This is the summer for last-minute, value-for-money continental holidays. So Marianne O'Malley took off for SpainLate holidays: Dali's Spain

On a particularly moist and chilly evening in July, my friend, Rhoda, and I huddled at a barbecue, munched our sausages and watched bemused as scantily clad fellow guests chatted, nibbled and laughed - impervious to the plummeting evening temperature and growing gale.

"Surreal," mumbled Rhoda. "What we need is a holiday. Let's find a flight to somewhere, anywhere, hot." And, grinning, she added persuasively: "Everyone says its cheaper than staying at home."

This unplanned and unbudgeted break had to be cheap. But would that end up meaning tacky? We wanted crystal clear seawater, sunny skies and balmy breezes. No tower blocks, no neon and definitely no full Irish breakfasts or happy hours. Some place with a little historical and cultural interest would be lovely. And maybe even the occasional nice restaurant - though simple, mind you. As we trawled through the internet our list of criteria grew. We began to think our quest was impossible. But two weeks later we weighed in at the Ryanair check-in for a flight to Girona in northern Spain.

Thanks to a chance word at that barbecue, surrealism, and Salvador Dali in particular, became the sub-text and cultural interest for our chosen sunshine holiday. During our search we discovered that Catalonia is celebrating Dali's centenary this year.

Figueres, his birthplace, a fairly ordinary town about 65 km from Girona, is also home to one of the most visited and spectacular museums in Spain. The Teatre-Museu Dali was the first item on our agenda. Arriving late at night at our hostel, we were pleasantly surprised by our pristine twin room, en-suite facing onto a pretty square - a bargain at only €36 for the room. We smiled smugly and looked up "intrepid travellers" in our Catalan phrase book before the balmy breeze billowing through the open windows gently wafted us to sleep.

Two hours later all hell broke loose. A cacophony of squealing brakes, thundering Juggernauts and thumping car stereos got us out of our beds. For the next four hours we watched as the market square was transformed into, well, a market square. Elaborate stalls were hammered together and tons of fruit, vegetables, clothing and household products were delivered. Lively Catalans roared directions and instructions at one another, joked, laughed and eventually dined in the open air as the sun began to rise. Figueres slept through it all. Rhoda and I, propped bleary-eyed at the window, mumbled, and not for the last time on this holiday: "Surreal."

But after a delicious breakfast with the stallholders at a local caff (€1.20 each for orange juice, coffee and rolls), we were first in the queue at the theatre-museum at 9 a.m. By the time we left at midday, a queue of hot and squabbling tourists had snaked around the block several times. We agreed that being sleep-deprived added a bizarre enhancement to our appreciation of this fantastic monument to Dali's work and life.

A quick dash and we caught the Serfa bus to Cadaques, a small coastal town, hanging on the side of a mountain an hour's drive over treacherous cliff-edged terrain. And maybe it's this physical barrier and isolation that makes Cadaques a unique and beautiful place. Dali thought so. He spent 40 years living in the area and gradually converted seven tiny fishermen's cottages into the embodiment of his dreams. And boy, could that man dream - as a visit to his quirky and imaginative home proved.

Cadaques has been through many incarnations since it was "discovered" by Dali. As his fame rose so did that of his hometown and the international artistic set flocked to the area. It had been an extremely poor fishing village but in the early decades of the 20th century, a trickle of adventurous spirits travelled to affluent Cuba, before the revolution, to make their fortunes. They were lucky and the trickle of migrants turned into a flow. Soon money was being sent back and invested in the are. And Cadaques had the confidence to retain and maintain its whitewashed simplicity.

And it's still like that today. There are restaurants, shops and hotels, but discreet ones, tucked away in the narrow cobbled-stoned maze of streets wending up and down the hillsides surrounding the bay. We stayed in the Hotel Ubaldo, a small, one-star hotel, two minutes walk from the central square and the water's edge. Our large twin-room en-suite with balcony was immaculate and cost €32 each per day.

Each day started at the Casino cafe bar. Bustling matrons with shopping baskets and business people with mobiles, relaxed fishermen and wealthy yacht owners all shared a counter to order coffee and croissants.

There are no sandy beaches in Cadaques. We spent our days discovering little rocky coves along the coast and adapting likely surfaces into deckchairs and sunloungers. As the temperature climbed, we rolled into the tepid Mediterranean to snorkel and explore the teeming life underwater, every so often taking a break to eat the cherries and peaches we had stashed in the cool rock crevices.

And our worries gradually changed. Instead of being concerned about work, bills and children, we fixated on, and discussed interminably, what to eat and where? Could we step-down on the sun protection without suffering? And what mysterious ailment prevented either of us from getting past chapter two in our respective books?

But people watching had become our main pre-occupation. Had that skinny 60-year-old with the buoyant boobs had surgery? Why are continental children so much better behaved in public than ours? And what je ne sais quoi do French men possess that makes them get better with age.

After our daily siesta, a gentle amble through galleries and shops - without spending - justified splurging on our evening meal. Who could resist the plentiful supply of seafood: enormous king prawns, turbot, sardines and tuna, grilled simply with a garlic, lemon and parsley pesto? And bowls and bowls of fragrant mussels. All washed down by a crisp and delicious Vina Sol at approximately €9 a bottle, restaurant price - heaven!

Our evening meals cost on average €40 for two but this was pushed up by our night at the infamous Casa Anita where the extravagant and bombastic host created a theatrical floor show using his guests as props. The food was delicious and our fellow diners delightful, but I preferred the more effortless charms of the small and intimate restaurants.

On our final day we regretfully left for Figueres, assessing our bus driver for fatigue, tremors and hangover before closing our eyes until the perilous drive across the mountains was over.

From there it was a straightforward trip by coach to Girona and a half day exploring its old town before our flight back to Dublin. Our week of sunshine and swimming, and wonderful food, wine and accommodation was cheaper than an equivalent week away in Ireland (without any guarantee of sun). Pity.

Late Holidays: Dali's Spain

Flights: Our return flight from Dublin to Gerona, including taxes and charges, cost €€115 each. Website: www.ryanair.com

Dali: Information on the Dali trail can be obtained from website: www.salvador-dali.org

Accommodation (hotels and hostels): Just type into Google "accommodation in Catalonia". Many of the smaller places do not have e-mail or a website and you will need to telephone to book. We stayed in Pension Bartis, Méndez Nuñez, 2, in Figueres. Tel: 0034 972501473 (try to avoid staying on a Wednesday night before the market on Thursday). In Cadaques, we stayed in the Hotel Ubaldo, Unio, 13. Tel: 0034 972258125

Transport. The bus service is efficient and cheap. Barcelona Bus operates the route between Gerona Airport, Gerona and Figueres.See its website for timetables: www.barcelonabus.com Serfa operates a vast network within the province. We travelled the route between Figueres and Cadeques. See the website www.serfa.com for information