That’s Torre del Mar above, or rather a view of its sweeping, four kilometre long shoreline. I and my friend, Lisa, arrived here on Sunday.

People have settled here for around 3,000 years and we, although largely seasonal and not having been here that long, are the most recent to leave our mark, a new breed of occupiers to the Romans and Moors.

Over the last sixty years or so much of the Mediterranean coast has been transformed for our pleasure. Some of the old scenes that drew us here remain but along the shores, including here, too often there’s been a mushrooming of the high rise accommodation into which we’re all packed.

We’ve been lucky. We’ve rented an older apartment for a month in a small back street with a large and sun kissed balcony, but the big boys rule by the sea.

February’s a good time to be here though. It’s a place geared up for the summer crowds, but along the front the shutters are down and, for now at least, it feels as though the town belongs to the people who live here. I guess they’re making the most of it while they can, before the temperature rises and the toil required by the quadrupling of its population calls.

Today’s Sunday and all over town people are strolling along spotlessly clean boulevards planted with aloe vera and cacti and ferns, meeting in cafes and on the promenade where the palms sway and parakeets screech.

Beside the long beach along which I’ve just walked people are playing volleyball on the sand and families are gathered in the shade of beach huts and cafes sharing the week’s news. There are kisses and handshakes and hugs. Babies are being passed around.

Under a circle of palm trees an ensemble of musicians play gentle blues for anyone who wants to listen, but mostly just for them. You can see it on their faces.

And everywhere there’s the dancing cadence of chatter and laughter, sometimes a hum, sometimes with the volume turned right up. Everyone, me included, seems to be having a good time.