You’d never know Combarro was even there.

It’s like stepping into a different dimension. Like Narnia. A hidden lane takes you away from the endless concrete, pre-fab high rises that line the Spanish coastline, and as you drive down the narrow street and along the cobbles you come to a place almost untouched by the centuries.

We walked down to our little stone house on the sea, past the cruceiros in the square, and through a small blue gate where tourists leaned over to get a better look at the two hórreos or granary stores that dominated our small garden. Down a set of stone steps and we arrived at our home for the next week and drank in the quiet of this tranquil place.

Our week was spent exploring the many beaches nearby and enjoying some fantastic seafood. Tinta Negra was a particular favourite, its appeal amplified by the fact it had the Roland Garros on and we spent our Sunday glued to Alcaraz/Sinner in the men’s final. An epic 5 hour 20 minute match which kept us on the edge of our seats until finally Alcaraz pulled ahead in a tie break in the fifth set. Incredible tennis.

What I couldn’t understand, was how indifferent the Spanish were to the whole spectacle. We literally had to ask the staff at the restaurant to put it on, and even then we were the only ones watching and the last to leave. If it had been an Englishman (imagine that…) in that final, the UK would have been at a standstill and the pubs full to bursting. I think we left having cemented our reputation as a) the only two English tourists in Combarro and b) the only two tennis fans.

We had a cloudy end to the week, but that was an opportunity to explore Pontevedra (where we had the world’s most horrific meal. A crime against hake. Alas the receipt has been mislaid between Spain and England or I’d be typing my ‘Hake Crime’ Google review instead of this…) and Santiago. By Thursday the rain was torrential, so Eddie and I decided to go on a six mile hike through the forest, getting drenched in the process but at least feeling we’d done something with our day. All worth it for a hot shower and a final trip out to O Poleiro, our other favourite Combarro bar, for a feast of calamares fritos and assorted seafood, washed down with local Albarino, before heading back to to pack for home.

The journey home was uneventful, until we got to the house and realised we’d left our backpack with all our electronics, books and passports at Purple Parking, Gatwick. Cue apoplexy from Eddie, and a four hour round trip for me to go back and pick it up. Not the homecoming we’d hoped for. Our kids’ total lack of housekeeping ability added fuel to the fire. I suppose at least the animals were still alive…

So. Combarro. Fabulous. And today I’m happy to be home and looking back at a week well spent. And not looking forward to being back at work next week one bit.