TORREMOLINOS

I’m at Mulligan’s bistro in the centro of Torremolinos. Al fresco, of course, although I should probably use the Spanish equivalent. A fresca? I can’t look it up; phone’s on airplane mode.

Torremolinos reminds me of Butlins. I don’t know exactly why - maybe it’s the holiday vibe, maybe it’s the shorts and tattoos and unmistakable Britishness of the people sauntering about. There are cigarette-gravelled voices, leathered faces, flip flops and bare toed sliders. There are shorts and sunglasses, shoulder satchels and strappy tops everywhere. It’s 10am.

Tall trees and palm trees spike over the pedestrianised walkways and markets, and perhaps most Butlinsy of all, everywhere is shops and cafes. And I mean everywhere. Torremolinos seems to be a jumbled market of panedarias, bars and tiendas. People here must really like shopping and eating.

In the cool of the early morning (I say cool but it was 23 degrees) I walked down to see the sea. The great silver Mediterranean, sparkling beneath the low, burning sun. The sun loungers were empty of course, so I perched on the end of one at the front row and watched the waves roll in.

“England,” I said to myself, “has all of this.” - I think it’s true, with the exception of the weather. We have ocean and sand, we have seaside and shops and more - we have grass and clifftops and herring gulls and kittiwakes, fossils and rock pools and ice creams and deckchairs. We have fun.

I started to wonder what Torremolinos might be like in the rain, or during the cool winter. Without the sun, I reckon a seaside town in the UK would knock the spots off a place like this. But… I am biased. And clearly not a sun-seeker. And I grew up loving the British seaside holiday and all the rail-museum-raincoat-sandwiches-in-the-car fun that always went along with it.

But of course, what I’m really admitting is that on that beach, here at Mulligan’s, wandering through the deserted markets of closed shutters and weird mannequins, I have been alone. And the real value of a holiday is who you go with.

The work event starts tomorrow. Until then I’m a lone traveller, not quite at work, not really on holidays. A pair of young girls go giggling by. A family of four, some lads with more swagger than t-shirts, an older couple in sun hats and floral shorts - they all know instinctively how memories are made.

A long time ago, I suddenly remember, I sat on a bench in Jaffa, while Paul went to find oranges. I felt quite alone then too, under the heat of the Israel sun. Bless him.