If you have read the 2-part epic, Marrakech Holiday Blog written by our beloved Liz, you’ll know that it’s a hard act to follow. This is a rather different post, written by someone who isn’t terrible at holidays (Sorry Liz). It contains no mild peril or fear for life/kidnapping/rabies/snakes…etc etc, and as such there is considerably less dramatic story telling. This is partly because everyone in attendance was a little less worried, but also because we were off to Tossa De Mar, Spain (Sorry Liz…again) and not North Africa (once again, apologies).
For our end of season jolly this year, we thought it would be a great idea if we all got up very, very early the morning (you wouldn’t have liked thiS, Liz) after a wedding like it was our honeymoon. Brilliant idea, and the flights were cheap. We bundled ourselves up in our biggest, bulkiest clothes so we could carry our smallest bags to get on a flight to a rather lovely bit of sea, some winding cobbled streets and a lot of Tapas. Surely worth a 3.30am wake up call.
We stayed in a multi-floored, terracotta tiled, incredibly Spanish house. It had a sunny hot roof terrace for drying swimsuits, a tree covered courtyard partially ensconced by the 14th century wall that circles the Old Town, lots of old paintings (sad looking children, farms, 1980’s caricatures of stern women) and a front door that opened on a pretty street with, unbeknownst to us, a world famous selfie spot RIGHT outside ..more on that later. Another excellent Air B’n’B, well done Hannah.
There was a long touristy bit of beach that we completely ignored in favour of a picture perfect, enclosed Cove, complete with beach shack for cold drinks and Patatas Bravas. We swam to the bouy and back, read our books and then got back in the sea. When the waves got a bit choppy, jelly fish would appear and we all marvelled at the old men in tiny trunks who would grab them by the top to fling out of the way. After that we sent Charlie in first with her snorkel as sea patrol. One of the absolute best bits about this idyllic spot however, was the access. The hole in the wall. There’s an article in The Guardian and everything. We all delighted in the actual queues of people, waiting for their turn to have a photo taken through the hole. Some had special outfits on, one couple had even packed their wedding clothes and paid a photographer. Each of us in turn smugly, but politely, excused ourselves past them to walk down to the beach. ‘Not for us’ we thought.
In the mornings a few of us would step out to forage for breakfast pastries and milk for the tea. The morning sun warm, the pretty streets quiet before the coach loads of tourists disembark for their turn at the hole in the wall. Upon our return we’d all breakfast around the big table under the tree in the courtyard before being drawn back to that lovely glittering sea. Honestly, how was it so sparkly? The sky was blue, the Padron Peppers were plentiful, the drinks were icy cold. We would dry off from our final dip in the sea before a quick peruse of the shell bracelets, gold earrings and shirts on offer in all the shops on our way to find the evening’s Tapas and cocktails. Perfection.
One particular shop did a roaring trade in colourful recycled leather bags with four out of eight Petal & Feaster’s eventually caving and buying at least one. We learned that Sophie can a drink quite a few cocktails and still appear totally normal and fine, unlike the rest of us. And that if you buy enough of them at Don Juan’s, you win some free biscuits and Limoncello. We tried to master the Jayne Sacco trick to make photo’s of your face look better. We wandered the streets in search of crépes. We laughed, we cried, we nearly wet ourselves.
Our last evening foray, we wouldn’t stay up late because we wanted to have a wander in Barcelona before we flew home the next day. How could we mark the end of our gloriously lazy and food filled trip? As we walked about in search a satisfactory dinner choice for the veggie-contingent, (if you don’t eat seafood or cured meat, the menu shrinks rapidly) we saw it. The sun was sinking, the light was golden, it was shining through that hole so invitingly. We embraced the cliché.