But this year, when September 1 arrived, as if on cue, the heavens opened big time in Seville and it rained. It really rained. I don’t mean the persistent drizzle that permeates the very core of the British psyche, I mean big, heavy, loud, hard, huge rain. Oh, and add in some pretty hefty thunder claps (which make British thunder sound like a whoopee cushion) and lightning that arches across the sky as if God himself got a static shock from rubbing his slippers too hard on the carpet again.
Hoards of people came flooding back from the coast, clutching suitcases, deckchairs, hold-alls, ice boxes, flip-flops and boxes of food. The train and bus stations looked like evacuation centres for nicely-tanned refugees.
But then on September 2, as quickly as it arrived, the rain disappeared and it went back to being summer again. For a moment, the refugees considered turning round and heading back, but then they realised reluctantly that they had to go back to work.
But I’ve gone off the point somewhat.
What I wanted to talk about was second homes. This exodus to the coast is something which fascinates me. It’s not because the population of Seville during this time is mostly made up of tourists, and it’s not because Noel Coward was right when he said, “mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun” - Spanish people aren’t necessarily any better at dealing with the heat than the Brits, they just sit in the shade with their Vino Tintos laughing at the sweaty, pasty white, red-blotchy, sandal-and-sock wearing brigade sitting in the full glare of the sun, pretending they’re having a good time.
No, what fascinates me is this. Despite Spain being in the grip of an economic meltdown, I’m amazed at how many Spanish families actually have second homes.
I mean, really, how many families in the UK have a second home by the beach or in the countryside which they disappear off to at weekends and in the summer? Plenty, you say. Bollocks, most of them struggle to keep up with the mortgage on their shoeboxes in the city. Those that do have a summer home often don’t use it anyway as they’re off holidaying in Barbados or Mustique with their butlers, while the residents of the quaint little villages where their empty holiday homes sit idly, have to regularly quell the urge to burn them down or daub graffiti on them, as they’ve pushed house prices up and pushed the locals out.
The fact is that a lot of Spanish families do have second homes. But this doesn’t really have anything to do with the economy. It’s historical. Homes are passed from generation to generation – and the same ones too. It is quite common here for people to keep the same house where they were born and pass it on to their children. Yes, this does happen in the UK, but nowhere near as much as it does here – it’s a fraction.
It also reflects the fact that here in Spain, it’s not uncommon for children to remain in the family home even after growing up and getting jobs. In the UK, it’s far more common for kids to sprint out the door on their 18th birthday and hole up in a grubby flat somewhere in a part of the city that’s always on fire, because that’s all they can afford. But then anything is better than spending another minute with the parents!
Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of flats here in Spain – huge numbers. I mean, they spread out before you and continue on to the horizon. And more are being built every day.
The problem is that no-one is living in them! Here in Seville and in its suburbs there are blocks and blocks of flats totally empty. In one suburb about 5km outside the city, there are streets full of these deserted shells – it’s like being in some horror movie where all the inhabitants have run off or got killed!
While there are plenty of second homes here, there just isn’t the population to fill all the other ones desperate for owners. So, if you’re thinking of moving to Spain, I think you’ll probably be able to find somewhere quite easily. Come on over, it’s still summer!
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