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Palms, processions & the perilous shortage of gin

Today we decided to broaden our horizons (and by “broaden,” I mean drive a whole 30km without snacks). Destination: Elche, a proper city near the airport, which feels like it should be small and therefore navigable, but is in fact the sort of place that enjoys playing hide-and-seek with tourists.

Why Elche, you ask? Because it boasts the largest palm grove in Europe, which sounds like something made up by a tourism board until you’re actually standing in it, squinting up at trees that look like they’ve got excellent hair days. These palms were imported back in the 600s by Muslims, who also sorted out the drainage and watering systems. Frankly, I can barely organise my sock drawer, so respect where respect is due.

We took a wrong turn or seven, then did the sensible thing and asked the nice people at the tourist office. As luck would have it, a 90-minute walking tour was starting almost immediately. Naturally, we joined—because nothing says “holiday relaxation” like brisk educational marching. The group consisted of the four of us, two Germans (who I assume were born with walking shoes on), and a guide who spoke English with admirable patience.

First stop: a gentle wander through part of the palm grove. Here we learned that palm trees enjoy salted water (relatable), that there are male and female palms (nature, always keeping things dramatic), and that palm trees have more or less ruled the life of Elche for centuries. Honestly, they should be on the city council at this point.

We then headed into the main square, where we discovered that August is basically one long procession in honour of the Virgin Mary. Elche in summer, it seems, is part faith, part pageantry, part “oh look, another procession.” Along the way, we were told about a restaurant called Museum that serves a local speciality (the name completely escaped me, which is deeply inconvenient for future boasting). Naturally, this is where we went for lunch, because we are nothing if not obedient tourists when food is involved.

Post-culture, we drove back via the coastal road through Alicante, which was all very scenic and wholesome until we remembered we were running critically low on the essentials. Emergency stop at Carrefour to replenish supplies of wine and gin. Food was also purchased, but only as a supporting act.

Back home in time for aperitif (as tradition demands), followed by the weekly virtual quiz show (which I participated in with the confidence of someone who knows nothing but answers anyway), then a small healthy dinner. This was, of course, balanced with a couple of whisky nightcaps because wellness is about equilibrium.

Shockingly, I was the first one to retire to bed. I don’t know who I am anymore, but I suspect the palm trees have changed me.

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