Seasons of Change: Notes from the Costa del Sol - Part 2 Learning to Live Like a Local

When we moved to the Costa del Sol, we thought the biggest change would be the scenery. It turns out, the real shift has been in how we live each day — from what we wear, to how we walk, to the way we think about time.

This three-part series is a glimpse into how life here has reshaped me:

1. Autumn on the Calendar, Summer on the Beach – A September day at La Herradura, and the surprising ways the seasons feel different here.

2. Learning to Live Like a Local – From wardrobe shifts to the mañana lifestyle, and what it means to slow down. (You are here.)

3. Daily Rhythms, Spanish Style – Small rituals, open windows, and the unexpected joy of savoring everyday life. (Coming next week.)

I hope you’ll join me for these reflections on what it means to adapt, adjust, and truly live in a new place.

Back in late February and early March, we gave up our athletic shoes for sandals. By April, my husband had switched to wearing shorts every day, and by May, I was living in sundresses. I’ve always had a very narrow window of comfort when it comes to temperatures (that’s a whole story in itself), so it took me a little longer to fully commit to my “summer wardrobe.” But once I made the change, there was no going back.

Here on the Costa del Sol, we really only have two wardrobes: winter and summer. And summer dominates.

Like the locals, we avoid the beaches during the height of tourist season — late June, July, August, and early September. It’s not just the crowds, though, that’s part of it. The Mediterranean sun is intense. The air temperature may not reach Texas levels, but the intensity of the sun feels almost oppressive. You learn quickly to dart from one shady patch to another, to drink more water than you thought possible, and to buy clothing made from the lightest fabrics you can find.

Old town cobblestone street sign for Calle Canalejas. Also, a glimpse of my husband in his "summer" attire patiently waiting for me to take yet another photograph.

Walking is our main mode of transportation. We stroll through town, pick up groceries, or head out to meet friends on foot. Only occasionally do we call a taxi or ride the bus if our destination is far. And while the tourists lie out in the sun, we simply live our lives — walking, talking, shopping, dining — and end up with tan lines without even trying.

We’re learning to live the mañana lifestyle. Here, there’s no hurry. Things will get done when they get done. In the U.S., being “on time” usually meant racing the clock. Here, being on time means you’re early. The shift is refreshing, but it’s also a big adjustment.

Almost every day, someone has laundry hanging on the line to dry. With the laundry comes a beautiful view of the bay.

Other changes have surprised me, too. Laundry is hung on the line, not tumbled in a dryer. Plants grow like wild things — I’ve already had several repotting days, and some are ready for another. And all of this has shown me something I didn’t expect: slowing down doesn’t mean doing less. It means noticing more.

Repotting days are Zen-type days for me.

The longer we live here, the more we find ourselves reshaped by the rhythms around us. Tell me — what little habits from your own home or culture would be hardest for you to change?

This post is part of my Seasons of Change series about adapting to life on the Costa del Sol. You can read the first reflection here.