Spanish Skies and Family Ties

Benidorm was never on my wish list of places to visit. But after Dad’s passing this year, everything changed. When Helen and Phil decided to join Dawn and Chris on their annual holiday, they invited me to tag along. Somehow, I knew I needed to be a part of it. The generation above us has disappeared. With no one left to call Mum or Dad, the three of us have suddenly become the older generation. It’s a profound realisation - one that makes you look at your family and realise how easily you can drift apart if you don't make the effort to stay close.

So this holiday became our way of doing exactly that. It wasn't a pilgrimage. It wasn't especially sentimental. It was just five people who have known one another for decades deciding to spend a week together. To laugh, to remember and to make new memories.

I arrived as the only single traveller, dubious of our destination and determined not to get in the way of my sisters' enjoyment by being the gooseberry. I needn't have worried though because from the moment we arrived, my sisters and their partners made room for me without ever making a point of it. Every meal, every walk and every plan simply included me. There was no fuss, no obligation, just the quiet certainty that I belonged with them.

The moment we stepped off the blissfully air-conditioned coach, the Spanish heat wrapped itself around us instantly, thick and heavy, smelling of unfamiliar perfumes, sun-baked streets and the occasional waft of exhaust fumes. It wasn't long before our clothes were clinging to us like a second skin, and as we hauled our suitcases across the pitted pavements towards the hotel, riverlets of sweat trickled down our faces and necks.

The hotel itself was lovely. Ironically life handed me the biggest bedroom. A palace for one, complete with a choice of beds and a shower big enough for two. As compensation for all this luxury, my room overlooked... absolutely nothing worth looking at. However, I was perfectly happy to keep the curtains closed. Fortunately, Helen and Dawn had rooms with views over the street below, so they were happy too. 

The days quickly settled into an easy rhythm. The heat dictated everything we did. If we weren't beside the pool or the sea, we drifted from one air-conditioned bar to another, promising ourselves we'd only stop for "one quick drink" but often it became two or three, accompanied by another hour of conversation.

Meal times were entertaining. Chris approached every meal as though he were a judge on Masterchef. He seemed determined to sample every item on the extensive buffet, happily ordering fresh fish, seafood and anything remotely adventurous. Phil, meanwhile, was suspicious of some of its offerings and remained steadfastly loyal to what was familiar. The teasing and running commentary became part of every dinner. Chris would enthuse over sea bass, langoustine or grilled prawns while Phil looked on with genuine suspicion, wondering why anyone would choose to eat something with eyes and a shell. Phil insisted he simply knew what he liked. Chris insisted he was missing out. Neither ever convinced the other.

Phil's bawdy sense of humour became the soundtrack to the week. Some jokes landed perfectly but others were greeted with groans, eye rolls or cringes. More than a few were met with Helen telling him to "Shut up" or Dawn's hard stare. Needless to say Phil took no notice continuing regardless.

Our evenings found their own rhythm too. Sometimes we all lingered over dinner before settling somewhere for another drink and another conversation. Occasionally I escaped to my room to recover from the heat before joining everyone later.

On a couple of evenings, Dawn, Chris and I wandered along the Strip, drifting from one bar to another wherever the music sounded promising. We sang along to tribute acts and laughed at the gloriously unpredictable sights that make Benidorm exactly what it is. Meanwhile, Helen and Phil enjoyed quieter evenings or caught up with a friend, and we'd compare stories over breakfast the following morning.

One morning perfectly summed us all up.

Dawn and Chris set off early to continue their increasingly competitive battle for the highest daily step count. Apparently, a holiday is the ideal time to tackle Cardiac Hill in the morning heat, especially if it means beating your partner by a few hundred steps.

Helen and Phil, displaying considerably better judgement, enjoyed a leisurely morning by the pool while I ventured out on an open top bus tour around the neighbouring towns. Leaving the high-rise hotels and busy streets of Benidorm and moving into Altea, with its whitewashed houses, simple fishing port, and beautiful blue-domed church, felt like visiting the much quieter soul of Spain.

By late afternoon we were all back together, laughing at each other's choices over something cold to drink. Somehow that became the rhythm of the week. 

While Dawn happily continued her mission to become even browner than she already was, Helen and I claimed the sanctuary of enormous parasols and accepted our role as professional spectators. It was a far cry from the seaside holidays of our childhood. There were no sandcastles, no races to the sea and no burying each other in the sand. Those days are just memories now. Instead, we watched.

Children squealed at the waves while their parents watched from the shore. Couples wandered along the water's edge and determined sun worshippers lay motionless in pursuit of the perfect tan.

When the heat finally defeated us, we wandered into the sea. Floating in the cool, salty water, we'd let the waves carry us or simply bob around chatting about anything and nothing. 

Leaving the beach wasn't a walk - it was an evacuation. The sand had spent the morning absorbing the heat from the sun and had become a carpet of tiny hot coals. Helen’s cheap flip-flops (may they rest in peace), completely surrendered to the elements, melting into abstract art before her eyes. My sandals offered zero protection, turning my desperate sprint to the pavement into a bizarre, undulating version of Riverdance - if the dancer's feet were on fire.

I didn't fare well in the heat. Towards the end of the week my lymphodemic legs had swollen dramatically and were covered in an angry red heat rash that made them resemble tree trunks bound in martian weed (think War of The Worlds). I tried to ignore it, but eventually admitted defeat and retreated to my room. It was at this point that Helen quietly became Helen. She checked I was using damp towels to cool my legs down, appeared in my room to relieve my boredom and even rearranged my pillows so my legs were properly elevated above my heart. 

On our final day, Helen, Dawn, and I wandered the shops, soaking in the last moments of our holiday. We stopped for one last cocktail - a moment for the three of us to raise a glass to Dad, grateful for our parents' greatest gift to us: each other - three sisters - so very different - and yet somehow the same.

To my children 

I'm writing this down because one day you'll find yourselves where your Aunties and I are now. By then life will be busy and complicated in ways you can't yet imagine. I hope you'll still choose each other. Make time to sit together, laugh together and tell the old stories again. Holidays end, tans fade, but the people who shared them become the memories you carry.

To the Benidorm Crew...

Phil: Thanks for always keeping us on our toes and bringing so much life to the holiday! Your absolute devotion to Burger King, Popeye's, and McDonald’s was a revelation. Thanks for all the laughs and the fun banter - you definitely kept us all entertained. Next time we meet, the "proper food" is on me.

Chris: Thank you for our now-sacred Gin Street sangria pilgrimage. Thank you, too, for leading me on not one but two expeditions in search of "the best cocktail bar in Benidorm", only for it to be closed both times. At this point I'm convinced it's facade is for show and that the cocktails only exist in local folklore. Never stop choosing the seafood, even if it does gives Phil something else to torment you about.

Helen: Thank you for always looking out for us in your quiet, steady way. Checking in on me, fixing my pillows, and making sure my legs were comfortable is exactly who you are. You just notice what needs doing and get on with it without any fuss. You are the best big sister a girl could ask for.

Dawn: Thanks for being my fellow dancing monkey at 2 am in Sinatra's Bar - even if it was just a shameless tactic to beat Chris on your FitBit! Introducing me to Benidorm cocktails and alcoholic slushies was a choice. The aftermath of those first two drinks is now officially a family legend.

The nine-hour airport delay has already faded into insignificance. I'm already looking forward to our next adventure...

Just perhaps not Benidorm.

And definitely not in July.