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Ham, hypermarkets and heroic beach strolling

Today’s mission: supplies. Not just any supplies. Spanish supplies. The kind that make your fridge look like it’s about to host a tapas-themed TED Talk.

We kicked things off at the local Mercadona, where we acquired the holy grail of cured meats: proper Spanish ham, the kind that tastes like it’s been personally blessed by a pig who lived a full, meaningful life.

After the first tactical offload at home (aka: collapsing briefly on the sofa and reassessing our choices), we escalated operations to the mighty Carrefour. This place is so big it probably has its own weather system. We’ve officially declared it our holiday headquarters for groceries. If we get lost in there later this week, please send snacks and emotional support.

Supplies secured, we committed to the noble plan of a long beachfront walk. Today’s direction: north. Tomorrow: south. We’re basically doing a low-budget, sun-soaked remake of a great expedition, minus the hardship and plus the beer. Speaking of which, a refreshing cerveza was absolutely required before turning back. Hydration is important. So is morale.

We clocked in a heroic 10km and are now wildly optimistic about doing this every day. This optimism may or may not survive contact with reality, but for now, let us dream.

On the way back, we tested the little bar facing the sea right next to our apartment block in El Campello and can confirm: excellent vibes, excellent beer, dangerously convenient location. This is how routines are born. This is also how routines ruin you.

Back home, it was aperitif and nibbles instead of a proper dinner, because apparently we are now “people who are trying to keep fit.” For scientific balance, I added a couple of large whiskies. You know. To level the playing field.

Then came the shock twist of the evening: I went to bed early. Voluntarily. On holiday. Someone check my passport; I might have been replaced by a responsible adult.