Indian summer in an Andalucian pueblo

A violent storm one night last week had the pueblo thinking summer was finally over. It’s been so searingly hot for months there were those of us who breathed a sigh of relief. You may think you’re getting the worst of the deal in wet and windy Northern climes but there’s only so much we can take of lolling about on sun-kissed beaches, listening to  waves gently lapping the shoreline − they sound like a large family of adorable kittens round a dish of milk, with your eyes closed − while clutching an iced drink clinking about a tall glass. But don’t go thinking it’s all idling about, occasionally, I feel the need to stretch my legs.  I might meander along the beach kicking sand and collecting shells, or I might just stroll about the market to catch a bit of shade. Somebody has to do it. And there was I thinking I could stash away my shorts and sandals for a few months while waiting for spring to arrive.

 

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