Here is a little post submitted by Dave Bull about what it is like actually living in Spain. Enjoy
Its Sunday morning and from my balcony I take in the view of Alicante bay while the kettle boils and the toaster begins its (painfully slow) relatively simple job of turning some bread brown in readiness for my very British tradition, on what is a very Spanish morning, of slapping marmite all over it but that can wait as I breathe in the salt-scented air..
Stretching along the coastline I can see the beaches are starting to fill with locals and tourists all planning on enjoying the day before it reaches full temperature in the middle of the afternoon. A speedboat cuts a white scar through the Mediterranean on its way to who knows where and the while white sails of yachts and the seagulls contrast with the beautiful blue backdrop.
San Juan at the other end of the bay juts out into the sea blocking my view of El Campello where the mountains meet the sea as they do all the way up the coast and past Calpe. In the distance I can see the rock of Benidorm stationed like a huge aircraft carrier protecting Spain’s tourism crown jewels while Brits in vets (I don’t need to be able to see them) will have enjoyed yet another evening in the town that never sleeps and all that is uniquely Benidorm.
Further on the mountains again intrude into the sea to form the pretty fishing town of Calpe but the best I can hope for today is to see Calpe’s own battleship of a rock standing proud.
Driving past me the 4x4’s and VW’s of the hang-gliders who will jump off of the top of the cliff at Gran Alacant and eventually make their descent down to the Carabasi beach, landing (conveniently) next to a Chiringuito where cool refreshment is readily supplied.
Not a bad soundtrack to the morning either as my neighbour has just put on some pretty good jazz that compliments the percussion of the crickets below me very nicely and add to that the odd splash in the pool and the rare bark of a dog and we have an orchestra playing the sound of summer.
Soon mums, dads, kids and young lovers will be making the colourful trek across the sands and claiming their pitch for the day – the Spanish within an inch of each other, and us North Europeans wanting at least a football pitch distance to next towel and umbrella combination.
The gypsies below the cliff have already set up ‘camp’ with converted market-stalls used as sunshades and lined up in such numbers you can imagine what the wild west frontier camps probably looked like. And boy do they eat well too, I’ve walked past before and a medieval banquet is made to look like a ‘Happy Meal’ buffet compared to what these families put on the table, and it looks delicious.
Talking of delicious, the smell of frying bacon and warm croissants is now reaching my balcony from somewhere below me, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee is wafting around in the air reminding me that my own, somewhat less Spanish, breakfast awaits – toaster permitting.
Lunch is with some Spanish friends in the campo today where I have no doubt that some poor animal will be served up that I wouldn’t have thought (or heard) of eating before or they’ll dish up that part of the animal that you’d prefer to look at (living) than to share its final moments on the planet on a fork, with a Brussel sprout. So I always take along a jar of marmite just in case – touché! I think is the correct term…?
This article was written by Dave Bull for MASA International who are experts in the sale of property in Spain.
You can follow the adventures of Dave Bull in Spain by following @DavejBull on Twitter
PR: 
LD: 
I: 
Rank: 
C: 
