As I type lazily, the sun climbs over the hills behind our bijou beachfront hotel, slowly turning the sea a deeper range of bluey, turquoisery hues, merging with a cloudless sky, to the hypnotic, rhythmic soundtrack of breaking waves.
Woops, I’ve come over all ‘Hemingway again!
My first Spanish coffee-hit reaches the heart like a defibrillator.
Memos to self -
#1: don’t hit the ‘largo’ button on the coffee machine too many times. They’re small for a reason.
#2: too many unregulated gin shots on first night never advisable either. ‘Kin’ell!
Two lovely girls approach our table from the promenade. Rosie and Caitlin, ready for another full-on, high action day, on the sunbeds. We need a little more time to build up to that.
This is La Herradura, the finest little beach resort/town/undiscovered piece of paradise just along from Malaga. The right way along from Malaga.
Why the right way? I’ll explain later.
The waves beckon… 🏊
How to avoid Malagan malcontent…
So as I was saying, we’re taking this short break from the scorchio English sun…in uber-scorchio Malaga. We did wonder what level of warm welcome awaited us here. Allegedly, like a lot of Spain, Malaga’s been a bit frosty with tourists lately. We’ve never experienced this on our (fairly frequent) trips, so we wondered, was it true?
We do get their dilemma: apparently ‘there’s too many of us tourists….clogging up the ‘Calas and the Costas; we’re messing up the property market for the locals (by buying the properties they still so keen to sell to us); we’re partying a bit too hard (that’ll be those Northerners) and generally ruining what was once a place, where Spaniards loved to holiday too!
I’ve been coming down to the Costa Del Sol since a hedonist dad decided to join the medallion men and invest in Puerto Banus in the heady ‘70s. Great times for us young’uns, when the golf was still affordable for all and beer was 20 pesetas a pint.
Then dad got tired of being burgled and hauled us off to Majorca to invest in yet another new exciting marina development. He sold that when the pesky Spanish Government started to tax him. And the Russians moved in.
In ‘them days, the locals loved us…or at least a little more than they liked the Germans, who were still spreading their metaphorical towels over the best bits of that lovely island. Our hearts still hold fond memories of a lovely Mallorca sadly now also suffering from tourism overload.
“get back to the subject!”….
Just Turn Left..
Sorry…..so, here we are, nearly fifty years on from those days of dodgy moustaches, shoulder pads, big hair, and Brinks Mat refugees in every bar. Surely they remember us fondly?…
Here’s the trick: turn left out of Malaga towards Granada instead of right - because right only leads you to the madness of Marbella, Fuengirola, Torremolinos and all that.
We last visited La Herradura for my birthday in January 2022. Somebody we know had sensibly invested there. Obviously it was quieter back then. Now, as the sun leaves June and turns itself up another notch into July, we’ll probably not return till October.
So, did the locals love us or not? Did we see any signs saying ‘Tourists go home!’?
Nada of the kind.
In these parts, those locals who seek to defend their favourite resorts against the wrong type of Johnny Foreigner have a cunning plan - they just speak Spanish. Seems to work. The relaxed, never-too-busy beach and the bay beyond, echoes only to the sound of happy Spanish families. And a few Brits of course, because they get everywhere. But they know the rules.
Respeto .
Todo el mundo está muy feliz!
…and the locals…they still need our money.
It’ll be the climate that drives people like us away from the Costas, not the locals, bless ‘em.
Watch out Northumberland - they’ll be heading for your beaches soon! Or maybe around 2035?…
