Saturday, September 22, 2018

Toes in the sand and chocolate too


Today there was a festival called Boquerone in Rincon de la Victoria that was penciled in on our calendar, but we woke up lazy and relaxed.  Do we want to drive and be with a crowd and listen to music and....and...?  Maybe not.  We chose, instead, to enjoy a leisure coffee and breakfast.  And then we just explored Torre Del Mar.  And we woke up out of our lethargy to pay attention.


Before we left today, I walked up the few blocks to check on the car we'd parked along the street last night.  I knew I'd seen a video store and I found it easily.  When I walked around the corner, my heart nearly dropped into my shoes because both sides of the street were empty. NO CARS.  I froze.  Where would the police have hauled el Carro II?  Why?  I didn't see a no parking sign.  Trying not to panic, I continued walking along the street to see if I could see anyone else panicking as they looked under every rock for their car... And then I realized I was on the wrong street.  There she was, red, shiny and waiting.  My heart kicked into gear, I swallowed hard and returned to the apartment. 
Me:  I have bad news and good news.
Steven:  What happened?
Me: I walked up the street and all the cars were gone and the street was empty.
Steven:  Stun mode, eyes huge.  Whats the good news?
Me: I was on the wrong street.
Steven:  I won't tell you what he said since it was a little blurry.
It's nice having a quasi, older brother along on this trip...but he didn't appreciate my humor.

The day was beautiful, balmy and led us to the beach.  We found the boardwalk and laughed when we saw an arch inviting us into Playa (beach) Seniors.  Seniors?  That’s us!  So we removed our shoes, walked across the hot sand and then grumbled as the sand turned into little pebbles to dig into the soles of our feet...and then we walked into the Mediterranean Sea.  Ah,  the sound of the sea.
Hay que vida.  What a life.


We knew the history of our Spaniard ancestors being lured to the Hawaiian sugar plantations because they knew how to farm, but I didn’t realize it was more than that.  Spain grew sugar cane and Spaniards knew how to farm it, cook it and make sugar.  What?  Lots of villages fit this mold and today we saw the museum to prove it.  We found the press, the cooker and the chimney that burned off the excess or vented the sludge.  The Spaniard at the door was eager to tell us the history (in Spanish of course) and while Steven chatted, I took photographs.  There is someone in Casa Grande who knows my middle name is photographer.

The rest of the day, we sat in the apartment and lazily shared family stories and immersed ourselves in our love of genealogy.  It was relaxing and lovely.  And then our friend Vicky Martin arrived at 8:00 for dinner along the paseo at La Yate, a seafood restaurant she said is the best.  She is adorable and her English is good, although her accent caused my brain to cramp only a little.   We talked about her great grandfather Demetrio Martin Aparicio who disappeared during the Spanish immigration and the mystery behind it.  Knowing Steven’s penchant for solving these genealogy quests, his story may still surface.
Vicky loves to take photos with her fancy 35 camera...the waiter and then a stranger by the ice  cream store couldn’t say no to her as she pushed us into a pose and handed them her camera.  I like to take photos, but this girl has me beat.  I will post them tomorrow after she sends them to me.

The paseo is a wide, tiled avenue that is lit up like a holiday.  I watched couples walking up and down the avenue, holding hands or just touching an elbow, walking to their own music.  No rush.  No noise. Relaxing and tranquil.  It was a beautiful thing to see as we enjoyed the bliss of the evening.


The best part of our wonderful dinner was the small plate of chocolate cups filled with liqueur that the waiter slipped onto our table with the check.

Another day ended with a smile and a good memory.


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