A Tale of Two Spains

The first time I set foot in Spain, I was 14, sunburnt within an hour, and with no real idea of what to expect. Torremolinos in 1986 was a sea of English voices, full English breakfasts, and bars proudly advertising Carling Black Label. It felt oddly familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time. It was fun, and my first experience abroad, but was it really Spain?

The moment the plane door opened, the heat hit me like a wall – thicker and heavier than anything I’d ever felt in England. The air smelled different too. There was something floral about it, but not in a delicate, garden-fresh way – more intense, mixed with the scent of sunbaked pavements, charcoal grills, and something else I couldn’t quite place at the time (probably drains).

Then there were the buildings. Even as a teenager, I noticed that things in Spain didn’t quite have the polished, finished look of home. Roads had potholes, pavements seemed to stop and start at random, and half-built apartments sat abandoned, as if someone had run out of money or just lost interest. It gave the place a rough-around-the-edges charm, though I doubt I’d have put it in those words back then.

The beach was another world. The sand was scorching hot, having been baked by the sun all day, and there were real fish swimming in the shallows! Yes, fish – in the sea! I made a quick trip to one of the many souvenir shops, where I picked up a mask and snorkel, and suddenly, a whole new underwater world opened up before me.

After a few days, the inevitable happened: I started peeling, probably due to spending most of my time in the sea snorkelling. Back home, this would be worn like a badge of honour – proof that you’d been somewhere hot. But looking back now, with what we know about sun damage, it seems more like a reckless rite of passage. We didn’t know better back then, or if we did, we didn’t care as much as we should have.

The classic Spanish resort beachfront restaurant was exactly what you’d expect – rows of plastic tables covered in checkered cloths, shaded by colourful umbrellas or awnings, and you could just about see the sea through the various advertising boards and miles of deckchairs on the promenade.

The menus were laminated and adorned with pictures of every dish, just in case you weren’t sure what a burger looked like. The place had a certain uniformity to it, from the mass-produced decor to the familiar smell of fried food wafting in the air. The waiters didn’t attempt to speak Spanish to us – just straight into English, as if to save us the trouble, and to make things easier for everyone in the long run.

Still, I did branch out – I had my first ever paella. At the time, I thought I was eating something truly Spanish, though looking back, I imagine it was as authentic as the “Full English” they served up for breakfast.

We were meant to take a day trip to the Alhambra, but I never made it. A sickness bug wiped me out, and instead of wandering through one of Spain’s greatest architectural wonders, I spent the day in bed, feeling miserable. At the time, I wasn’t too bothered – another castle, another old building, no big deal. Now, of course, it’s high on my list of places to visit. Funny how our priorities change.

After two weeks of sun we boarded the plane and flew back to Newcastle – the chilled air being a bit of a shock after becoming acclimatised to the beautiful Mediterranean weather. Life returned to normal, but it would never be quite the same. I now had a stamp in my passport, and I suppose to some degree I thought of myself as officially being a ‘traveller’.

It makes me a little sad to think that, for some, that’s their only experience of this beautiful country – even those who have been visiting its sunny shores for decades. It’s essentially Blackpool with better weather, a familiar bubble in a foreign land where British tourists can eat, drink, and socialise exactly as they would at home. It’s what we Brits have always done – seeking comfort in the familiar, even when surrounded by something completely different.

It took over 30 years to return to Spain. In the meantime, we’d spent much of our holiday time exploring the Balkans, particularly Croatia and the stunning landscapes of Slovenia, along with Montenegro and a brief, quite literal, footstep over the border into Bosnia. We’d also now and then take an easy package deal to the Canary Islands when relaxation and sun was all that was required, but mainland Spain took a back seat for a while. When new flights from Newcastle to Girona were announced, we decided to give it a try on a short break – and it was absolutely stunning!

Girona is a city that feels like it’s straight out of a storybook, with its narrow, winding streets, centuries-old architecture, and the famous Jewish Quarter having an almost cinematic presence (Game of Thrones anyone?) The views along the Onyar River, with its colorful houses reflecting in the water, are nothing short of magical. What really makes Girona special, though, is its vibe – relaxed yet vibrant, with a great food scene, and a different cafe for every hour of the day.

The only downside, if you can call it that, was the language. Emma had started to learn Spanish, but in Girona they speak in a strong dialect called Catalan, which rather inconveniently uses completely different words! And that’s what got us thinking. This ‘new’ Spain was just what we had been looking for, but how about exploring a bit more, and finding somewhere that we could enjoy all the things we liked doing on a break whilst also being able to learn the language and absorb the culture?

We think we’ve found it. Fast forward to our most recent trip, this time to Mijas Pueblo. Torremolinos is only 15 miles away, but it feels like much more! Get yourself away from the over commercialised coast, head up into the mountains, and you’ll find a completely different Spain. Gone are the neon-lit pubs selling pints of English lager for £2, replaced instead with whitewashed houses, winding cobbled streets, and the sound of Spanish rather than Scouse.

It had the authenticity we had found in Girona, with the convenience of having Malaga Airport within half an hours drive, and the added bonus of being somewhere we could learn the language. Of all the places we have visited, this was the one that made us think “Hang on, why don’t we stick around a bit longer”?

Looking back, it’s clear that Spain has always been more than just sun, sea, and cheap beer. My first trip in 1986 offered a view of the tourist-driven, anglicised coastal resorts, but as we’ve returned over the years, we’ve come to appreciate the richness of the country’s culture, history, and authenticity. From the winding streets of Girona to the mountain charm of Mijas Pueblo, Spain has revealed itself as a place full of layers – one that’s far more than just a holiday destination, but a place where you can learn, immerse yourself, and truly understand what makes it special.

What started all those years ago as a first holiday abroad has transformed into a deeper exploration of a vibrant, diverse country that’s waiting to be discovered.

And I still need to get to the Alhambra!