A Snapshot of Spain

Parasols. As far as the eye can see. You can’t even see the the sand, not from a distance. At least you know the sea is there. It’s a little overwhelming as you pick your way through the people, the ubiquitous blue cold-boxes, the megastructures erected, tent ropes, towels, loungers, all for a family day at the beach. On finding a patch you can claim, calculations are made as to which direction the sun will move and how high the tide may rise, in order to appropriately set up camp. Having done so, it’s time for the first bathe of the day. Of course, it’s best to get there early, in order to avoid this odyssey. A swim in the quiet of the early morning, the peace before the hordes descend, or in the late evening, when families have decamped to go for dinner. The soft lapping of the waves, the silky sea all to yourself for a short time.

Despite the occasional stress, it’s a marvellous place to people watch. The babies experiencing the first touch of the sea, lathered in suncream, some delighted, others scrambling up their parent’s chest to escape the water. The kids running past and spraying sand in your face as they go. Always a joy. The teens playing volleyball, often with little idea, but having fun nonetheless and perhaps taking the opportunity to flirt with each other. The young adults, mobiles in hands, rearranging their swimsuits to avoid tan lines. The parents with children, often fractious, making an effort to have fun, because that’s why they’re here, though sometimes it seems a fruitless task. The older couples, reading a book or dozing. Where have they all come from? Are they local? Are they on holiday? What are their lives like away from this microcosm?

And then you look to the sea, that’s if there isn’t a parasol blocking your view. Dogs in lifejackets sitting on paddleboards with their human taking them out for a ride. Dogs trying to keep cool. Dogs frolicking at the water’s edge. Dogs shaking themselves dry right next to you, splattering you with saltwater and sand. Snorkellers emerging from the water like aliens. A group of friends bobbing about and chatting, only in the water to cool down, not to swim.

A quick dip before a mid morning snack. You run awkwardly to the shore as the sand is too hot to walk on for your delicate normally shod feet. Relief as you enter the water, as if you had been walking on hot coals. You realise that an elderly man taking a stroll along the shore walks faster than you swim. You note that you’re sinking while trying to tread water as you watch him. Or maybe that’s just me.

Then it’s off to the chiringuito for an aperitif; a tapa and a drink. Nowadays these places are set up like restaurants, but used to be just a shack at the top of the beach. At lunchtime, some families have brought picnics, others go to the chiringuito for lunch. After eating, some retire for a siesta in the cool. Others brave it out as decamping is just too much effort. And so the afternoon becomes early evening and groups start thinking about departing as the sun begins to set. Plans are made for the evening and the following day, and little by little, the beach empties. As the adults start to gather their effects, the children run to the water for one final swim.

We all have our routines, our little rituals in daily life and at the beach it’s no different. Maybe we feel adrift without them. But those fleeting moments of freedom from the routine are precious. And it can be so hard to let yourself relax, switch off. So watching the breakers in the evening, the water clear and soothing, almost alone, is a perfect moment to do so. Not thinking about tomorrow, not making plans. Just being.

Until the odyssey recommences the following day. But, then again, what would a holiday be without a bit of self-inflicted stress?

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Episode 34: Interview in Spanish: Weather and Comedy