La verdad sobre la Costa del Sol: Part 3… We all need our dolphins

The Truth About the Costa del Sol: Part 3…

“We do well to remember dolphins. If a dolphin fails, then others come alongside and nudge him gently through the waters; because a dolphin must keep moving in order to keep breathing. We all need our dolphins alongside us from time to time.”

Frank Delaney

This post is my 3rd effort under the title “The truth about the Costa del Sol” and the 2nd of these about Estepona. 

 

We had visited Estepona in the summer of 2024 when the Valencia apartment was occupied by tenants, and the summer of 2026 was no different. That being the case, I make no apology for repeating this quote:

 

“The truth about the Costa del Sol is that what endures, what is worthwhile, is what is Spanish.”
David Hewson

 

The ups and downs and the ins and outs of dealing with the Valencia apartment can frustrate. But we’re tremendously lucky to have it, and happy to have tenants use it. And as a result, we have the opportunity to enjoy places like Estepona.

 

Having stayed near the Puerto de Estepona on our previous visit, we rented an apartment much closer to the delightful old town this time… a couple of blocks from the sea, and a couple of blocks from the pretty narrow streets.

It was nice to be nearer the beaches and the old town. Only the beautifully conceived and executed Paseo Maritimo separates the town from the beach, and the pretty apartment buildings overlook the floral paseo and the chiringuitos that draw you to the edge of the beach. We ate on our first evening at Chiringuito la Peseta, enjoying sardinas* and cañas and the casual, friendly chaos. It would become a favourite.

 

Beach days are sublime. The weather is glorious, and with a week of August still remaining, the beaches are busy and endlessly entertaining. 

There is a very strong sense of community in Estepona, and all the local beach-goers know each other. They meet and they greet in the warm and friendly way the Spanish tend to do, but here in Estepona it’s very clear that they are absolutely delighted to see each other, every single day. Pequeños jump and squeal when a friend or primo arrives… their parents warmly embrace with smiles and kisses… the ancianos do much back-slapping, and begin that “putting the world to rights” conversation until lunchtime. When this most important time of day arrives, priorities change… the disgrace of the ongoing renovation works on Avenida Juan Carlos I** is pushed to one side in favour of sardinas or fritura Malagueña.

In the stand of palm trees to our left, the parakeets continue their bubbly squabbling, As we face the sea, Gibraltar stands proudly to our right, and La Concha equally proudly to our left. And the daily melodrama of the beach-goers setting up their little piece of sandy real-estate begins. Some groups have it nailed (they will mostly be Esteponeros) and have all the skills when it comes to setting up a beach sombrilla, chairs, towels, cool box etc… getting the shade in the right place, securing it against the breeze, getting abuela comfortable, shooing the kids away to play in the sea, letting mama sit for a few precious minutes of peace before their next round of winding each other up.

By contrast, you look at the efforts of the less experienced beach-goers and wonder how they can be trusted with hot liquids. By the time they’ve mastered the demanding task of unfolding a beach chair, you watch in fascinated horror when the sombrilla is extracted from is fabric sheath… because this is where the fun begins. 

If it’s breezy*** your average beach half-wit will really struggle. The result can be beach umbrellas tumbling dangerously down the beach. Your half-wit may then chase after it, forgetting that the sand is lava-hot. He may stop and go back for chanclas, by which time his beach umbrella is causing chaos (and potential injury) to a family further along the beach, or possibly as far as the next chiringuito. He may continue the chase, and if successful, he finds himself standing on the lava-hot sand in a hot sweaty mess, hundreds of metres from the safety of his entourage.

 

I often read a lot on holiday, but with this pantomime unfolding before us on a daily basis, not a single word was read. Orwell and his civil war will have to wait.

 

But then one day we were treated to a performance on a different level. Perhaps 100 metres offshore in this part of the beach, there a few rocks just above the surface. I was idly gazing at these rocks one day when I imagined I saw fins break the surface. 

When there were one or two muted cries of “¡delfines!” from the beachgoers, I realized I hadn’t imagined anything at all. A pod of dolphins was making its way to the west, right across the bay, remarkably close to the shore. More and more people stood up to see, as the cries of “¡defines, delfines!!” filled the beach, and judging by the excitement of the locals, this wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

 

The dolphins made their way across in front of us, sleek bodies sometimes completely breaching the surface in the way that they do, and eventually moved off towards the marina, Playa del Cristo, and the resorts that string out towards Gibraltar.

 

The happiness of the bee and the dolphin is to exist.
For man it is to know that and to wonder at it.
Jacques Yves Cousteau

 

This was a delight on so many levels. It brought the whole beach together for one thing… united in admiration for the beauty and grace of these animals. For a few moments, it beat everything. It beat the glorious weather, it beat the internet, it beat everyone’s plans for the evening. It beat AI and air travel and money and good wine. That fleeting glimpse that the dolphins gave us of their private world was enough to lift the spirits for several days.

 

We all need our dolphins alongside us from time to time, right?

 

We should be grateful for places like Estepona. It has avoided the tackiness of Marbella, the seamy underbelly of Puerto Banus and the mass-market tourist grind of Torremolinos and Benalmadena. Fuengirola has its charms if you look closely enough, but the interface between town and sea is as shabby as the livid row of Italian restaurants and sports bars that cater for your average, not very discerning Northern European tourist.

 

Estepona has neatly evaded most of this. It has tourists and migrants like all of those featured above, but it is the way it has dealt with them/worked with them/lives with them that is so impressive. I have no doubt that the added distance from Aeropuerto de Málaga in comparison to Torremolinos and Benalmadena will have filtered the amount of visitors… but still they come.

 

The newer part of the town, west of the Ayuntamiento**** seems to very effectively answer much of the demand for accommodation, yet it remains a local area with local bars and local shops. It has morning places for churros, afternoon places for lunch, evening places for drinks and snacks. None of it is gltzy, but as we know from our experiences in Valencia, areas like these not only serve vital purpose, but are fun to be in.

 

I don’t know the area beyond the old town to the east, but it seems to me that this is where you’ll find more hotels and resorts. All of which means that the old town doesn’t go unscathed when it comes to the impact of tourism, but it’s a relatively gentle touch. Plaza Ortiz and the surrounding streets are heavy with linen-tabled eateries of course, but there’s no brash commerciality with a neon chaser.

 

Moving further west, aside of the over-filled Plaza de las Flores, the odd over-priced Italian and a characterless conversion of the Mercado Santa Ana, you’ll find a more understated offering. Climb a little, and you’ll find peaceful streets with colourful flowerpots prettily adorning the white walls. Quotations displayed in ceramics every few hundred yards add a little inspiration along your calm cobbled meanderings. These old streets have been beautifully maintained. There is no visible decay, no buildings left to rot… only the evidence of efforts made to preserve.

 

Closer to Calle Reina, a welcoming and creative bodeguita, a traditional and friendly mesón and the usual reliable offerings to be had at street cafés. We fell into the habit of making a morning visit to one small café to use its outside tables on the Paseo Maritimo for coffee before the beach. Not only was the coffee and the setting very nice, in amongst the shady trees and the chattering locals, but the arguments between the 2 gentlemen who owned the place were better than the TV. Such rude words from gentile-looking elderly gents! One of them would totter out in a very docile manner, with a couple of cortados immediately after calling his colleague coño for the 5th time that morning.

 

The works on Avenida Juan Carlos I go on and on. Elederly gents stand and point at the upheaval in the early evenings, the way elderly gents do. The chiringuitos ebb and flow, in keeping with their ephemeral nature. Our favourite places to eat are run by dedicated, friendly and skilled hosts, bringing you back time after time. The eastern end of the old town sits where it sits, the western end does the same, and they don’t collide. I think that’s why it works.

 

The apartment we stayed in had many little memories of Valencia. The entrance to the building that needs special know-how to work the lock successfully. The lift that you just might get stuck in one day. Always friendly neighbours, however transitory we might be. The life you can observe every day from the balcony. The habits of the cafés and their customers… and their ubiquitous dogs, the daily cycle of the bakeries and the supermarkets and the pizza place and the deliveries and the noise and clatter of the workers. Offices and restaurants re-opening as September arrives and the holidays are over.

 

They are over for us as well, but there was time for watershed moment. A step-change in the social fabric of Spain from which there is no going back.

 

Since the invention of currency, it has been a common (if not universally welcome) response to a busker with his hat pushed in your direction to reply with an apologetic “no tengo effectivo”… no change for you… so sorry… etc, etc.

 

Having employed this tactic on Calle Caridad one evening (for it was indeed true) our busker called my bluff and proudly produced a card machine. Audience to busker card payments are now a thing. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.

 

"Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar."

Antonio Machado
(Traveler, there is no path; the path is made by walking.)

 

Another Fallas festival experience is our hope for a Valencia visit next March. After all, our tenants are enjoying our expensive new air conditioning, and we haven’t even seen it yet, never mind enjoyed its comforts. A year between visits to Valencia is too long, but it is what it is.

 

 

 

For Ken. A man who meant so much to many people.

 

 

 

* In the Malaga region they do say (whoever they are) that you are very welcome to enjoy the famous espetos de sardinas provided there isn’t an “r” in the month. I openly confess to having these barbecued delights several times on our visit, and one of those occasions may have been in September. Sorry not sorry.

 

** This broad avenue that splits old town from new had major works going on when we visited in 2024. It still has major works going on in 2026… just different works. We believe it will look fantastic when finished. We’ll have to visit again to make sure.

 

*** It can occasionally get pretty windy in Estepona. When a good poniente is blowing, it’s unfortunate that Chiringuito la Peseta is not an option. They have no windbreak, and you will be covered by large flurries of sand within 10 minutes and your beach day will not be enjoyable. Some other chringuitos have windbreaks protecting sunbathers from those westerlies… but they’re not as good. 1^st world problems.

 

**** The headquarters of the Ayuntamiento is a building that could only have been approved for go-ahead by the Ayuntamiento for its own ugly, boxy headquarters. If any adults had been in the room, it would have been laughed out of town. It’s a monstrosity. It blighted the view from our apartment towards to old town, and it blights the view from the beach towards the Sierra Bermeja. It’s uglier than the extensive roadworks that surround it. It fell out of the ugly tree and hit every single branch on the way down. It’s a crime against architecture.