Advertisement
Published: October 17th 2006
Yeah, sorry. But be prepared.
I mean, how many of you are lounging poolside on a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean Sea? With a glass of Spanish wine? As the sun sets perfectly over the sea and a hazy mountainside, slipping into a warm bath of reds, purples and coppers?
Well…we are.
And this is where we’ll be living for the next two weeks. Tonight is night three, and each sunset so far has been equally perfect. So has the weather. Jason described it as being like the first few days of Spring in Florida, with a slightly cool, sweater-worthy breeze in the evening, but pretty blissful warmth during the day. Not too hot, not too humid. Just perfect.
But enough blatant bragging. Let me fill you in on a few details.
As you know, Jason and I spent a week in Belgium with Lotte and Stu. We did the usual hanging out and watching movies on the BIG SCREEN (they have a projector that they shine on a sheet hanging in the middle of the living room, so it’s like a real life movie theatre!) and eating yummy food. We also took day trips to Bruges
and Brussels, which are both about an hour on the train, give or take a while.
Bruges was lovely. Some people say it’s too touristy, but I guess if you’re a tourist that makes it just about perfect. We brought a little picnic lunch and walked through the cobblestone streets over canals, admiring the lace/chocolate/beer-filled shop windows. We visited a few churches, one of which was really tiny and dimly lit and kind of eerie, and another that was interesting because of a lot of modern art on display. The art had a theme, which was anti-war and peace. I’ve never seen a church that actually made an obvious stand against war and hatred, and I was proud of that particular establishment for portraying the image I believe is actually “Christian.” But…that’s me starting to step on to my soapbox, so I’ll hop off before I get too carried away.
We also visited a lace museum in Bruges, and, I know…that sounds really boring. But the thing is that we got to see these old women making lace…okay…that sounds boring too…but actually it was really interesting and sort of hypnotizing to watch.
Brussels was slightly less charming
to us. Again, we visited a church (I love churches when I’m traveling. It’s a free way to enjoy the art, culture and history of a place….and there are always plenty of places to rest your feet!), and enjoyed a few minutes of watching some Asian tourists take pictures. The woman was posing seductively—keep in mind she was wearing a tracksuit and sneakers—in the middle of this church, and her man was taking bazillions of pictures of her from every angle. She wasn’t some kind of model or anything, just a typical Asian tourist making use of her super-powered camera.
We headed towards the busier, more touristy area to see that little peeing boy (Mannequin Pis), and we both quickly realized that we had, after a short 45 minute train ride, made it into the French-speaking area of Belgium. Considering that my knowledge of French is limited to the words the chef on the Little Mermaid sings in his song about fish (Poisson), and that I was completely caught off guard, I didn’t make a great impression on the cashier lady. She was nice enough, luckily, but others weren’t so nice, and it has completely perpetuated my fear of
communicating with the French-speaking community. It also left me with a bad taste in my mouth for Brussels.
So we saw the little boy and his little wiener, and then we had some amazing, hot, Belgian Waffles (it deserves to be capitalized) from a friendly waffle man (he appreciated my efforts in French, and maybe my cleavage too…but you know, I’ll do what I have to in order to charm the waffle guy). He insisted on having photos taken with both of us, in several different poses, and after that J and I went to the Musical Instrument Museum. You put on a pair of headphones, and then walk around five stories of instruments, and as you pass one, it plays a sample of that instrument. Cool, huh?
And that was our time in Belgium.
After that, we said goodbye to our latest addiction—Stu and Lotte—and got a RyanAir flight from Brussels to Malaga, Spain. A juicy tid-bit—while we were waiting in line to check-in for our flight in Brussels, some man just turned around and decked another guy right in the side of the face. Jason saw most of the scene go down, and said one
second it was just like any other line, and the next thing you know this father of what seemed to be a dozen children was holding the side of his face. Who knows what the dad may have said to deserve the punch, if anything at all, but luckily nothing transpired on the flight. But as I always say when we’re waiting to board our flights with RyanAir, getting into push and shove, competition mode, whispering our strategies and priding ourselves on outsmarting all the rest of the idiots, Ryan Air sure knows how to put the excitement back into flying.
And we know how to put the dork into anything.
We even actually congratulate each other on “winning first place” after we’ve boarded the plane before most everybody else, ensuring a fine selection of seats.
Anyway, we get into Malaga and before you know it I’m drudging up my rusty old Spanish-speaking skills, and I’m not that bad, I have to say.
We got a bus from the airport to the main Malaga bus station, enjoying the warm air, palm trees, and sort of Ybor City-ish feeling about our surroundings (By the way, I realized
that I was missing Florida weather back in England, while I was working at the pub. I opened up the dishwasher, and without even thinking about it I had my head half-way to the back of the machine…breathing in the humidity and sticky air. I closed my eyes and was Aahhhhing, and then realized what I was doing).
From Malaga we got another bus to the little village of Mezquitilla, where Richard and Marina would be waiting to fetch us.
The ride was along the Mediterranean Sea the entire way, and crumbly white clusters of houses seemed to dissolve right into the edge of the water. The afternoon sun danced on the waves and opposite the sea were stacks of apartments and homes, churches and cafes, peppering dusty, terracotta colored hills.
Ole, baby, we were in Spain!
As we curved around the seaside, life slowed down more and more until we reached the relatively sleepy village of Mezquitilla.
We unloaded ourselves and our stuff from the bus, and kind of just stood on the side of this foreign road, hoping like hell that we were in the right place. As I said, it’s a pretty quiet
little village, and all we could hear were the waves roaring behind us. Very few cars, a few kids on bikes, and no shops or anything within the close vicinity. A gust of wind and tumbleweed may have been appropriate.
But instead, Marina and Richard pulled up to gather us, and my visions of a Spanish bullfighter and some sword maker fighting over a woman with a red flamenco skirt disappeared as I realized we were about to be thrust into the lives of complete strangers.
Luckily, the forces that be matched us with kindred spirits, and soon enough we were eating a yummy dinner on the terrace, right after the sun set. Richard grilled sardines, and although I had my doubts I’m a pretty adventurous eater so I went for it, and let me tell you there were so dang good. I felt like Garfield, sucking the meat off the bones and leaving a perfect little intact fish skeleton (I didn’t throw the bones over my shoulder, but that probably would’ve made a good first impression).
Richard and Marina are form England, and moved permanently to the house they live in now three years ago. Richard
commutes to work in London Monday through Friday, and spends the weekends in Spain.
They have two boys, Scott (17) and Danny (16), and a daughter Kayley who’s at university and we didn’t meet.
Well, we basically got along like peas and carrots and had lots of good conversations and laughs, and those boys kept us entertained as well. The whole family was nice and polite and sort of typically English, and then after a few days it became clear that they’re a saucy little bunch and I definitely felt at home.
Of course we had to work to earn our keep (that was the point of the whole arrangement), and so we painted and gardened and oiled and did lots of little jobs. One day, Marina told us that we kept doing everything better than she expected, and even though I was thinking, “duh…it’s us,” I knew she hardly knew us yet and that she wouldn’t know how perfect we were so early on, and so we were very proud and pleased ?
In exchange, they fed us lots of food and wine, and let us make ourselves at home in their gorgeous house. We had views that nearly made me wet my pants, and I felt like I physically had to detach myself from my favorite little spot on their terrace the day we left (which is today, incidentally).
We got very settled in our routine and with our new buddies, being in a family environment and all, and leaving today was sad and felt a little like we were being uprooted, as opposed to our previous traveling mentality.
It doesn’t help that they have the most wonderful black and white dog named Millie, who wags her tail and circles and sits with her butt on one step and her feet on the step below, thus winning herself the title of “Silly Millie.”
While we there, they got a teensey, weensey, itty, bitty little “ginger” cat named Dilan, and I’m telling you there are more pictures of that cat in two weeks than there are of us in four months.
So, we had a very good time at Casa Marina, and didn’t feel the need to leave the house all that often because we pretty much had everything we wanted from our time on the Costa del Sol right there at the house.
We did visit the beach front below us several times, and ate at a great little seafood place on the water, sampling from small portions of different types of fish and shellfish…authentic tapas!
The only downside to all this bliss is that I’ve had to shave everyday.
We bid our farewells today, and as I mentioned I felt pretty sad about it, but I am really looking forward to visiting more friends in Barcelona, Sardinia, and then spending a week or so hopping around Italy.
Now we’re on an overnight train to Tarragona, where we’ll meet our friend, and as you might expect, it’s past midnight and these Spaniards are still as riled up as eve, hooing and hawing like this is the best fun they’ve ever had. They just turned off the lights though, so I guess it’s sleepy time. So far, no one seems to be getting the hint.
Well, I’m going to see what I can do about catching a few Z’s…it might have to involve whacking a few of these jabbering Spanish people.
Until next time, muchos besos!!
PS—Marina has a flat at her house which she rents out, and it is absolute perfection. The views are just as stunning, the amenities are all there, the flat has way more than you’d expect to find (including a George Forman grill, a picnic basket with everything you’d need, and a welcome pack which includes wine, beer, and enough food to last several days). Her rates are ridiculously inexpensive, and someday Jason and I hope to return and stay as flat guests ourselves (although we expect it would be impossible not to still have the urge to pick some weeds, or do a little touch-up painting). So, I’m going to include the web-site so that anyone wanting an ideal Spanish get-away, and being of mind and position to make it happen, can check this place out.
PPS—Here’s a little additional piece added on; an emotional outpour and the closest I’ve come to clarifying some of the feelings we’ve been having. It was written the night before we left Casa Marina.
--------------------
I’ve stepped outside—it’s inching closer to midnight and we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow before we take the overnight train to Barcelona, and I was going to plug my earphones into the laptop to listen to some music until I remembered that what nature had to offer was so much more what my heart needed.
Where I am, I can hear the Mediterranean Sea beating against the dark sand of the beach below us. It is a rhythmic inhalation and exhalation of Mother Earth, whispering her wisdom into the darkness, knowing that in Spain, there is always somebody awake to hear her.
At the moment, I can see no moon. But it wasn’t too many days ago that it ate up the sky, greedily stealing the show. It must feel the need, considering that the sun, so effortlessly, warms the horizon every single night, without fail. Whatever may try to stifle the sun on the Costa del Sol stands no chance; as the day fades into night, the sun will be the last standing, offering her caramel syrup and copper reflections, wrapping every bystander in her heady goodnight kiss. She’s one to linger, in Spain at least.
There’s been an undoing of emotions; a floodgate come loose. I’m grasping in the dark because although I have some good guesses as to why I’m feeling a surge of sadness, I know that it won’t be until months later—maybe even years---that I’ll truly understand the knots of feelings ripping through me.
It’s been four months—soooo long, and so goddamn short. What can a person see in four months? What can a person truly absorb in that amount of time and how can a person as lost as this little girl find any of the answers she’s so desperately searching for?
I won’t know for months now. Maybe years. The learning and growth I’ve done on this
journey is so intense that there’s no way to get to know it until I’ve stepped back, had a large glass of wine, and a conversation with a friend, spilled my guts, and then suddenly realized, “yep, that’s what that was all about.”
I wish I had more answers than when I left home, but those too are still adrift, perhaps lapping at the shore below me…but I wouldn’t know. I’m still adrift myself, I suppose.
We’ve come to the end of a two week stint living with an English family who relocated here—here being the Southern Coast of Spain—and it’s come as a heartbreaking surprise on our last night here to realize that maybe I’ve let my roots reach a little too far in the ground.
I feel that this goodbye, to people who were strangers two weeks ago, is pulling at the memories of saying goodbye to my own family four months ago. After months of traveling, loving and leaving, I’ve let myself settle into the most relaxed of positions. I’ve found myself a part of where I feel the most complete—as a family. And now this young traveler is feeling weary, ready to collapse in one bed or another…just make it the same bed two days in a row.
I don’t want to go home until every last day of this journey has been enjoyed, not at all, but it is a bitter sweet realization that we have a month to go. We’re visiting friends and places I have most looked forward to, but we’ll be unpacking and repacking our bags every couple of days, and there’s no denying that when I showed up at Casa Marina, I was really happy to unload my clothes into drawers and a closet, knowing I wouldn’t have to repack for two weeks.
But this is by no means about packing. It’s about watching the TV or taking a shower or spending hours on MySpace…and without thinking about whose way you might be in, or whose routine you might be disrupting. Just doing, without thinking, because it’s your space.
But that’s not what it’s about either, because as simple as a tear in a tissue, it’s that I’m sad to leave here. I really, really, really like the people we have so luckily matched ourselves up with.
We have had countless conversations and I know Jason and I babble on forever, but Marina and Richard listen and respond and ask more questions. They open another bottle of wine, fill any wanting glasses, and the talking brings to surface more self realizations, unanswered questions and adventures still needing a risk taker. I’ve been able to set aside the armor one needs when they travel extensively, and I’ve melted into the lounge chair by the pool, opened a good book, and left all the worries with the armor.
Now I have to resuit, leave these great people who’ve allowed us to relax in the first place, and although I’m excited, I feel like I’m being ripped out of my comfort zone. Where my mind and heart struggles, and wherein I know lies at least a little irony, is that we are, by leaving here, steering ourselves into the final destination, our ultimate comfort zone…home, of course. And in the meantime, we’re seeing great friends and some of my favorite places in the world. Places that I’ve always dreamed I could share with someone who really mattered.
Visited Countries Map 
Advertisement
Tot: 0.078s; Tpl: 0.018s; cc: 12; qc: 33; dbt: 0.0296s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb
Sheryl
non-member comment
Blown away!
Katie, Your words are amazing. As I dry a tear in my own eye, I am truly happy for you and Jason. This is one amazing experience. I look forward to receiving your blog updates. I feel like I am hanging on every word that you have written. Thank you for sharing this and many other adventures that you both have experienced. And Jason, your pictures are captivating and beautiful. You two are a creative force to be reckoned with! Keep up the brilliant work! As usual, waiting to hear about the next installment of THE ADVENTURES OF JASON AND KATIE!!! Love, Sheryl (yes, jealous as all hell!!)