We set off from the airport with the kind of optimism that only comes after a smooth flight, windows down and the warm Spanish air already doing its work. About ten minutes into the drive the satnav decided we fancied a detour through a residential estate, and before I knew it we were reversing out of a dead end while a very patient local on a scooter waited behind us, smiling in that way that said this happens daily. By the time we pulled up outside the apartment block the sun was already high, and the mishap had somehow made the arrival feel even better, like we had earned the quiet that waited inside.

The flat itself was simple and bright, with a little balcony that looked straight onto a palm-lined street. We dropped our bags, opened every window, and stood for a minute just listening to the soft sound of traffic and birds. There was no rush to unpack or plan, so we did not. Instead we made coffee with the little machine on the counter and carried the mugs outside, sitting in plastic chairs that had clearly seen a few seasons but still did the job.

The next few days settled into an easy rhythm that suited us perfectly. Mornings began with a slow wander to the nearest bakery for fresh bread and pastries, then back to the balcony where we read whatever paperbacks we had grabbed at the airport. The heat never felt oppressive because we had nowhere urgent to be. Lunch was often just cold cuts and tomatoes eaten in the shade, followed by the serious business of doing nothing at all. I found myself napping in the afternoons without guilt, waking to the sound of neighbours chatting on their own balconies and the occasional burst of laughter from children playing below.

In the evenings we would stroll a few streets over to the small square near the apartment, where a couple of modest restaurants served simple local dishes. We never booked, just turned up when we felt like it and sat outside watching the sky turn pink. One night we bought ice creams from a kiosk and ate them on a bench, not talking much, just content to watch people pass by. It felt like the opposite of a packed itinerary, and that was exactly the point.

Looking back, the satnav mix-up feels like the first hint of what the week would become. We had arrived expecting to tick off sights and instead found ourselves perfectly happy staying close, moving slowly, and letting the sunshine set the pace. The days blurred together in the best way, each one a gentle repeat of reading, resting, and short walks that never took us far. By the end I realised how rarely I allow myself this kind of ordinary, unhurried time, and how good it felt to remember that sometimes the best part of a holiday is simply being still in a warm place with nothing much to do.