I have never been so pleased to see a pine tree in my entire life. After a three-hour flight, a two-hour bus that smelled strongly of chorizo and regret, and a final twenty-minute taxi ride where the driver practiced what I can only describe as "interpretive braking," I finally spotted the gated entrance to our villa in Los Belones. I was ready to weep with relief. Then I discovered I had packed my partner's left flip-flop and my own right one. Matching pairs are apparently for people who pack with functioning brain cells.

The mishap only revealed itself as I was hauling our cases up the gravel path, doing an awkward hop-shuffle that the taxi driver watched with visible amusement before driving off. There I stood, lopsided and sweating, at the door of what looked like a very lovely holiday home. I had to ring the doorbell barefoot like a confused pilgrim.

But then the door opened, and honestly, the flip-flop situation stopped mattering quite so much.

The first thing that hits you about this part of Murcia is the light. It is not normal light. It is golden and thick and slightly show-offy, pouring through the open-plan living area and making absolutely everything look like it belongs on a postcard. The villa had that wonderful Spanish thing of being cool inside despite the blazing heat outside, with tiled floors that felt delicious against my bare feet. I stood there in my mismatched footwear, grinning like an idiot, while my partner very kindly did not mention the packing disaster for at least four minutes.

The kitchen smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and possibility. I immediately pictured myself chopping vegetables with the confidence of someone who owns a proper apron, though we both know I would mainly be making toast and opening wine. The little breakfast bar looked out toward the terrace, and beyond that, a private pool that glittered like someone had planned it that way. I am fairly certain I made an involuntary noise, something between a gasp and a whimper.

Stepping outside was when it really sank in that we had arrived somewhere properly lovely. The terrace had that weathered, sun-bleached look that no amount of British garden furniture achieves. There were loungers positioned with mathematical precision to catch the afternoon sun, and a covered dining area where I could already imagine eating dinner far too late while pretending this was somehow our actual life. The pool itself was immaculate, that particular blue that makes you want to abandon all dignity and jump straight in fully clothed. I nearly did, flip-flops and all.

Los Belones itself crept up on me gradually. From the terrace you could see hints of it, a proper Spanish town rather than some manufactured resort. The church bell drifted over in the warm air, and somewhere a dog barked with the relaxed rhythm of a creature that has never experienced British rain. I felt that particular holiday sensation of time suddenly becoming elastic, of the normal rules suspending themselves for a while.

I think the moment that really got me, though, was when I finally sat down on one of those loungers, still barefoot, still ridiculous, and watched a gecko dart across the wall with the confidence of something that knows exactly where it belongs. I had spent months grinding through work and weather and the general nonsense of daily life, and now here I was, slightly broken by travel, poorly shod, and utterly content. Sometimes you need to get things a bit wrong to notice when everything else is right.

My partner emerged with two cold beers and a look of amused forgiveness. We clinked bottles as the sun began its slow descent, painting the whole sky in colours that felt almost aggressive in their beauty. I wiggled my bare toes and decided I did not need matching flip-flops to be happy. I needed this exact moment, this warm air, this ridiculous peace.

Tomorrow we would explore properly, find the local mercado, probably get lost down charming streets, definitely eat too much. But for now, arrival was enough. More than enough. I had never been so pleased to see a pine tree, and I had certainly never been so happy to be wearing the wrong shoes.