Right, so imagine this. You’re in Spain. The sun’s doing its thing — aggressive but sexy. Your kids are halfway through their third Calippo. Someone’s screaming joyfully from the kamikaze slide and your partner’s got that face on, the one that means “I’m about to do something foolish for TikTok.” You’re thinking: today’s a good day.
And then bang. Toe. Flamingo float. Plastic versus flesh, a tale as old as time.
We were at a place near Torremolinos. Great park, excellent churros, mildly aggressive seagulls. One minute we’re floating down the lazy river, next minute my brother-in-law misjudges his entry and kicks the inflatable like it owed him money. You ever seen a man try to laugh off a broken toe in front of a lifeguard named Sergio who clearly does CrossFit? It’s tragic. Like a ham trying to do ballet.
They got him to the on-site medic — who, to be fair, was lovely but also busy dealing with a child who’d inhaled a whole mini donut. Anyway, after some very Spanish shrugging and a handwritten note on a napkin that said “Hospital, maybe X-ray?”, we’re in a taxi heading to the nearest centro de salud with zero idea what’s waiting for us.
Now, this is where the story gets… hot. No one spoke English. We speak very average tourist Spanish. The receptionist looked at his toe and said something that probably meant “you’ll need to wait six hours unless it’s falling off.” He panicked, started Googling “Spanish toe gangrene”, and I texted my friend who lives in Valencia. Her reply was glorious and also terrifying: “This is why I tell people to sort out proper health cover before they end up in a room full of coughing pensioners and a vending machine that only takes coins from 1997.”
I’ll say it plainly. If you’re heading to Spain, especially with kids, adrenaline, water slides, or overconfident family members… don’t wait until you’re half-wrapped in a pool towel at A&E. Get covered. This guide to private health insurance in Spain is genuinely useful. I didn’t even know some places flat-out refuse non-emergency treatment without it. Learn from our dumb toe.
Also, worth knowing: EU health cards (or GHICs) help a bit, but only in public facilities, and they won’t get you a private room or a doctor who doesn’t think you’re trying to scam free crutches. The private hospital we eventually went to? Spotless. Efficient. Painkillers that worked. They even gave him a little slipper to wear on the flight home, like a sad prince. Cost a fortune. But the vending machine took cards.
Weirdly, the only thing that kept us sane was the inflatable flamingo, which made it into every hospital photo. It became the mascot of the trip. That, and the toe. It turned purple. He showed it to strangers. One woman at the pharmacy gagged.
Moral of the story? Don’t trust foam birds. And don’t go to a Spanish water park without some sort of health insurance backup plan. Because fun is great, but “Spanish ER with sand in your shorts” is a vibe no one wants.
Also, if you’re wondering — no, he didn’t get a refund for the churros he dropped when he stubbed it. Spain may be magical, but it’s not that magical.
