At two thirty in the morning, when the shrill of the alarm reminded me that I had a journey to make, I was not overjoyed at the prospect of watching the Moors invade the beach at Villajoyosa. My friend Shan and I  made our way to a pickup point where we boarded a minibus with six other bemused people. We all promptly fell asleep again until our friendly chauffeur roused us at four thirty and showed us where to meet him for the return ride.

We sauntered down to the beach, following a raucous parade – the tail end of a previous event. After a cup of strong coffee we followed the crowd and were lucky to find a good vantage point on the beach, where tall palms were strewn with wire cable holding braziers aloft, and battle tents nestled on the shore between trees draped with lanterns. Suddenly our mood changed from grumpy not-so-old women to excited young girls, as the tension in the crowd began to build.

Villajoyosa is renowned for its re-enactment of the Moors’ landing. In the darkness, I gawped at twelve blue searchlights scouring the skies in a criss-cross pattern. A slow drum beat echoed my heartbeats as we waited for the proceedings to begin. Gradually I made out the silhouette of a white sail bearing a crescent moon, moving purposefully towards the shore. The skies exploded into colour as golden fireworks were aimed at the shore from the ship’s ‘cannons’.

Arabian music began to speed up, stirring the invaders into battle amidst the cries of the Christians appealing to Santa Marta for help. Nostrils tickling with the smell of gunpowder, ears assaulted with bangs, eyes wide at the kaleidoscope of colours, we watched and waited for the outcome of the battle. Pastel shades of pink, lilac, mauve and purple filled the night sky. As the music changed I recognised Vangelis and the ‘Gladiator’ theme as well as the familiar ‘O Fortuna’, and our excitement grew.

For another hour we watched Christians in red and white tabards fight with Moors in blue jellabas, whilst thirty or so boats were plying along the shoreline, approaching the beach with each tack.  One commander was dragged ashore to face the Christian army, to surrender I assumed. But no, thirty minutes later the defenders of the faith were still being attacked by the marauding hordes.

By now we had lost interest – there’s only so much battling a soul can take, especially at six in the morning. Shan and I strolled through the gorgeous alley streets among tall narrow pastel-painted houses, the heady scent of Galan de Noche plants soothing our assaulted senses, and made our way back to meet the minibus in which we beat our own strategic retreat homewards.