The area around Mojácar and Garrucha possesses a naked beauty. Nowhere was this more in evidence than during our inspection trip of the region, in ways for which we were not quite prepared.
My husband, Derek, and I sold our home in France and moved to Spain without any fixed idea of where we wanted to live. Nomadic by nature, we’d decided to book an inspection trip to the Costa Almeria and decide after that if we wanted to stay in the region, or try somewhere else. We arrived a few days before we were due to meet our agent and took the opportunity to do a little research of our own.
Driving along the coast road we saw several developments that looked interesting and detoured into all those we liked the look of, trying to get a feel for what was available. The sun was shining, the roads free of traffic, the apartments and villas all looked delightful – in short the day was perfect.
“That looks a nice development,” said hubby, directing me into a well-established complex. We drove along, admiring the properties when, without warning, a nearly-naked man (he was wearing a sun hat and sandals) walked out of one of the buildings.
“Naked man,” I cried. “What?” asked Derek, still looking at the map, attempting to figure out which development we were in. By the time he’d looked up, the well-suntanned vision had crossed the road and disappeared into the shop on the other side. “You were hallucinating,” Derek accused. “Too much vino tinto last night.”
Swallowing my reply, and realising that we’d strayed into a naturist complex, I turned at the next roundabout to retrace our route. As we passed the shop the door opened and out came a couple hand in hand and as naked as the day they were born. Derek’s mouth dropped open, but he uttered no apology for casting aspersions on my character. Rendered temporarily speechless, he looked rather like a goldfish deprived of water.
It was turning into an interesting afternoon. After all, it isn’t every day that one sees naked people strolling along a main road carrying the Sunday papers and a pint of milk. Derek felt we should explore further, but I thought we’d seen enough.
The next day we went to look at some detached villas which were advertised on the Internet. They seemed incredible value for money. It was nearly 11am when we phoned the number given on the website, so we were a bit disconcerted to be told we’d interrupted the representative’s breakfast. However she consented to see us after she’d finished her bacon sandwich.
At the show house Derek asked why the boundary wall was broken and was blithely told an earth mover had demolished it. A thick layer of dust covered the floor in every room, light fixtures hung forlornly from unpainted ceilings, unfinished window frames and cupboards without doors showed the poor quality of workmanship. We fled.
Back at the hotel a feeling of gloom settled. What had we done? If this was the standard of building in Spain we might just as well leave.
Fortunately we were taken in hand by a reputable agency the next day. We saw so many properties we wanted to buy; it was no longer a case of this won’t do, but how to decide on which one we wanted.
We mentioned our previous brush with naturism. “Oh,” said Neil. “I can take you to see some apartments there if you’re interested.” Derek smiled, but I felt we’d inspected that area closely enough already.
© Lorraine Mace 2005
