Saying hello once again

Fuengirola is a town on the southern coast of Spain between Malaga and Marbella, a town I walked the streets and explored when I lived in Spain for three months last year.  Going back and following the roundabouts and passing the bullring told me exactly where I was going.  Steven followed my directions until we found the train station, parked the car and got our parking ticket at the kiosk after several tries.  Cafe con leche was lovely as we sat a bit and prepared for the day.  I knew how to get to the beach and my stomach was fluttering with the fun of being back there again.

While we sat in the cafe drinking our coffee, I heard Steven say, “No way,” under his breath.  A very skinny red car was trying to back himself between several motorcycles and el Carro II.  Back and forth, reversing and pushing, barely fitting into a space that was made for another motorcycle...we held our breath, wondering if we could get el Carro II out if he managed to wedge himself in there.  He did it!  Within minutes, another man appeared; the motorcyclist.  The men exchanged a few friendly words, the motorcyclist shrugged and the next thing we saw was his miraculous maneuvering as he worked his bike out of its tight spot.  He rocked it back and forth toward the street, but the little red car’s mirror wouldn’t let his butt clear.  He inched it, pulled it and violá, he was on his way.  We didn’t realize we’d been holding our breath until we shook our heads and started breathing again.

 That’s when I watched the waiter deliver two GLASSES of hot coffee to an elderly couple at the next table. (I always ask for a cup so I won’t burn my fingers and drop the glass).  The older gentleman and his wife, who was dressed in what my mother and grandmother called a house dress, talked quietly.  She stirred her coffee absently.

The gentleman picked up the tiny spoon in his saucer beside his glass of hot coffee.  He slid it carefully into the foam on top of his coffee and methodically lifted spoon after spoon of foam to his mouth until just the cafe con leche remained.  I was mesmerized.

A quick trip to the tourist office nearby gave us a street map and off we went in search of the Mediterráneo statue that I scrambled up on for my favorite photo last year.  I wanted to update the photo and Steven was patient and agreeable.  Last year, there was blue sky, I wore sunglasses and torredor pants.  My brother, also named Steven, laughed when I got up on the statue's base and snapped the photo that became the epitome of my life in Spain.

This year, it was cloudy, no sunglasses and I wore shorts and Steven #2 took the photo while a swarthy Spaniard watched us and grinned at the entire scenario.  I couldn't stop laughing from the feeling of melancholy and pleasure that swelled through my mind. Lovely memories.

I found a beautiful yellow Spanish dress with a large bosom ruffle that I couldn't ignore.  I'm sure I'll feel Spanish when I wear it when I'm back home again...

Then, a walk down the boardwalk and it was lunchtime.  We found a street side cafe and Steven found a sandwich on the menu called Serranoito, which had pork loin slices, Serrano ham, mayonnaise and fried green peppers that melted in our mouths between warm, toasty rolls. The pepper permeated through the entire bocadilla (sandwich) and I listened to Steven tell me his mother and grandmother always fried peppers and laid them onto paper towels to drain.  It brought an immediate memory to me of my abuelita (grandmother) and the the towel she used.  I think paper towels hadn't been invented yet...   My stemmed glass of chilled, fruity sangria and Steven's beer rounded it off nicely.  We had to ask for la cuenta (bill) about four times before we could pay and leave.  Only in Spain?

Once we returned to Torre Del Mar, I left Steven on his won and I took a leisure walk to the beach.  No wind.  No sun.  I was pulled by the siren song of the hamaca and sea-grass umbrella. On the way down the promenade, a lazy breeze brought the scent of jasmine through the air and I inhaled it deeply.  I love the ambiance of Spain and the feelings it brings to me.

Tomorrow?  Colmenar, the home of Maria Carmen Rey Garcia, the step-mother of my grandfather Ben Ruiz and his three siblings, Maria, Juan and Miguel.  She was well loved and she and my great grandfather, Francisco Ruiz Garcia, had several more children.  I want to explore Colmenar and take photos for my cousins. It will be nice to walk on the streets of her village...and photograph more memories.