Back from the abyss – life with the Spanish summer heat

After three weeks away, you return with a head full of impressions, a suitcase full of laundry, and… a house that clearly hasn’t been waiting up for you. My finca just outside Marbella seemed mostly relieved I was back — as if walls, doors and pot plants are also entitled to emotional closure. And truth be told: life with the Spanish summer heat isn’t just about air-con and siestas. It’s about tuning in to the subtle ways your home tries to tell you: “I’ve been through things.”

July got ahead of itself this year

While I was off perfecting the art of doing absolutely nothing (with mixed results, I’ll admit), summer here on the Costa del Sol decided to show up early — and with dramatic flair. After a soggy and occasionally temperamental spring, the sun suddenly declared, sometime in late May, that it was ready for its big solo. No gradual warm-up, no polite transition. Just click — and we were sizzling.

Mijn finca reageerde zoals je van een huis mag verwachten dat gebouwd is op Andalusische nuchterheid: ze trok zich terug in zichzelf. Luiken die weigeren nog open te klappen, vloeren die je voeten waarschuwen, en een tuin die zijn eigen wetten begon te schrijven.

The house had taken a holiday too

There’s something oddly fascinating about returning to a house that’s been left undisturbed for three weeks. Everything feels a touch dustier, a little slower, mildly more opinionated. As if the interior had been observing its own summer schedule. My plants, for what it’s worth, seem to have forgiven me. Whether they actually missed me is another matter. I once wrote about how to help your houseplants survive while you’re away — and I’m pleased to report those tips still hold up. Even after an early heatwave ambush.

The basil on my kitchen shelf is still alive, at least. Though judging by its current expression, it’s beginning to question the point of photosynthesis at 38 degrees.

Reinventing your rhythm (without air-con anarchy)

What strikes me every summer: heat demands a different rhythm — indoors as much as out. My British side craves routine; my Spanish side votes siesta. The truth, as it often does, lies somewhere in the shade. Literally. I find myself slipping back into my grandparents’ way of living: shutters closed by day, up early, lunch like it’s a religion, and proper activity postponed until the sun’s had enough of itself.

Even my interior joins the seasonal migration. The big armchair gets moved to the north-facing window, the rug gives way to blessedly cool tiles, and I’ve started setting up a little ‘quiet corner’ — where even my phone isn’t welcome. Not out of any deep spiritual conviction, mind you. I just prefer to hear the fan.

Living with the summer heat, not against it

It’s tempting to fill your house with fans, dehumidifiers and scented candles that promise to make everything feel less hot. But I’m convinced you’re better off moving with the heat, not fighting it. Think: cotton sheets, fresh mint on the table, a jug of lemon water in the fridge — and the radical acceptance that you really don’t have to do anything in the afternoon.

My plants do the same. One shuts down entirely, another grows at a strange angle toward the last scrap of shade. I follow their lead. Not everything has to be efficient. Sometimes, just making it through the day is an achievement in itself.