Costa del Sol Summer: Florence, Furnaces and Flannels

Someone please tell me this Spanish furnace is not planning to turn itself up another degree.

I haven’t got shares in Endesa, although judging by the number of air-conditioning units currently working overtime in the Euesden household, I really should have.

The Costa del Sol summer has arrived with all the subtlety of a flamenco dancer bursting into a library. It is loud, dramatic, impossible to ignore and determined to leave everybody slightly breathless.

With Mr E recovering from major spinal surgery, every room upstairs is being kept somewhere between pleasantly cool and an industrial meat locker.

After weeks of my intensive Florence Nightingale regime, I am certainly not allowing the Spanish heat to interfere with his recovery.

If necessary, I shall stand over him waving a Spanish fan, applying cold flannels and shouting:

“¡Más aire, por favor!”

Although, in this heat, even shouting requires more energy than I currently possess.

Living on the Costa del Sol—or operating a private Uber service?

To say I currently feel like an Uber driver is an understatement.

If it isn’t one hospital, it is another. Then the chemist. Then the doctor in Mijas Pueblo. Then back to the chemist because, naturally, Spain requires a second piece of paper that nobody mentioned during the first visit.

Then, in the earliest hours of the morning, it is Helicópteros Sanitarios arriving to administer stronger pain relief.

I have driven so many medical miles that if I had installed a meter in the Mercedes, I could have retired by now.

But it has all been done in the name of love—so I simply melt gracefully behind the steering wheel, curse the tráfico along with everybody else and pretend my mascara hasn’t migrated halfway down my face.

Costa del Sol summer traffic turns every journey into an expedition

Then, of course, there is the summer traffic on the Costa del Sol.

With the Madrileños now securely ensconced along the coast, parking has become something we remember fondly from times gone by.

Once upon a time, we could drive somewhere and actually leave the car nearby.

It sounds like a fairy tale now.

Parking is currently a vanished luxury, rather like shoulder pads, reasonably priced electricity and being able to leave Fuengirola without packing sandwiches.

We live in hope that it may resurface sometime in September.

Until then, everyone must remember one fundamental rule of a Costa del Sol summer:

A short trip is now a long-haul expedition—wherever your destination.

You no longer “pop” anywhere.

You prepare.

Water. Sunglasses. Emergency fan. Phone charger. Change of clothes. Overnight bag. Last will and testament.

The Costa del Sol was simply not built for this volume of summer traffic.

Even in Spain’s wildest dreams of becoming one of the world’s favourite tourist destinations, she could never have imagined quite so many people arriving simultaneously—and apparently all heading towards the same roundabout.

The roads are packed. The car parks are full. Every available patch of shade has been claimed, and tempers are rising faster than the temperature gauge.

If you survive the heat, conquer the traffic and keep your temper on anything resembling an even keel, an enormous sense of achievement awaits when your two jobs of the day are finally completed.

Two jobs.

That is now a full summer itinerary.

You arrive home, close the front door and release an enormous sigh of relief, as though you have scaled Everest wearing stilettos while carrying two bags of shopping.

¡Qué barbaridad! The joys of a Spanish summer!

Why the Spanish healthcare system deserves to be celebrated

There is one thing I do have to shout about—although my shout has now become more of a hoarse whisper—and that is the wonderful Spanish healthcare system.

Shouting requires much-needed effort and energy, two things currently in shorter supply than a Costa del Sol parking space in August.

The Spanish healthcare system is rather like the motto of Alcoholics Anonymous:

It works if you work it.

And believe me, Florence Euesden has worked it.

Although Mr E’s major spinal operation was performed privately, the doctor at the health centre in Mijas Pueblo could not have been more helpful.

Medication, prescriptions, advice and assistance have all been provided with genuine care and kindness—and, most importantly, without anyone suggesting that we come back sometime after Christmas.

When the pain became unbearable during the earliest hours of the morning, Helicópteros Sanitarios arrived to administer stronger pain relief.

For anyone unfamiliar with the service, Helicópteros Sanitarios provides its members with access to medical assistance at home.

When you are caring for someone recovering from major surgery, that feels less like healthcare and more like winning the Spanish lottery.

No driving through the tráfico.

No searching for a parking space last seen sometime in June.

No sitting beneath fluorescent lights in a waiting room wearing yesterday’s mascara and the expression of a woman who has completely lost the will to live.

They arrive, assess the situation and provide the necessary medical assistance.

¡Qué alivio! What a relief!

Between the private hospital, the local doctor in Mijas Pueblo, the chemists and Helicópteros Sanitarios, the healthcare available on the Costa del Sol has worked like a beautifully conducted orchestra.

Florence, meanwhile, remains the exhausted woman backstage—carrying the medication, preparing cold flannels, making tea and carefully counting the custard creams.

For all the jokes, journeys and sleepless nights, I cannot praise the care enough.

When someone you have loved for 30 years is in pain, knowing that professional medical help is only a telephone call away is worth more than all the air-conditioning, parking spaces and custard creams in Andalucía.

Although, naturally, I shall not be surrendering the custard creams.

Florence has limits.

Why Costa del Sol residents should consider medical membership

Michel Does Spain confronts the Spanish heat, Costa del Sol traffic and life as Florence Nightingale—with two Pomeranians and a packet of custard creams

My advice to anyone considering living on the Costa del Sol—even for only a few months each year—is simple:

Consider becoming a member of Helicópteros Sanitarios.

It is far more affordable than many people might imagine. They do not require a kidney, a working limb and the deeds to your house as payment.

In fact, membership can work out at less than the price of a cup of coffee per day—and unlike some cups of coffee, it may actually keep you awake for the right reasons.

When medical assistance is needed, having qualified professionals come to your home means you are not expected to negotiate the Costa del Sol traffic while feeling ill.

For us, the service has been invaluable.

It is one of those memberships you hope never to need. But when you do need it, you thank every saint in Spain that you have it.

Whether you live in Mijas permanently, escape the British winter for several months or enjoy extended periods beneath the Spanish sun, it is something genuinely worth investigating.

After all, we insure our homes, our cars and our mobile phones—and, in the case of some Costa del Sol residents, handbags worth more than a small apartment.

Surely, access to excellent medical care deserves a place somewhere near the top of the list.

Less than a coffee a day—and considerably more useful when life suddenly serves you something much stronger than an espresso.

What do Costa del Sol residents do when it is too hot?

When Spain has been placed directly beneath a giant celestial hairdryer, what do Costa del Sol residents actually do when they are not working?

The swimming pool offers little relief.

The water is now approximately the temperature of a bowl of soup—and most definitely not a beautifully chilled bowl of gazpacho.

The gym is completely out of the question.

When it is nudging 40 degrees outside, simply walking past a treadmill feels like an Olympic event. The heat removes your energy before you have even located your trainers.

So we tried backgammon.

That lasted until Mr E discovered that his loving wife could beat him.

Not once.

Not twice.

But time after time after time.

Backgammon was immediately removed from the daily schedule on grounds of “medical necessity”.

Next came cards.

Unfortunately, Mrs E then embarked upon a magnificent winning streak and played several astonishing rounds of rummy.

Cards have now also been cancelled—presumably on the advice of his surgeon.

Apparently, repeatedly losing to your loving wife is not recommended after major spinal surgery.

La siesta: the civilised solution to a Spanish summer

Following a leisurely lunch, we finally surrendered to that most civilised of Spanish traditions:

La siesta.

The bedroom is cool, the television is quietly playing something neither of us will ever remember, and within minutes we are fast asleep beside two extremely contented Pomeranians.

Teddy and Gracie understand the Costa del Sol summer routine perfectly.

Sleep.

Dream about chasing cats.

Wake up.

Inspect the house for food.

Sleep again.

Then wait until the sun begins to disappear before taking their humans out for an evening walk.

Only when the pavements are cool enough for their tiny paws do we venture outside—usually resembling a very small royal procession that has suffered drastic budget cuts.

These are most definitely not normal times in the Euesden household.

The heels have been temporarily grounded. The partying has been placed on pause. My principal evening cocktail is now a cup of tea accompanied by a carefully prepared selection of custard creams.

But all that is about to change.

A new chapter begins for Michel Does Spain

As this chapter of my life draws to a close, Michel is already organising her diary like a woman possessed.

Summer nights do not begin at seven o’clock on the Costa del Sol.

They begin at midnight.

After the past seven months, I am more than ready to do things the Spanish way for a month or two.

Late lunches. Later dinners. Music beneath the stars. Laughter travelling into the early hours. Heels requiring structural engineering and mascara that remains somewhere near the place it was originally applied.

Michel Does Spain is preparing to take on Spain again—and Spain may wish to prepare herself accordingly.

Naturally, Teddy and Gracie are already in training as we speak.

Their programme is intense:

Later naps. Longer siestas. Strategic custard-cream consumption. Advanced people-watching. And learning to remain awake beyond 10pm without requiring a small snack and an immediate lie-down.

Our wild nights may have been temporarily tempered, but life has not stopped.

It has simply been waiting for Florence to put away the flannels, switch off her lamp and rediscover her heels.

Porque cuando termina un capítulo, comienza una nueva aventura.

Florence is clocking off, the heels are going back on—and after seven months in the shadows, Michel isn’t simply coming back. She’s coming back louder, stronger and ready to set Spain alight.

¡Agárrate, España—Michel ha vuelto! 🔥🇪🇸👠🐾