Palmheads
A brief winter Med Meditation…
…That’s the view we wake up to: palms, sea, sun, sky. The soundtrack?…could be crashing of waves as it was this first day, rumbling all night in the background, or then the more typical rolling, swishing gentler sea against the shale, for the rest of the week. Hypnotic again.
Doesn’t change much. The subtle colour palette morphs of course, but the sun sets behind the palms with pretty much the same, awesome golden performance, around 6pm every evening. We are enraptured spectators most evenings: hypnotised, enthralled, palmheads. With a gin or a beer, for enhanced effect.
Nothing much happens here in November. This, is absolutely fine by us. Livens up a little of a weekend: Malagans maybe, decamping from the city, or Granadans from up the mountain, seeking a little more warmth from the sun. They don’t exactly turn the place into Ibiza but they probably contribute a little extra welcome money to the tills of the restaurants that remain open in Autumn.
The beach population might also increase on weekends, from single to double figures: the regular mahoganied bodies plus a few more families, siphoning every last gentle ray of warm sunlight on offer.
It can rain of course, and the wind can stiffen. It rarely did this week but we still came prepared for all climes. Woollies recommended for early mornings and after sundown. At least we get to strut our full wardrobe.
The morning walk around the horseshoe bay and back is roughly 8,000 steps, unless appended by a few hundred more to the supermercado or the panaderia for bread, or the fish stall. Punctuated by a coffee stop - numerous choices. Jury still out on the best Americano.
Some days we step it up a little, just to take our heartbeats up over an adventurous 90 bpm. We might cycle. Or powerwalk across the shingle. Or dive into the surf, for a few seconds.
That’s about it - the full extent of our exertions. A week of quiet Mediterranean meditation, punctured only by the budget broadcast on the BBC and yet another Newcastle United capitulation around the coast in Marseille.
But you know, we know how lucky we are. We’ve had our fix to last us through December. When we’re back in Blighty freezing our bits off, we can close our eyes and visualise the palmheads, waving to us in the breeze …
…and, we raise a glass to our final view in the evening..
“A la proxima!” Till next time…
