I never have been good at packing, i thought as i looked around me at the circle of clothes, bags, bikini’s and bottles that barricaded my exist. For the love of god Kate, its two weeks and your not exactly slumming it, i had muttered to myself as i attempted to tick off all the items i had listed in my filofax as i noticed them in my prison of stuff. Two weeks in Spain is going to be heaven. After everything that’s gone on in the last few weeks i feel as though this break will be well deserved. When we bought our apartment in Mojacar we had been planning on living here eventually, that was until brexit came around and buggered all our plans. So now its a holiday home for us, a safe retreat from Newark where the faces are as grey as the skies.
My packing list has been rapidly growing for the last few weeks, but being me, i left it all until last minute anyway. And no amount of lists, plans and Pinterest boards can prepare you, when your main method for packing is essentially chuck it on my bed and go from there. There are of course, a few things i cant live without. A decent pair of earphones are going to have to be brought at the airport since my favourites crapped out, but there’s no way I’m leaving this house without my go to summer lipstick, excessively large sun hat, and trusted filofax at my side.
The town is beautiful, nobody can possible deny that. Technically its a village, but the amounts of restaurants, bars, clubs and shops far outweighs that of the town i live in. There’s two different parts to it. Along the coast, the Playa spreads out along 17Km of sandy shores, this is where more modern, trendy places can be found, to the northern end of this stretch is the Marina del la Torre where our apartment is. At the top of a ridiculous long and impossibly high hill – which rivals that of steep hill in Lincoln in terms of gradient – is our apartment. Mojacar is essentially on a very large headland, so when combined with the height of hill, and our apartment being not the top floor, we are blessed with panoramic views of the sea. For miles, as far as the eyes can see, there are deep blue waves and endless skies. When the sun sets behind the mountains which back the apartment, the sea and sky seem to merge together in a haze of pearly whites, blues and purples. It’s the more British section, which i thought would put me off as my family and i have always preferred the more traditional towns, but there’s a real community feel to it here, with two shared pools its easy to spot familiar faces of those who live here, there are surprisingly few holiday makers in the town, and those who do venture in for long weekends tend to be Spanish so nowhere has lost its culture.
But the old town has always been my favourite part. There’s a quick shuttle bus every twenty minutes or so which runs along the playa then up into the old village. The Pueblo is almost a completely separate place. In differs greatly from new parts, where one is modern and trendy, the other is old and traditional. The playa lays open, exposed to the coast, but the Pueblo is full of twisted streets, tight corners and spectacular views. That’s one of the things i loved about it. You never know what you’re going to find around the corner, the shops and restaurants spread right out to the perimeters of the town so there is always something to see. As the village caps one of the hills nesteled at the base of the mountain, it can be a precarious walk at best, but every time you come across a gap between the white washed houses, or stand at the top of a steep street, your blessed with views of the valley and coast that stretch out for miles and miles. The valley at this time of the year is essentially a desert, while the mountains trap some of moisture coming in off the sea, its not enough to account for the little rain they have here, in fact it was even used as the filming location for spaghetti westerns back in the late 60’s because of its dry, cactus filled planes. It’s the part of the town where the bar staff and waiters are familair with me and my family. And run up to greet me with my favourite drink in hand. This always makes me blush, it reminds me of the many drunken nights they must have seen, and i dread to think what some of them remember me as. My tolerance for alcohol has always been low at best, let alone in this heat and with Spanish ideas of a measure. Here the perfect ratio for a gin and tonic is 1:1, and wines only come in the size large. I would complain if I didn’t love it so much, Nothing can beat a cold Pinot blanco in the sun after all….