Mojácar is full. La Voz says so - our 10,200 hotel beds are occupied. This, early in the Easter week. Beyond the hotel numbers (and, my praise to the hoteliers and their cheap prices), we have family, guests, renters, caravans, people sleeping ten in a two-bed apartment, people sleeping on the beach, people here for a two-day marathon then back on the bus, people over for the day from Murcia and Almería. People.
To make them feel comfortable, we have extended the beach promenade, painted our homes, cleaned the verges and watered the plants. We have prepared some traditional Easter parades for their souls and repaired the streets for their soles. The 'Mirador' has been (more or less) finished so they can ascend to the view-point to see the astonishing view (the one thing that has remained over the years, more or less constant) and to enjoy our sunset.
There was no bread left in the supermarket when I got there yesterday. I would have been earlier, but I had to park a kilometre down the road. Never mind, the queues, dust, noise, cars, jams and lack of parking are bringing a delightful profit to our main industry...
The souvenir shops.
Residents don't buy souvenirs. No drunken Indalos, wrist-bands, 'I Got Laid in Mojácar' tee shirts or the myriad other charms of the Chinese wholesalers. Which is why we are being slowly edged out. No honourable mention for us.
The Easter onslaught, happily, only lasts for a week. Then the town returns to the residents and their dogs, and for a short while, the barkeeps remember once again our names and preferences.