Pining for Playa del Postiguet has a certain enchantment of its own in July afternoons. The Mediterranean whispers salty secrets to everyone who will listen here; the sun stains everything gold. Local claims that the sea here heals whatever ails you are understandable. Tote your towel and you will find striped umbrellas growing like happy mushrooms. Before leaping headfirst into the waves, children run, buckets swinging, building their sandy fortresses.
An old story of a fisherman who swore the water was colder near the castle exists. Teenagers still swim that stretch, daring each other for the chilly shock reward; nobody has ever checked. Truth be stated, though, occasionally you might yearn for two or a goosebump. Midday stretches make you long for that first splash; every inch of skin tingling, toes curling from joy and the hint of chill under the careful eye of the sun.
The promenade arranges its palm trees as soldiers on parade. Sand gives place to patterned tiles, in which grandparents stroll with ice cream melting down their hands and laughter filling the air. Benches become temporary thrones; chess games play out, and the losing king always feels a little saltier than the ocean breeze itself.
Just past the laughing, kiosks buzz. The smell of fried churros calls out every delicious taste and envelops the street. A chorus of sellers calls cold drinks, sunglasses, sun hats piled high as wedding cakes. Though the hat vendors never waver, not everyone needs a hat. “Too much sun, amigo!,” becomes into a summer mantra as familiar as the waves.
Evenings make the entire performance different. Watching as groups of friends assemble on the sand, that castle perched on its rocky outcrop shines with the sunset. Ladybugs search the last ray by skittering on towels. Conversations in Spanish and English abound, all punctuated with the sing-song of beach guitarists who never quite finish a song before moving on to a new one.
Wander down close to midnight and you will come across the actual night visitors. One of the barefoot joggers insists that running on sand helps with jet lag. Couples round each other, their shadows creating fresh stories under the moon. Sometimes the distant pounding of a summer music festival pulsates weakly beneath the whoosh of the water.
Postiguet is softer than many beaches for families. No violent drop-offs; water deepens gradually, ideal for small swimmers first getting their feet wet. From their perches, lifeguard red and yellow uniforms sparkle. Their eyes convey a kind of comfort that enables parents unwind into a siesta while the kids hunt foam and dreams.
Stories found here do not remain fixed. New faces, lost flip-flops, forgotten buckets, and sandcastles left at half-tide greet every summer. Everybody leaves something behind—if only a memory of that first taste of churro, warm and doughy against a pink and orange sky painted backdrop. Ready to welcome the next sun-chaser home once more, Postiguet always waits.
