You can change the currency, just don’t touch lunch

When I landed on the Costa del Sol in 1994, my main tools for fitting in and getting by were a dog-eared phrasebook, a pocketful of peseta coins and an optimistic belief that sun cream was strictly optional.

Back then, catching up on news from home involved waiting four days for a sun-bleached copy of a British newspaper to arrive at the local kiosk (and does anyone remember the Weekly Telegraph which was all the best bits from The Daily Telegraph?).

These days, I sit at my local café watching a new generation of arrivals. They are digital nomads, tapping furiously on sleek laptops while sipping their café con leche and paying in euros rather than pesetas.

They talk about algorithms and high-speed wi-fi, while I recall the sheer thrill of successfully installing a satellite dish big enough to pick up BBC One through a heavy sea mist.

Spain has transformed around us. The dusty coastal roads of the nineties are now smooth dual carriageways and the local bureaucracy has traded endless paper carbon sheets for shiny online portals - though, reassuringly, you still occasionally need a physical stamp from a man who only works every third Tuesday.

Even the climate seems to have turned up the dial. Our old conversations about gentle winter sunshine have given way to tracking the terral winds and comparing reservoir levels over a cold caña.

Meanwhile, local conversations have shifted from finding cheap rentals to dodging non-resident property booms and debating whether the long-promised coastal railway line will ever actually materialise.

Then there is the small matter of local integration. Thirty years ago, integration meant braving the town hall alone, armed only with basic Spanish and mime gestures to explain a leaking water pipe. Now, fresh arrivals swap instant advice across endless WhatsApp groups before their plane even touches down. Yet despite every modern app promising to streamline the Mediterranean experience, true integration remains unchanged: it still happens over a two-hour menu del día, sharing a jug of tinto de verano with the table next to you.

Yet, for all the changes, the heartbeat of the coast remains identical. The rhythm of the day is still governed by the afternoon siesta, the chiringuito grills still fill the air with the scent of roasting sardines and no one ever expects a meeting to start precisely on time.

The newcomers think they have discovered a shiny modern haven, but those of us who have been here since the nineties know the real secret. Spain lets you change as much technology as you like, so long as you do not interfere with lunch.