Mojácar has more to it than tourism. It has residents. We buy a house, a car, we Shop all year long and we support local restaurants. Each one of us must put the equivalent of several hundred tourists' wallets into the community each year. We do more for our town than the hotels and the three-month tripper season (now coming to an end). We maintain our town: paint, plant and water it (instead of being sick all over it). We are here now, we will be here in November and also in February. We may not be worthy of our own festival, or to have any reference in the guide-books or street signs, and we may not have any fellow-foreigners working in our gigantic town hall, but we love and support this town. Our town.

This morning, I went to count the number of souvenir shops in the village. Nick nack shops. I don't include the boutiques, where the owners either go to find their stock, or create it themselves. I just count the shops that sell junk: 'I got laid in Mojacar' Tee shirts, fake leather wrist bands, indalos, teddies, 'Maria' necklaces and so on. Stuff delivered by merchants. Stuff for tourists only. Cheap, for cheap tourists. Shops that live from those cheap tourists, not from the residents. Shops that, in almost all cases, are run by local families. Families, in short, who like cheap turismo and therefore manage the policies of the town hall by their influence.
Just in the village, mind, there are 32 of these outlets. Someone else can count the ones on the playa.