Cala Figuera

In between Camping Cala Llevada's two main beaches is a tiny, steeply shelved pebbly cove, a perfect swimming spot. It's a tad tricky to reach, a bit of a scramble over jagged rocks at the southern end of Chiringuito Mar Azul's beach or a clamber down uneven steps that zigzag dizzily through pine trees from the camping terraces. Viewed from above the little rocky cove positively invites you to dive in.

Unsurprisingly given its allure and relative seclusion it had been adopted as a textile optional spot, particularly popular with the svelte occupants of  German camper vans that congregate in the more remote pitches among the pine trees. This presented me with a bit of a dilemma, faced with a perfect swimming spot I get an almost irresistible desire to paddle about, equally however, I have no pressing need to assert my love of Nature by wandering about in it like some latter-day Adam.

On our first day at Cala Llevada as usual I rolled out of bed around eightish, made a jug of coffee then wandered off for a shower. There was no one about. My train of thought went - if there's nobody in the shower block at this time then probably the beaches are deserted too. Next day I woke as usual had a coffee, then grabbed a towel and wended my way down to Cala Figuera. My hunch proved correct, I had the cove to myself.

 

I guess from one side to the other Cala Figueras cannot be more than 150m across, so it's easy to 'do widths'. The sun had just risen, swimming southwards, the wooded hills above the cove lit up in a golden light, the big picture windows swanky villas among the trees flashing bronze.

Turning around, I found myself swimming into darkness as if time had reversed; the north end of the cove was still in shadow, the sun had yet to top the low promentory; it jutted into the pewter grey water like a wedge, dark  as charcoal. As I swam back for a second time the sun rose above cliffs, a big pine tree on the clifftop silhouetted momentarily, then the first rays of sunlight streaked towards me dancing across the wavelets like tepid lightening. To have this all to myself was humbling.

An empty beach presents no challenges at all so far as attire is concerned, it becomes purely a question of personal preference not tribal affiliation, which is how it should be. The weather in Cala Llevada was perfect all week, I managed a dawn swim five mornings in a row.

Only on day five, when I was a little tardy getting up was my lone reverie disturbed. The cove was empty when I arrived, but as I turned to swim back I had been joined by a naked man sitting in the corner on a beach chair reading. A couple of minutes later another guy stood on the edge of the water contemplating joining me. His partner was faffing about with a big beach umbrella on a small patch of sand near the steps. Time to go.

'Morgen!', she said brightly as I made my way past. I returned the greeting, though not quite so brightly. As I huffed and puffed up the steep path I realised I was feeling slightly put out. It was not their nudity that had affronted me but their very presence. After four days of solitary dawn swims, in my head I had purloined sun-rise at Cala Figuera for myself, it had been a truly beautiful solitary experience; I felt reluctant to share it.  I will remember these mornings forever.