Spanish Excitement. 14th-15th August.

Wednesday 14th August 2013.

I snoozed until 11am. Egads! Then we raced down (not literally) and while we reached base at the Princess Diana park the parentals had a change of heart and settled with getting a taxi to La Cala (7 euros bus fare approx. for four people to Funegirola, taxi cost 14 euro. La Cala is charged a similar rate for the bus fare, hence my normally luxurious father keen to spend on a taxi). To La Cala we go!

 

Dad's sexy burn line.

     Once again we visited a market. This one was set up beside a circus, where tired looking elephants gazed in dismay at the midweek browsers. I bought Karen a quirky bag and befriended the stall owner who was quick to say I should come back, because they have the "best bags". I'm not sure if he meant that Spain has a fabulous array of bags or if he was just saying that his stall is the king of bag stalls. I smiled nonetheless. Karen's bag was a technicolour funk which would have made Picasso smile. The heart decor made me think of her character in Worldly.I cannot believe my little friend is 18. What a crazy world.

    A moment of thought for the tired circus elephants. I'd never seen them before, up close, in real life. It made me think of Kelly and her elephant riding. Tiny tusks and puckered skin. Almost ugly. Dung flecked and tiny-eyed. The poor beasts had an air of misery between them. It was a woeful sight watching them rub against each other in their miniscule pen and sway in the heat. As we left a Spanish man began to hose them down. All the same I felt a horrible twang of pity as we returned to the market.

     While browsing and melting I spotted a [secret object]* that I thought my Thai Queen would like. Ryan hadn't bought his eldest explorer anything yet and had asked Mum and I to look out for  a gift for her. So when we came back around the stalls (Mum stopping to buy a dress) I convinced the others to follow suit and we visited the stall with the object in question (I swear it's not drugs). 

      On the way out of the market I stopped at a stall selling Venetian masks. I was tempted to buy one but any of the good ones were about 20 euros. I settled with an elephant t-shirt, which was about 12 euros and reminded me of the one in the other market but longer, nicer and less offensive to Hindus (hopefully).

 

New job Dad found me in the Spanish paper as he read in the cafe.

"Relax house" eh? Sounds better than selling perfume.  

      I bought myself a couple of tops in a Moda shop (two for 5 euro) an orange net jacket and a long blue top which mum could also wear . I bought a few gifts in the tourist shop. A turtle beanie for the turtle loving Chrissy (I used to be obsessed with beanie toys from Spain, it was all i asked for as a gift when i was a child) and a yin/yang hugging set of salt and Pepper shakers for Chris Scullion to use in his new uni place. The knick knack shop where i once bought Ruth a mermaid (and myself one) and we used to browse near the beach is now closed down. Kelly would be sad. Places close eventually. Everywhere does, in the end.

     I had an iced coffee with loads of cream (it was okay) in a cafe. It was probably around 35 degrees. Mum has been drinking beer this holiday. To save money...but secretly to look cool.

     We got a taxi back home. The taxi dropped us at Miraflores. The walk is nothing and we suck at directions in Spanish. 

    The thing I do like about Spain is the unique street names. Even in a residential tourist part of Spain they can't have their streets named just anything like "called flores" or something equally stupid and tacky. In our area they name the streets after planets and constellations. Our apartment complex is on a street called Calle Sirius (named after the famous dog star, nonetheless). There's a Calle Saturno right beside it (you can guess yourself). 

     As far as reading is concerned I gave up on the hideous husk of  sandpaper on the subconscious read that is "The Amityville Horror". For a series so famous they could have been written by...anyone, and been a better read. I began reading the historical biography on "Cleopatra" and was engulfed in a superior sense of prose and content. 

     We ate at an Indian restaurant called Bombay. I had Bombay Aloo with pilau rice, snatching some Korma from the others and relishing the slices of Peshwari Nan. I'd played with flowers in my hair earlier and even attached a pretty white bloom to Mum's bun (the heat made it almost a sin to wear your hair loose). While chatting and refraining from reading (i'd left the book home by mistake) accordion players appeared and began to assault us with their hideous music. I've heard an accordion being played correctly (I have my musical maestro of a grandfather to thank for that) but these two headbangers had not, it seemed . They played music so abhorrent and tuneless that strangers to the instrument would be incapable of telling if it is being played correctly. Luckily we refused to pay. We'd had enough suffering. 

     The only bad thing about the meal was the hot plate. Fate was sticking up his middle finger and Mum had an asthma attack by the time we reached the apartment. Thank you hot plates everywhere for your candle-y love. 

     Dad was in a ridiculously fantastic mood the entire night. He was practically bouncing with joy. We could only assume that he was either high or really close to it.

     Ryan and I then went to the beach and tried (and failed) to play bat and ball. The light beat us and we began to play in the dark. We nearly lost the tiny orange ball but found it with the glow of my mobile. We took that as a sign to return home. 

 

The "ball" is plastic. Much like Paris Hilton.

     We stopped at Opencor for water and Ryan spotted a basketball hoop for doorways. It was all I could do to drag him away from it.

Thursday 15th August 2013.

 I went to Calahonda with Padre. The bank was closed and so was the shop with my sailor outfit, so it was another venture into Cafe Zoco. Guess what I had? Correct. Another cafe bombon. I went onto Facebook to see how the results went with my friends. Nobody seemed to have done too badly, and only a few were unhappy with some of their results, but overall it was a relief. Two of them will be joining me in Queens. I'll try not to GET TOO EXCITED ABOUT IT :D
HURAAAAAHHH!!

     (Thinking about my friends reminds me that I have to sort out Dublin.)

     After Calahonda we visited the Supermercado.  I also frequented the pool with Mum. There were no asthma attacks - success! I dipped my feet and wore no sun cream, using a blue wrap like a Greek goddess (or Cleopatra...oh shush. I'm so not getting into that book to the extent that I have begun fantas--okay. I'm not going to lie here. You're right. I'm getting a bit too into it). I dipped my feet and legs into the water and Mum floated.

The harlot!

       I went up to La Venta with Ryan. We spent forever in a supermarket feeling grown up as we picked something to buy. It was one of those supermarkets were you sorta have to buy something as you pass the exit. Ryan settled on a Dime bar cheesecake for 5 euros. I got a muffin too, for a euro. I recommend both but especially the Swedish delight that is the former option.

     We washed our sweat away (I dipped my head in the sink and my shirt too - now I know how Kelly feels with her fancy Asian bucket showers). Next came dinner. Buenos noches.

     Some people were smoking at Mama Nostra so we moved inside to eat. I had ravioli and spinach. It was salty, creamy and all other good things-y. My cappuchino was perfect. 

     Meanwhile my book kept splurging facts about the Ptomely family which I had to keep sharing. Coincidentally to my taste in literature - there have been horrific riots and uprest in Cario in Egypt. Likewise in Egypt in 30 BC the native Egyptians were unable to make sweet, sweet metaphorical babies with the Roman senate. Cleopatra had a weird hate-hate relationship with Herod (he claimed she tried to woo him too- harlot!) and she hated Jews because of her hatred for him. The book (by an author who once taught in Queens) proclaimed that the Ptomely women were monogamous.Cleopatra only had two lovers (she was never a brother lover). It also informed me about Brother-sister monarchies (Osiris and Isis marriage) and how a woman could rarely rule without a male, so when Cleopatra bore Caeseron (and her brother "died") she declared the newborn her co-monarch.

Much better.

     Mum and I browsed the Night Bazaar on our way back. We spotted some nice scarves and attracted the attention of the stall owner - who spoke no English. He kept showing us scarves and not letting us be. We got him really excited when we actually started buying scarves. He decided we were his best friends when we bought about four scarves (and it's not like they were hideously expensive!). We all kept laughing because nobody understood what was being said. He pulled out this one scarf, unfurled it and said something like "grande...like cheval" which seems to suggest he couldn't decide what language to break into but also that horses are the best way to sell scarves. We laughed and laughed, browsed the rest of the market, and avoided our new friend who'd been so excited that he told the people in the stall next to him who laughed and cat-called after us.

    Back at the apartment Ryan and I celebrated not dying horribly like those people in Cario by eating Dime Bar cheesecake (the world is a terrible place but cake makes everything better). Cleopatra (decadent but not actually a wench) would have done the same.
__________
*See Karen, I'm learning! I wont give any other spoilers (seeming as everyone else has already received their gifts, it's just Kelly spoilers now). Stupid neon bracelet spoilers. 

Uber Awesome Travels in Spain 2013. August 8-13th

Thursday 8th August 2013.

I stayed up to 4am savouring the spectacular joys of a Friends marathon with mi hermano and enjoyed a one-on-one farewell party with everyone's favourite chinchilla. 

                                               Oscar: otherwise known as "the other other love of my life."

     I rose from the crypt (Kelly's boudoir) at 10.30am. After groaning about my tiredness for 30 beautiful minutes Gag arrived to take us to the airport (in our car nonetheless, but it meant he could return the car back home...blah, frivolous adult worries about robbery and such). We squeezed into the smelly tango red Ford and arrived promptly at the George Best Airport (named after one of our few famous folk who had nothing to do with the Titanic...an alcoholic with two liver transplants...another failure for this glorious nation to be remembered by). 

     There were famous footballer-type people with France on their shirts, looking pretty bored, as they waited to check in while sipping coffee from Costa. Not a looker among them. That's how I knew they were footballers.

     We also made some silly mistakes at the airport. Twofold.

     One: Dad left the bags lying about and the twitchy airport attendants had to remind him to take his bag.

    Two: Aerlingus thought they'd be cool and offered  to take our handluggage for free into the cargo hold.We got excited and gave them half our bags. We then realised that the wrong bags had been given. We'd given my bag which had my money in it. We had to go back through security and get our bags in the depot. It was a dusty warehouse-y type place. People kept coming to get their things. Mainly backpackers and metalheads. It turns out (through later seeing guys with t-shirts) that Bloodstock in Scotland was on, hence the masses of band tees. Bloodstock is like Pigstock except less punk and more metal. 

    When we eventually got our bags we went to the Bushmills Bar and ate soggy chips and i slurped coffee with six sugars like a pro. Mum had wine and Dad  had beer, Ryan sipped coke, and I realised that we're all really mind-numbingly predictable when it comes to drinks.

     Next came the flight. My pen exploded in the plane and ink managed to stain my hands, arms,face and diary but luckily not my pretty pink dress. I have decided that said pretty pink dress is magical and immune to ink and bad luck. 

   When i wasn't wiping ink of my fingers I was listening to Xmen:First Class in one ear and writing in my diary like a fancy lady.

                                         Other folk (except Kelly) who don't get to go to Spain this year.
    The flight was short. Only two or so hours. The taxi to the apartment was even better. Very short. It always seemed so much longer when I was a kid. I was mesmerized by the passing mountains, olive groves and the foreign billboards. I saw the Torro on the hilltop. There's 50 of them scattered about the province. I read about it somewhere.

     Once I was in the apartment I changed of of my dress and into something less sweaty. We skipped down to George's Bar (a restaurant about five minutes walk away) and I had a plate of nachos with glorious guacamole. The cheese was quite bland but you eat nachos for the dips, not the flavour. Then I had an iced coffee made by the caffeine gods. It was basically a scoop of chocolate icecream with yummy sauce and a whorl of delicious, melted coffee icecream. It was sublime. A hundred days of sugar. But it was worth it. Nestle iced coffee is definitely better than any of the stupid stuff we have back home. Cost about 65 euro for the four of us to eat and drink. Mum had her sangria.

      Then, to end the day, Ryan and I watched Friends until 4am again. 

Friday 9th August 2013.

Our first proper day in Spain. It's always weird to be back there again. The place where it always seems to be sunny.

                                         Dad looking suspect (those sexy brows) while Ryan steals Wifi.

I ate a weird sandwich at Cafe Plaza for dinner. It was an early dinner too. It was spinach and mustard with no crusts. I kinda like crusts too.

                                                         Nobody even noticed my spy pics. 

Swam a little. More Friends. Explored the Night Bazaar at the Princess Diana park which sounds fancier than it actually was. They were selling cool Hindi t-shirts but I recalled how Miss Samasundruum (old art teacher from Indonesia) said religious t-shirts were offensive and the elephant was Ganesha, after all. Plus they were 15 euro. Got the usual at the Supermarcado: tortilla, biscuits, lemonade, ice lollies. 

                                                   Take a photo of yourself. Nobody else will.

      It was a pretty laid back day. Dad keeps giving off about my half drunk drinks everywhere. You think he'd know me by now!

Saturday 10th August 2013.

I seem to be getting all my life lessons from Friends on this holiday.I am now comparing situations and people in my own life to the episodes I have seen. I think I wont make the holiday with my sanity intact if I don't figure out which of my friends is Chandler or if I'm more of a Phoebe or a Monica, or if Kelly is a Rachel or not. Rohan is clearly Joey. That's all I know.

                                                       Lemon cheesecake and cafe bombon.


     Today we went to Calahonda and explored the little tourist shops there. I sweated like a beast. I had cafe bombon in Cafe Zoco and lemon cheesecake. I bought some postcards and then proceeded to write said postcards and even a letter for Kelly. Hopefully it makes it to Thailand alright. Writing in the sunshine is difficult. I had to keep getting drinks and sunglasses. What a hard life I lead.

                                        My classy postcard for my equally sophisticated friend. 

     We went to the local Chinese for dinner. I sipped Jasmine tea like a cool cat. I got mixed veg and fried rice. It was okay. Not great. We had to wait for ages too. It was really busy.

                                                                  Blank spaces are for quitters!

    I went back to the Night Bazaar and we got something for Kelly. 

     Ryan and I watched The Golden Compass and played scrabble. The match lasted so long that we played the movie again. I won. For the first time. 

                                                   Here's me in Zoco. Perhaps I already knew 
                                                    the good fortune that would soon befall me?



   I WON SCRABBLE! YAY! WOHOOOO. I KNEW IT. I KNEW I STUDIED ENGLISH FOR A REASON!

Sunday 11th August 2013.

Went to Calahonda and visited the Spanish Domingo market. It was like a car-boot sale of sorts, minus the cars, but they did sell shoes. I bought neon coloured bracelets for Karen (not second hand, some of the stalls were like the familiar market seller stores). Got necklaces for her and Smurph too. There's something nice but stressful about picking gifts. I really try not to get anything too tourist-y. 

     There were a really nice pair of leopard print shoes that Kelly would have stabbed me for. They were 45 euros though. There was also Dior shoes at the same stall - so the leopard print shoes were probably designer too. I found a lovely Moorish lamp with a chicken motive and really intricately beaded hats and a peacock bag. All of them expensive - likely designer and vintage -and all really pretty. There was a lovely rose necklace pendant I was going to buy for 5 euros but one of the stall owners overheard the price and doubled it.I think he saw the ten euro note and wanted to chance it. I said no and walked off. He claimed it was an antique, but I think he was more interested in the note in my hand than the age of the piece. There was framed documents from the 1800s for sale too. I figured Kelly would like them, and went to take a picture, but realised I'd left my phone and camera charging. 

In place of photos of relevant things,

have this man dying of lightning.

   Mum, Dad and I went to the local Spanish Supermarket Cafe. Cafe Zoco. It was great. The guy serving us was very friendly, though he didn't speak any English (or very little, at least). I had a lemon cheesecake and a cafe Bombon. For those of you who do not know the glory of the taste-indulging passionflower that is this cup of coffee it's a shot of espresso and hot condensed milk in a glass with sugar you can add if necessary (it's always necessary to add MORE SUGAR). The result is a drink with lots of sweetness and lots of caffeine. I had churros.

                                                             Dad, his meat ball tapas, and his suggestive t-shirt. 
                                                             From the previous day at Zoco.


     I was very impressed that Mum made it down. It was about 12 O'clock when we headed back. I was restless after a couple of hours of nothing and decided to go on a walk to find the area of shops around La Venta (a restaurant my grandparents worship)

    I remembered that the way involved palm trees in the centre of the steep road. Unfortunately this includes 95% of the roads in the Costa Del Sol. So, surprisingly, I got lost. I spotted some nice white house things in the mountains and I suffered from dehydration, but I couldn't find La Venta. I found Miraflores'  Tennis and Golf cubs. After 90 minutes of villas and crunching grass I decided to quit and go back. I wandered down another hill, figuring it might take me somewhere familiar, and gazed dreamily at the cyan ocean that streaked across the horizon. I was feeling proud of my independence but disappointed that I still hadn't found La Venta. 

Here's a pretty moth I named Fernando. He spend most of his day sunbathing.

Silly Fernando!

     After five minutes of walking I looked behind me I saw that I wasn't alone. There was a middle aged man, with a towel wrapped about his waist, and a horrible tan. His hair was slicked back with either sweat or gel. I continued down the endless hill, figuring that Towel Man would pop into one of the villas or apartments. After another few minutes, I checked again, and Towel Man was closing in for the kill. I kept walking. I smiled, feeling assured that he'd found his way to his apartment and/or a swimming pool of teenage girls to gawk at. 

     The villas were replaced by hedges and I figured things were safe. He'd gone. I went to sit down at a bench, perhaps enjoy flicking through my camera, and rest my legs. Then I turned my head and he was there. Towel Man was still there. Waddling. The towel was draped over his shoulders now. I continued walking. There were two options: keep going forever until you reach the ocean, with Towel Man either following or eventually going away, or turn down the nearest street. A corner appeared and I turned and walked down it. I figured I would hide by a car and see if he passed. Then I realised that he would have seen me turn down the street and if he turned down too and found me hiding behind a car... it wouldn't end well.  I'd have to get out of here before he followed. If he was following. I used my remaining strength to run down the street and out of eyeshot of Towel Man if he turned down it. I kept walking until I found my way back to the apartment. 

     We went to George's bar for dinner and I had enchiladas and an iced coffee. A fitting reward for my day's endeavours. The air conditioning is barely working in the room I sleep in (it works fine in Mum and Dad's room) so lack of sleep and lots of heat must be working together to turn me into a perfectly sane human being. Or maybe it's side effects from all the Friends. 

Monday 12th August 2013.

I rose from my puddle of drool and readied the troops. Mum could only travel at the speed of 0.5 miles and hour, so we had to leave early for the bus. It was the first time in about three years she'd attempted the bus.It was twenty five degrees with the air conditioning, but at least it wasn't too hot inside. I was the one who bought the tickets. 

     "Cuatro personnes por Fuengirola," I said.

     "Six twenty," he replied. 

                                          Article from a newspaper which I thought was pretty cool.

     Whenever you speak in Spanish it's a bit of a slap to the face when they reply in English and you smile sheepishly and hate yourself inside. It never happens to Kelly. I'm just lucky. Clearly I do not match up to her linguistic superiority. Stupid Thai traitor.

     Mum's ridiculously slow pace was matched by my earnest commands for her to "go slower" as I ran into the sunshine - fearful that this would be my only chance in the town with slow poke and the two dudes in tow. There wasn't much shopping or frolicking, but lots of sweating and grumbling. Ryan and Dad were bored stiff by the shops. I begged them to go away. Eventually they did. I went to the indoor markets with Mum and a really intense Indian man tried to sell Mum a shop worth's of jewellery while giving us advice about staying safe in the Costa and being wary of thieves. Mum got a necklace and left. We also went to Bershka where i got myself a really nice guy's t-shirt and I bought a bunny top in the Factory shop. I kept looking for something crochet but everything that was crochet was super expensive. 

     We ate at a restaurant called La Gondala. I had tomato soup, chicken curry (which wasn't curry and was kinda awful) and strawberries and cream. 

     We got the taxi home and went back to our late night TV adventures. Anything from Costa Del street crime (THE IRONY) to Unexplained Mysteries (THE UFOS). The music channels are also amusing. Ryan and I keep finding the same three songs. I'd also forgotten how awful music and music videos are. Our song of the holiday was "Blurred lines" a modern cover of a Prince song. It's really ridiculous and exploitative of women. It appeared about thirty times over the holiday. A present music video fad is dead animals. I don't get it either but when you're tired everything is amusing. 

 

Tuesday 13th August 2013.

 Everyone else was determined to "rest".  I was frustrated by the general apathy. Dad and I had a falling out as we were supposed to skype Kelly. I put two euros into a computer before I realised its headphones weren't a headset. Dad tried talking to the Spanish woman at the cafe but she spoke no English and had no idea what he wanted. Anyway I paid for a new computer with a headset, set it up, and left Ryan to play with the other computer. Dad told me to be quiet and that I was annoying the other people in the cafe. I decided to go on a walk to get away from Dad.
     
     I walked to Calahonda and explored the thrift shop there. There was a really nice oil painting for 20 euros and a Sailor costume for 15 euros. I was doing my independent walking about alone thing again.I'd even figured out the colour coding of the keys (sort of). 

The pretty oil painting. 

An actual painting, not a print, pity I couldn't ship it back.

     We ate in the apartment. I ate sploosh which was spinach lasagne before I microwaved it for 15 minutes. 

 

Sailor Rebecca!

 

     Meals in Spain don't exist. Delicacies overwhelm meals. Ice cream breakfasts and biscuit lunch. Tortilla, Harvarti cheese, croissants, fresh baguette, pistachios, cherries, peaches (when the juices run down your chin and you have to chose between the sink or your T-shirt).  The drinks are great too. Frappes (with sweetened Spanish milk), sugary drinks, lemonade with real lemons, peach juice, orange juice. Freezing your drink and drinking the icy remnants. Ice cubes galore. 

     What's not to love?