When the weather is fine

Summer began at six minutes to six last Friday. Just a few minutes later we arrived in Santa Pola on the Mediterranean coast. It was pure chance, we'd been nearby doing some shopping and we thought why not?

We didn't do much. We parked next to the beach, walked around the corner to an area that has been developed with bars, cafés and restaurants alongside the marina and had a drink. The sun was shining with that early evening hazy shine. Some people were wading in the water, others were swimming. The sea was sparkly. The expensive and not so expensive boats in the marina bobbed up and down and made those tinkling, ringing sounds that moored boats do. The bar was comfortable, modern looking with light filtering through blinds and awnings. It was a bit pricey with slim young servers and ice cold (alcohol free) beer. Say what you will about far off exotic lands but the Med takes some beating when it's on form. It was one of those moments.

A couple of days earlier I'd already been to the coast, showing a pal around my old stomping ground of Cartagena and, this weekend, we went to see friends near Altea. In fact, one way and another we've spent the whole weekend close to the beach. On the train back from Alicante to el Campello the night-time beach glittered with the life of small campfires raised by friendship groups to celebrate the summer festival of San Juan.

I've written before about the magic of the Mediterranean summer in Spain. It really is something. It's not just the sun, it's not just the brilliant blue skies and the pure white light. It's not the heat or even the ice cold beer but summer here is something really special. It has sounds, it has smells, it has a temperature and a way that the atmosphere behaves, how the air shimmers. It even has a dress code.

Summer engenders a behaviour, it fills the telly with adverts of people eating and drinking together but the truth is that you only need to pop to the coast to find that's a reality and not just some ad agency marketing tool.

Ninety days to the 23rd September when it all ends. Ninety days I hope to enjoy to the full.

Down on the coast

Tell someone that you live in Alicante and most people think coast, they think we live by the side of the sparkling Mediterranean. It may, in reality, be one of the most polluted stretches of water in the world, full of plastic, sewage, lead and agricultural chemicals to rival the dead patch in the Gulf of Mexico, but there's no denying that the Med can look lovely.

Actually we live inland, about 60 km from the coast. We also live up a hill so we are at about 600 metres which means, other climatic factors being equal, we are 5.8ºC cooler than at sea level. That difference is notable at this time of year. Very noticeable. As I type, Bohème like, my little hands are frozen.

So, one of the conversations between immigrant Britons is based on the major division between those who live on the coast and those who live inland. There are all sorts of perceptions about the Spanishness, or not, of the two locations. The probable truth is that the influence of immigrants is a product of population percentage. The 500 Britons in Pinoso make up 6 or 7% of the population so we make a significant difference to how the town looks and feels. In Abarán the 14 Britons pass unnoticed. I have no idea how many Britons live in Alicante City but even if it were a couple of thousand they would be under half a percent of the population lost amongst the tourists. There are other towns where the influence of Germans, Moroccans, Norwegians or whatever is pronounced. There are also perceptions of that influence which may or may not be true. When I think of Torrevieja, for instance, I think of Iceland and other English speaking shops but I remember that, for Spaniards in Santa Pola one of their initial comments in any conversation about the town would be the presence of the Russian Mafia.

Several people we know have chosen to move from Pinoso to the coast. Reasons vary from looking for more variety of food and entertainment to the weather and the ease of being able to do so many more things in English. A couple of pals moved from Pinoso to a spot between Torrevieja and San Miguel de Salinas a couple of months ago and we popped down to see them. They chose to downsize altogether and they moved onto a campsite but bought a sort of small wooden chalet. I have to say that I thought the site was remarkable. There is a huge variety of caravans, park homes and  motorhomes on numbered pitches and most of them have a variety of more or less permanent structures, awnings, sheds and adapted carports, to increase the living space. There is artificial grass and there are mountains of pot plants, sculptures and ornaments of every shape and size from wind chimes and mobiles to gnomes and fountains. The space was very organised and nicely landscaped with lots of greenery, with numbered pitches along streets, shower and toilet blocks on each street and a big communal pool. I'm told there is a restaurant and bar too. All of it with security and various systems for Wi-Fi, televisión etc. I saw vehicles with Belgian, British, Bulgarian, Danish, Dutch, French, German and Spanish plates and I wasn't really looking. The nodding and "good afternoon" language was definitely English and the sun was shining.

I looked at the for sale sign on one of the plots - 8,950€ I think. Hmm? Warm and only 10 minutes to the beach.

There are snaps at the tail end of this December 2018 album

Surf 'n' turf

We went to see some friends on the coast the other day. Alicante province is loaded with Britons. It's where most of we British immigrants live. Here, on the Costa Blanca, down in Malaga, on the islands of course - Balearics and Canaries. Notice the trend? Coast and Mediterranean. There are plenty of us in Murcia and on the Costa Brava too but less so. We're everywhere of course. You'll bump into Britons absolutely everywhere. In the museums in Extremadura, in the countryside of Huesca, in the most obscure corner of Salamanca, we'll be there. We're an adventurous bunch.

The coast is maybe 60km away from Culebrón, just an hour, but it's not the same as where we live. It's odd though, there are stacks and stacks of us in Pinoso. I've no idea why. I mean, in our case it was pure chance. We set out from Santa Pola, on the coast, looking for somewhere we could afford. By Pinoso we could just about do it. I think that lots of people like Pinoso because it's nice. It has lots of bars and restaurants, the countryside is nice too and there's always something going on. I think that people also think, we did, that we were in Spain. Not in the sort of place that people go on holiday but the sort of place that people live.

I like Benidorm. It's brash and full of chips and burgers and biker bars. It's an extreme example. I wouldn't like to live there but it's nice to visit. It's also very, very Spanish. Lots and lots of Spaniards choose to holiday or live there. It's as Spanish as some village in Guadalajara where you might still see the occasional donkey or where people drink from wine skins because they want a drink and don't expect someone to take their snap. It's not the same Spain but it's just as Spanish. In just the same way that the traffic free roads around Pinoso, the rice with rabbit and snails and the local dance group with swirling skirts would be well out of place in the middle of cosmopolitan Madrid.

So, as I said, we went to the coast. It's a lot warmer on the coast. As we drop the 600 metres from our house down to the sea the temperature slowly increases; sometimes by as much as 7ºC. The traffic increases too and the number of people and the number of houses. Basically then the coast has better weather and more people. There's more of everything. If we're lusting for an Indian at home the nearest one is about 30km away. The nearest place to get a battery for my watch is 40km away. Get the idea. Now, when we were with our friends on the coast, there was an Indian in the town. No batteries for a Tag though. It's probably true to say that the coast is a little less Spanish than our rural spot in one way. Where there are lots of tourists Spain bows to the foreign presence be that in Santillana del Mar, Barcelona or Altea. So restaurants open for dinner as well as lunch, the restaurants adjust their times too and, of course, there's even more English.

It's great to visit but it's not that easy to get gachasmigas or even faseguras.

Realising you need new windscreen wipers

When Spanish people here in Spain talk to me about the winter weather in England they usually talk about the cold. Obviously it's colder in the UK, in general, than it is in our bit of Spain. I explain that whilst it may be colder outside it's usually much warmer inside. I go on to say that the most depressing thing about the UK in winter is not the cold but the light, or the lack of it, that sort of grey miserableness and the all pervading dampness

Well, for the past, maybe, three weeks, it has been wet and miserable here. It's not quite the same. It's not been cold and we haven't had any of those English type days where a grey dawn turns into a grey morning and then it's night again. Light by 7.30am and not dark till around 6pm. But we haven't had our normal sunny and blue days either.

Our floors have muddy trails across them. Both our front and back doors lead directly to the outside world. The doormats are sodden and dirty footprints (and paw prints) mix with the loosened wet coconut matting fibres just inside the doorsteps. The paw prints are in other places too.

I've had untumbledryerable washing hanging on the line for days - nearly dry before another shower or another downpour lengthens the arms of the pullovers once again. And I'm dead against clothes horses in front of the fire. It looks fine on the B&W version of The Thirty Nine Steps and it serves a purpose in Love Actually but I don't want it in my house. It reminds me of miserable winters and miserable times in England long long ago.

I tried to weed and clear the garden but got as bogged down as the troops at Passchendaele. The carpets of my car are littered with gravel and caked in dried mud. All in all, not nice.

Maggie came in to Alicante airport this morning after a few days of gladdening the hearts of retailers in Liverpool. It was misty and windscreen wiper weather as I left Culebrón but it brightened up as I neared the airport. Re-united we spent a couple of hours wandering along the coast. The sun was shining, my coat remained in the car. There were two people swimming in the sea at Santa Pola.

Perhaps we should move.

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.