I awakened to grey skies and the temperature had dropped to 17 degrees this morning. Unusual for this part of Spain although a fount of knowledge enlightened me yesterday with the information that this was the worst winter Spain had experienced since the 1950s.
I’ve just come back from the sea front where it looks like an English resort on a summer’s day. The white foaming waves beat their rhythmic drumming on the sea shore. The walkers along the flat sea front are gamely braving the strong wind which brings a chill to the now 16 degree temperature at 8 pm. They are wrapped up in anoraks and scarves, some with hats on their heads.
You can usually tell the newly arrived Brits from the Spaniards. To the Spaniards this is the depth of winter and they wear padded coats and scarves, whilst the Brits sport shorts above pale white legs and sleeveless t-shirts, sometimes vests, but I have yet to see a string one.
It’s amazing the change in the weather because bright blue skies framed a balmy hot yesterday and we all thought this was the change in the Spanish weather. At this time yesterday I was sitting outside in the square enjoying a cup of tea with a couple of friends In fact I spent about four hours in the square yesterday chatting with various people enjoying the sunshine.
I’ve just eaten a delicious grilled chicken and vegetable meal in Sol y Mar. I’ve eaten there before, a delightful concoction of tantalising tastes encased in a vol a vent. The pastry is as light as air and heart shaped slices of apple and strawberry finish off this tapas.
It’s the first time I have eaten since I arrived that I have had to take shelter indoors, well only within a marquee-type canopy, with clear plastic sides.
What also is a shock to the system is the amount of people smoking, lots of young people. And they smoke in restaurants and bars.
Three gorgeous girls were at one table. I would estimate late teens early twenties and the trio were supping what looked like large wine glasses of coke-a-cola but I suspect there was something stronger adding to the watery look of the coke. They each had long hair – so many Spanish girls do – and one was slightly blonder than the other two who had sleek dark tresses. A handsome young man entered the restaurant and joined the trio. He kissed the two dark haired girls on each cheek leaning over the glass-strewn table to reach the second girl, but only kissed the third blonde girl, once on the cheek – why was that?
There was a football match underway on the large flat screen tv behind the front bar. Two young Spanish lads in front of me were drinking several beers, smoking enthusiastically and one comfortably facing the screen, the other twisting around in his chair to keep up with the game.
A group on the other side were noisily enjoying each other’s company and I would have loved to understand what they were saying. I suspect they had been fuelling their enjoyment with liquid over a number of hours. The craic sounded mighty.
I couldn’t finish my skewered chicken breast as there was just far too much for me -delicious though it was. It was interspersed with skewered vegetables, mainly tomatoes, peppers, onions and courgette. The restaurant brought me out a complementary dish, which had caramel wavy strips piped across the plate, a piped star-shaped cream centre and two tiny squares of creme caramel, the bottom layer soaked in some kind of liqueur.
This is the life.