Bolneuvo is a former fishing village which in recent years has developed into a low key resort. It occupies a big sweeping sandy bay backed by a series of spectacular wind sculpted fossilised dunes. Unsurprisingly Camping Playa de Mazarron at the northern end of the day is packed with northern Europe's retirees here for the duration.
We stayed here on our first extended trip, partly because we didn't know any better, but mainly because it coincided with Bolneuvo's renowned romerio, and whatever bungaloid ambiance existed within the site was more than compensated by the fiesta on the streets outside.
Still, it's only for two nights we agreed as we parked outside reception. There were only four available pitches and at least that number of people hunting them down. We found the area with spare pitches at the far end of the site: two had trees planted in the middle of them, so would only accommodate a camper. We were discussing the merits of the remaining two when another British couple arrived. They were planning to stay for a week - you choose which one you want and we'll take the other, we offered.
We trotted back towards reception all too aware it was dog eat dog so far as pitch allocation was concerned. Past the serried ranks of mohos and caravans packed into rectangular blocks, everyone squeezed onto small pitches, each delineated by steel sun shade frames. National flags fluttered among the arrays of satellite dishes, strange figurines embellished some of the more 'homely plots', van rear-ends sported jolly decals asserting in a variety of non-Latin languages that everyone was having an adventure, avoiding dementia and living the dream...
Why exactly are we staying here?' Gill enquired. I had to admit I had no idea. Let's not bother, we agreed. I am not sure what swung it for Gill, so far as I was concerned it was none of the things listed above. For me the final straw was the preponderance of moustaches. Never have I seen so many neatly trimmed white moustaches in such a short time, more than you would find even at an impromptu Gilet Jaune tyre-burning party or the Oktoberfest. Too many moustaches, Pete can't cope, time to move on.
So we rejected the open prison and moved less than half a kilometre to the travellers encampment. The previous two times we have been here there has always been about half a dozen motorhomes parked on the waste ground next to the famous sculptured rocks. Though listed in both 'Campercontacts' and 'Park for Night' as a place to overnight, the signage is somewhat ambiguous, I think wild camping is tolerated, but not officially sanctioned.
We pulled into a space, at least forty others had drawn up. By evening that increased by another twenty. There is no doubt about it from the Costa del Sol to here in Murcia the number of motorhomes has risen enormously compared to previous trips. Still, where we are is preferable to the campsite. It is all very relaxed and self-managed, no 'look at me' flag flying, or kitch pitch decor. Yes, there are a few well tended moustaches on show, but they are not disturbingly overrepresented. Even better, the beach parking is free.
Apart from wandering along the beach, today has slipped by and I can't quite work out where it went. Tomorrow we will have to find a campsite with a laundry, I just hope the two at Mazarron are not quite as 'Überwintermench' as Bolneuvo's. One of them has a heated salt water pool. I quite fancy a swim; age is catching up with me, I have not been able to face a dip in briney since Christmas, a year or two ago I would have jumped in whatever the temperature.
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