Last month I decided to go on a little last-minute adventure to Spain, here’s some of the random crap I did…
Part of the reason I love travelling is that when you go away from a place, it’s never the same as when you return. Because you aren’t the same. A change of scenery, even for a little while, ends up changing you. Not drastically, but enough to make you see things differently. I aways hope going away from home will make me miss it more but it doesn’t. If anything it makes me want to stay away. I never have that creeping thought of “I can’t wait to get home”, it’s always “can’t I stay another week?”. Spain was absolutely no exception, embedded between bad news, ongoing annoyances and drama, a last-minute get away to this beautiful country was exactly what I needed.
I’m usually the girl who is always cold, under 3 layer by the fire is where I’m happy. To switch that for 10 days in the sun, where a bikini is perfectly acceptable shopping attire was certainly different! Of course, I loved every minute. Spending all that time in the sun also meant that I’m now an over-complicated connect the dots. I have freckles everywhere (I sunbathe naked, so when I say ‘everywhere’, I really mean it).
If you follow 
my social media at all (or caught my last blog post) you’ll have grasped that I am consistently terrible at travelling. I am forever catching wrong trains, or missing them completely and have an endless list of embarrassing stories. The Tales of the Travelling Bea are fantastically disastrous. The pattern, I’m pleased to announce, halts when it comes to planes. In the airport, I’m on time. I’m cool, calm and collected. Baggage? Hand luggage for this chick – no heavy suitcase for me. Make up in a clear plastic bag? Already done, mate. Go through the metal detectors? All my jewellery is titanium, pal. I am prepared and ready for take off. Waltzing through the terminal like I do this every day (thank the lord on high for signs every 10 steps).
Arriving in Spain, still sleepy from my 4 hour nap in the sky, I was slapped in the face by the heat. Fluffy socks and vans were a fucking awful idea, I can’t believe I didn’t think that one through. Aside from the threat of death by dehydration, all was going well and then BOOM. ‘EU Citizens – All Other Passport Holders’. What a spit on your neck, kick in the nads moment. Fucking Brexit. I won’t go into that but I can tell you with confidence, I am NOT going to be happy when an additional hour is added onto my queuing time to enter another sodding country. Fucking Brexit.
I then discover my villa isn’t in the city with a view of the beach, it’s in the pissing mountains. With a gorgeous view of the fucking motorway I’d have to travel on to get to the fucking city… But I can’t complain too much because on the other side of the villa was a panoramic view of Benalmádena – perspective!
I was under the impression WiFi would be provided so that I could cam while I was away. Was there WiFi? Was there fuck. There was a box television and a few DVDs. DVD player? Nope. The saving grace of this place was the bookshelves. Cram packed with classics, thrillers.. I’m sure there were other things but that’s what I honed in on. Books upon books upon books! Not enough to rival my ever-growing home library, but still, an impressive collection. I read three books while away, my favourite being ‘And When She Was Good’ by Laura Lippman. It’s about prostitution and simply cracking – Stephen King said it was ‘mesmerizing’, how far wrong can you go with a one word review like that?
I didn’t just read the entire time, oh no, the POOL! The pool. Shared with surrounding lovely Spanish families, I think it’s fair to say between the hours of 1pm-3pm and 11pm-1am, I owned that pool. Now, despite my passionate love affair with any body of water, it may surprise some of you to learn that I am by no means a strong swimmer. Breast stroke is my comfort zone and even though I may look like your nana enjoying her weekly visit to the gym in a desperate attempt to keep her body fit and strong, you can bet your arse I am loving every second of it. Plus the name makes me giggle. Because I’m immature as fuck. I took my breast stroke to the beach with me and dove head first into the sea (not literally, I’m not a complete idiot). Wading past the toddlers and pregnant women, I was determined to get past the super splashy waves and out into open water. All the while Frank Ocean – Swim Good in my head, I knew I had this. With conviction and the grace I can only compare to an adult gazelle, I made it.
I’ve found that the only time in my life I ever experience true calm is when I’m floating in water. This particular occasion was magical. Looking straight up to a cloudless sky, feeling the waves carry my body with them, feeling the flow of the ocean, I felt a true moment of clarity. No worries, no clouded judgement, no thought. Just being there, allowing my body and mind to drift.
After a while of feeling zen as fuck, I swam back enough to feel the sea floor beneath my feet and couldn’t stop smiling. I turned to my left, saw a couple canoodling and decided rather quickly it was time I got my lonely arse back to the burning sand.
I explored quite a few towns in Spain during my visit, my favourite above all others was the teeny town of Mijas. If you have the opportunity to visit – do so. It is here I discovered my new favourite restaurant. The food – incredible. The service – above and beyond. The view – breathtaking. The best tables here have to be reserved, I did so for the following evening and returned ready to experience this truly awesome view for a second time. It was just as magical as the first, only now I had the grand view from the perfect spot next to a gorgeous water feature. If some poor sap is unfortunate enough to feel I’m his/her best bet at life long happiness and wishes to ask for my hand in marriage – here is the place to do it. Or under a willow by the most beautiful lake imaginable – until I find that perfect place, I’d say Mijas is the closest I’m going to get to perfection.
Unfortunately, the wonder of Mijas is tainted by the seemingly endless rows of donkeys and horses available to ride around the main streets. Although they appear well-groomed, seeing them all with their heads tied to posts hurt my heart. I was accosted by several Spanish gentlemen offering me a donkey ride, when I politely declined I was ushered away from the animals, so it was clear they were most definitely not loved pets but an income to these men. I then came across a bull ring – the smallest and oldest in the world. At four euros to see inside, this place is still selling out tickets to tourists. And to the locals, for 60 euros, you can still watch bull fighting there every Sunday. A bull a week is killed there. For this reason, I could never ever entertain the idea of living in Mijas, or anywhere that partakes in such a barbaric form of ‘entertainment’. BUT for the views, the culture and architecture, I will definitely be making a return visit as soon as I can.
Spain is truly, truly beautiful and I can’t wait for my next adventures there.
BEA DUX 