There were people on our beach today.

The weekend is so different here. We get a Telegraph, for one thing, this weekend postcards too, although unanimous agreement about whom to match the postcards with was not forthcoming but I'm told I was wrong so that was sorted pretty quickly. And correctly, of course.

We found a freezer in the pescado area of the supermercado displaying coconuts filled with coconut ice cream. For €2 it was a no brainer so lunch was sorted. Our usual paddle from one end of the beach to the other and back was the final duty of the morning and a wonderful one it is.

Usually it's only us, maybe one or two in the distance but today there were people absolutely cluttering up our beach. There must have been at least two dozen and maybe more over the kilometre or so.

Most days there's just no one around apart from a very, very few, like us, who aimlessly bimble about guessing the nationalities of those we pass. We always just say "hola" and sometimes a "buenos dias" but never a "hello." Often we'll get a "bonjour" or a "guten tag" and sometimes we'll be offered a "hello" or even a "good morning" to which we reply in our very best Spanish.

The local are easily recognised from their attire usually consisting of overcoats, scarves, hats, gloves and all the paraphernalia that I'd wear if it were cold, like single figures of centigrade.

Here, it's not been in single figures since we arrived and on all but one day it's been low 20s by lunchtime and high 20s for the first week, then low-mid teens later on. In fact I've been swimming most days and each day bar one, I think, we've paddled from one end of the beach to the other and back again in time for a bocadillo, alliolli, fruit for one and beer because it's so cheap.

But it's the weekend and Saturday the fleet stays alongside. By 0930 from the entrance to the harbour to a mark placed just off from our balcony the spangly sea does its' best to disguise the flashing blades from a tribe of canoeists and kayakers, each group of ten, twenty or so have their safety rib shepherding them. Once they start their racing around the yellow marks the dinghy sailors make themselves known further offshore than the kayaks and after them come the rowers then the day sailors and finally the angling boats steam along the coast heading south and not returning till dusk. By 1330 all the others have returned to the Club Nautico, hosed down and stowed away.

Oh, and lest I forget, our surfer (see last Sunday's post) put in an appearance and again sat on their board a few metre off the beach looking seawards intently no doubt hoping that when the wave arrived they'd be ready. At the far extremity of our jaunt they were still there. As we approached on the return leg they were forlornly making their way over the beach to the promenade. I'm not sure why the wetsuit was needed, either, but I'm sure that one day they'll be rewarded. Maybe not here, but you never know.










Late morning and the promenade sees skaters, parents and prams, kids on bikes, grandparents rendering first aid, footballers, runners, screamers, shouters and all manner of life. Not in huge numbers by any means but a steady trickle along and back past our balcony and then between 1330 and 1400 they all go. The place is deserted until dusk when everyone appears to do a re-run of what they did earlier.

But today, as the photographic evidence proves there were hordes on our beach. They got in the way of our usual track and we were forced to detour by as much as a metre or even two at times. I know the thin end of a wedge when I see one and before long we'll have the beach smitten with paddlers, aimless wanderers, purposeful meanderers and even the idly inert standing and staring at distant horizons.

It'll all happen again tomorrow but then normality will return on the day after.

Except that it may not. The Spanish weather lady, Monica, said that domingo would be a "catastrop" as there was rain forecast. Only 14C rising to 18 but rain. Rain? Not all day, I'm not sure exactly which part of the day but the prospect of rain was enough to cause her to adopt a rather anxious expression and adopt funereal tones in her speech. Only the mid to high teens of C? I look forward to seeing how we all cope.

I have the raincoat I travelled out in somewhere so I'm hoping to survive.