I'm not sure, it's a long time since I lived in the UK, but I'm pretty sure that a Spanish Omelette was something from the 1960s or 70s that was a normal omelette loaded with veg - things like peas and peppers.

We're trying to lose weight at the moment and I picked up one of the ready made tortillas in Mercadona to check the calories. I put it back quickly. The surprise though was not the calories. The shock was that there were two new recipes to add to the standard with and without onion varieties. One with peppers and one with chorizo. Had Jamie Oliver had a word with Mercadona about how to "improve" a classic? 

Good Lord I thought. What is the world coming to! Is nothing sacred?

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INGREDIENTS:

4 medium-sized potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced

6 eggs

1 onion, chopped

¼ litre olive oil

salt

RECIPE:

First, heat the oil in a large frying pan and then gently fry the sliced potatoes until almost soft, stirring from time to time so that they don't burn on the bottom of the pan. Add the onion and continue frying until all the pieces are soft. Drain the vegetables in a colander to get rid of the excess oil.

Beat the eggs in a bowl and season with salt and pepper. Add the potatoes, etc. and mix well and check seasoning.

Heat a little oil in a frying pan on a moderate heat. Pour in the potatoes and eggs and shake the frying pan from time to time so that the omelette doesn't stick to the bottom. Once the bottom of the omelette has set, turn the heat down low and cover the pan. After about ten minutes, turn the omelette by placing either a flat plate or saucepan lid on the frying pan and quickly turning over. Gently slide the omelette back into the frying pan and continue frying, once again shaking the pan from time to time so that it doesn't stick to the bottom, until it has set all the way through.

Mediterráneamente

Summer is just about to end. Very properly this year it finishes on a Sunday evening so we can all get back to work on Monday morning. Calendar controlled, on the first of the month. The TV is full of the great return as people finish their holidays. Of course there are lots of people in Spain who don't have a job to go back to and I presume those tour guides, restaurant workers and ice cream vendors who get seasonal work in July and August will be up bright and early on Monday morning to get down to the dole office.

I just saw an advert on the telly for a beer that has been running all summer. It shows lots of people having a really good time. It's sunny, the people are young, happy and tanned. The beach has a starring role and the tag line is Mediterráneamente, a word that is probably about as real as its English equivalent, Mediterraneanly.

The strange thing is that I have to agree. There is something very special about being near the Med in summer. I know I've mentioned it before but indulge me. For instance, the other day we went down to the coast at Altea to go on a tourist boat that follows a working fishing boat going about its business in coastal waters. I worried about which camera lenses to take but not about my clothes. Shorts and T shirt were the order of the day without bothering to check the weather forecast or even look out of the window. On the boat we were offered sunscreen and water. It was around 35ºC and sunny.

Shorts, flip flops, fans, aircon in the car, water, sunscreen, sunglasses and the bar table in the shade are the norm. It's not like that in all of Spain. In the North you're just as likely to need a brolly or a pullover as you are in Ilfracombe but I can't remember the last time it rained here.

Luckily for me I'm not back to work for a couple of weeks yet.

With Nevil Shute and Chris Rea

On the beach that is.

Maggie's Mitsu is nine years old but Miitsubishi Spain phoned us about getting a software update. I suspect that they have come across some sort of fault but when I asked they said it was nothing more than customer support. Anyway we agreed to get it done at a dealer in San Juan which is the next coastal town along from Alicante city.

So we were at the beach. Now I don't care much for the beach. I'm obese so taking off most of my clothes and displaying myself for all and sundry to see in a public place is not something I do willingly. Add to that the fact that beaches are often made of sand. Sand is a powdery substance but the individual grains are usually hard quartz. This sand not only gets into your sandwiches and your hair it sneaks into every nook and crevice of your body no matter how intimate. I was eating sand all the way home. I generally keep out of the water too. I quite like water but as I wear contact lenses I always fear that they will be swept away to sea. Anyway what do you do about the bag with your wallet and mobile phone? Like shrouds there are no pockets in swimwear - well no waterproof ones at least.

Going to the beach though is a Spanish passion. I don't think that Spaniards behave particularly differently on the beach to us or the Germans or anyone else. There are the young ones who turn up with the minimum of equipment - towels, suncream, a book and the mobile phone and the three generational family groups who arrive with a veritable encampment - chairs, sunshades, windbreaks, beach games and an epicurean feast packed into coolboxes. Fat, old men and women queue up early in the morning on the busy beaches waiting for the beach cleaners to finish their work. At the off they head for the waterline and set up chairs and sunshades to bag their spot, which the families will later occupy, before heading back to their summer digs for a leisurely breakfast. Towels and Germans spring to mind.

If we are away from home and we tell Spaniards that we live in Alicante they always presume we live on the coast. They will congratulate us on the quality of the Costa Blanca beaches. Ask my students where they went over the weekend and the answer is to the beach. Question the families of Alicante or Murcia as to whether they have a summer house at the beach and the answer will almost certainly be that someone in their family does. Turn on the TV and go channel hopping and you will find a programme where people are being interviewed about their beach experiences.

The tourist figures are up for Spain. Once again it's tourism that's the motor for the economy. Where are those tourists heading - the landscapes of Galicia and Aragon, the marvellous Andalucian or Salmantino cities? No, they're headed for the beaches of Catalunya, Andalucia and the Islands. The Sunday supplements may be full of the voguish delights of rural tourism but it's on the beaches where it's standing room only.