Giles Brown
Well, summer has finally arrived. By the time you have this article in your hot little hands – quite literally – it’ll be the beginning of August.
Summer in southern Spain presents some interesting challenges, to put it mildly.
The sudden influx of tourists, ranging from the Madrileños looking down their noses at you, or beered up Brits, heading boisterously to the nearest beach party at midday, only to return a few hours later, hopelessly ‘over refreshed’, plus the even longer queues at the bar/restaurant/check out mean you have to keep your wits about you at all times if you want to survive summer.
I was toying with the idea of hunkering down in the Casita for the entire month, only peeking out when September ends, or taking the sound advice of either staying by the fridge or the pool – or, even better, move the fridge next to the pool. I do, however, have to earn what is laughingly referred to as my living, so in order to get through the next couple of weeks, I have decided to go full native.
To be honest I was already halfway there. One of the benefits of having a car with no air con – and both are in the garage as I write this – an all time record – is that you find that you have a magnificently tanned left forearm from driving with the window open. The rest of your body may have the same pallor as the undead, but from fingertip to T-shirt sleeve, you look bronzed and healthy…
Another trick is starting early. It’s pretty common knowledge that I now get up when I used to get in, but in summer you can avoid the madding and maddening crowds if you are up at the crack of cicada fart.
The only thing to beware of is Spanish kids leaving the nightclubs at 7am, but you should be able to hear them coming as they normally have the dreaded Reggaeton music blasting from their cars.
All this early activity should have you indulging in that most Andaluz of activities, a long lunch of seafood or grilled sardines, some sangria and then slipping away for a surreptitious siesta.
Or you can follow the example of several of my Spanish friends in the know, load up the kids in the car and go west.
A few weeks chillaxing in Conil, kicking back in Zahara or going deep undercover on the Algarve are perfect ways of escaping the summer madness.
In the meantime I intend to clear a laptop sized space on the nearest sun lounger, pour myself something long and cool and let this summer wash over me. Resistance is indeed futile…
