THE FASTER LANE / TYLER BRÛLÉ
Coastal service
Buenos dias y felices pascuas! Yes, dear reader, today we’re in Spain (Marbella to be geographically precise) and there’s much to report after just 24 hours on the ground. But let’s start at the beginning – at a somewhat busy Zürich airport.
Friday, 9.25: Zürich airport feels a bit like it would on a quiet Wednesday morning in March 2018. The economy check-in queues are busy, there’s a sense of purpose among the passengers (we would like to drink and dine under sunny skies in the great outdoors, bitte!) and if flights aren’t bound to multiple destinations in Egypt then they’re off to Palma, Barcelona, Gran Canaria, Madeira and Lisbon. It’s very clear: the world is ready to travel.
9.45: It’s time to board and it’s perfectly smooth and orderly. No checking documents, passports, proof-of-negatives papers or Spanish travel forms. Everyone on the Swiss A320 is in a good mood and it could have been the codeine cocktail I’d just taken, but I think that 85 per cent of the passengers even made an effort to get dressed up. Are we about to witness a new golden era in travel? If so, I’ll take it.
12.15: We’re on the final approach to Malaga. It’s windy, the A320 is being jolted to the side a bit but the touchdown is gentle and the processing of passengers by medical authorities is swift and orderly. It helps that there are only two flights – ours and one from Frankfurt.
13.30: It’s lunchtime at the hotel, so who’s in the house? A good portion of Paris’s 16eme are poolside – Macron’s latest lockdown was clearly not so appealing. Then there are a lot of Spanish visitors from outside the region, a few Germans and more French.
15.00: The Spanish know a thing or two about engineering a good promenade, so we set off for a walk to Puerto Banús, especially since I’ve forgotten my computer cable and need to visit El Corte Inglés (more on this in a moment). It’s incredibly windy with small sandstorms blowing off the beach and pathway and into your face. Indeed, it’s so blustery that I think a few tiny dogs and children might have flown past. It also creates a confusing picture for Spain’s new mask regulation, which now requires you to cover your face regardless of whether you’re in a packed precinct or all alone on the beach. It’s no surprise that the tourism industry is up in arms about these rules – they’ve come in just as the season is about to start and, like so many rules imposed over the past year, are blanket in nature rather than targeted.
15.55: “Where are all of Europe’s gangsters and their girlfriends?” you’ve been wondering. They’re all here, in their matching white tracksuits, over-inflated trainers, over-inflated boobies (and that’s just the boys) and walking their pitbulls. Thankfully the prehistoric-looking pooches also need to wear masks of the muzzle variety.
17.00: If El Corte Inglés had a bigger international reach it would surely be the country’s best soft-power export. At a time when retail is trying to figure itself out and department stores are being decimated in many markets, El Corte Inglés reminds the shopper of gentler times in consumerism. Men in well-cut suits look after you in the electronics department, knowledgeable staff in the sports section try to upsell you on a better Adidas trainer and the housewares department is full of items you need for daily use. And then, of course, there’s its amazing grocery business. Yes, it helps that it’s a monopoly but being a bit sleepy and old school is no bad thing.
21.45: The dinner scene is in full swing at The Grill at the Marbella Club. The terrace and dining room are packed: it’s all hugs, kisses and handshakes; it’s tables of friends and families and the lighting is warm and glowing. It’s something to aspire to – social, boisterous, fun and with a good soundtrack.
22.15: We’re still in the restaurant, tables are coming and going, and I notice it’s a tale of two fabrics among the patrons. Men and women of a certain age (45 plus) are in linen blazers, shirts and scarves; anyone under 18 is only in sweat fabric. All around are youngsters in track suits with Givenchy or Nike across the bum, Balenciaga or Harvard across the front and the dreadful posture that often accompanies clothing with too much give. Parents be warned: next stop is a pitbull for a graduation gift and a daughter whose best accessory will be an electronic tag.
Saturday, 10.30: Vende! Vende! Vende! The commercial real-estate scene is pretty grim in the centre of Marbella – seemingly every third café, bar or shop has been closed. In their place are hastily opened barber shops (is a red, white and blue pole the new flag for money laundering? The new version of the nail salon?) and Chinese-run shops selling lacy and stringy tat for tourists that are unlikely to return for many seasons.
11.25: On my way back to the hotel from my Marbella tour I survey a well-manicured but desolate boulevard – good architecture, sunny balconies and plenty of room for an urban rethink. What an opportunity! Should the city be thinking about attracting a new generation of talent? One that can work from the city year-round, regenerate the city’s core and wean itself off low-margin tourism?
It might be worth popping down and taking a peek.
