The Butterfly Effect

A couple of weeks ago, before San Geraldo surprised Elena and me on the beach, we had an interesting "sighting."

What we saw was a woman with an unbelievably painful looking sunburn. Her skin sharply contrasted between pearl white (previously unexposed) and crimson (clearly overexposed). She didn't appear to be in pain, and she also made no attempt to protect her skin from further damage. We both winced when we saw her. And then she bent over.

One of the above images is the real deal. The others are my "artistic treatments." Click to enlarge, if you dare.

Elena called the view a butterfly. I wonder if she meant "butt-er-fly."

And now, perhaps, I'll stop focusing on body parts and move on to other sights (at least for a little while).

The Electra Complex

There's really nothing I can say about this series of photos. Just another day at the beach.

What To Wear (Or Not) To A Nude Beach

Our dear friend Elena and I decided to meet at the beach one afternoon last week. We were pleasantly surprised when San Geraldo came strolling along the surf and joined us.

WE WERE SO HAPPY TO BE GRACED WITH HIS SMILING PRESENCE.

Until last week, San Geraldo had been on the beach three times in the year-and-a-half we've lived by the sea — four if you count the night we watched the Virgin of Carmen get carried into the water (click here). So now we're up to four or five times depending on how you count.

THE GODDESS ELENA AND SAN GERALDO.

When we lived in San Diego, I loved Black's Beach in La Jolla. It's a nudist beach reached by descending a very steep and unstable cliff. There were three ways down. The closest one to the area I liked was simply rock-and-dirt, almost vertical in spots. I rarely took that route.

The next closest way down comprised a long and winding set of boardwalks, wooden stairs, and dirt and rock steps. There were regular landslides. Unauthorized volunteers randomly replaced lost stairs and walkways. It was a bit treacherous in spots, but I didn't mind it even though there were official signs warning, "KEEP OFF."

On the few occasions San Geraldo joined me at Black's Beach, he would insist on taking the third route down. A mile or more away was a locked gate at the top of the cliff in a residential neighborhood of hotel-sized homes.

San Geraldo — being a big man on campus (University of California, San Diego) — was given a key to the gate, which meant we could drive down a long and winding road and park at the bottom. We then had to walk along the beach for about 45 minutes.

BLACK'S BEACH, LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA, AROUND 1997.
(WE DROVE DOWN.  MY USUAL WAY DOWN, AND UP, IN BACKGROUND.)

It was worth it except that when I went to the beach alone, I carried a tiny backpack containing my towel, water, and a book. When I went with San Geraldo, in addition to my tiny backpack, we carried a huge duffle bag with a blanket, a multitude of towels, and lots of food and water.

San Geraldo wore a broad straw hat to protect his admittedly extremely sensitive light blue eyes from the sun. And there was the chair and the beach umbrella. San Geraldo talked about getting a wagon or sled to drag along the beach! (I told him I would no longer go with him.)

We would set up, remove our clothes, and then San Geraldo would spread a beach towel on his chair and sit down in the shade of the umbrella. He wrapped a towel around his shoulders and another over his lap so it would reach down and cover his feet. He wore his hat and his sunglasses.

"There's nothing like the freedom you feel on a nude beach," San Geraldo would say.

Although our beach here is not clothing optional, Elena got a very good idea of how San Geraldo used to look in our La Jolla days.

GERALDO OF ARABIA.  THAT'S MY T-SHIRT ON HIS HEAD.

Quiet Nights

It is so much more peaceful here this week. No more revelers stumbling along the Paseo at 2:00 in the morning. No more partiers lingering in the bars and restaurants downstairs. No more vacationing neighbors arriving noisily home in the middle of night. Our parking lot is mostly empty. And during the night, if I open the bedroom window, I can hear the gentle sound of the surf.

Quiet nights.

Too bad the mornings aren't the same. Tuesday and Wednesday of this week, the sand-perfecting truck was hard at work on the beach directly below our windows. By 7:00 a.m.!

In addition, the usual street cleaning team is up and about and making as much noise as possible. There's Juan with his leaf blower and, of course, the truck making ever-lengthening loops as it sweeps, vacuums, and washes its way along the Paseo. This morning, there was a tractor leveling off the beach that had been filtered and smoothed the previous two mornings.

OK. It's a clean town. The city takes good care of things. But couldn't they do it maybe just a little bit later? Even Dudo has been frowning.

And, no, I'm not really complaining. It's a city. It's a tourist destination. Things have to be maintained. I simply thought I'd share the serenity.

7:11 WEDNESDAY MORNING.

GOOD MORNING, JUAN.

In this video, it sounds like a wrench got swept up into the works. (I swear I didn't do it.) Could this mean it's broken???

The obstruction was easily cleared and it was back to work. In the background, you can hear the street sweeper, the leaf blower, trucks backing up, cars, and motos. Ah, paradise.

TEN HOURS LATER, SO FEW PEOPLE AROUND THAT AREAS OF THE BEACH REMAIN VIRGIN.

MY SHADOW SELF OER THE VIRGIN SANDS.

And now to take you back to those quiet nights...

El Jazzy Bar

We've been expanding our horizons and shaking up our routine. We now have three cafés we visit for our daily coffee fix. Not all in the same day, of course. There's our original, Cafe Manila, about 5 minutes west (yes, I'm sure it's west) on the Paseo. Then there's the charming little Cafe El Noventa, which is just downstairs. And there's also El Jazzy Bar. It's about a 7-minute walk, away from the beach, and sits within the Roman Ruins Park that I wrote about here. El Jazzy Bar is a cool place with cool music always and live jazz on weekends, which we plan to check out in the coming weeks when it starts back after a brief summer break.

Click any image to jazz things up.

BAR ENTRANCE STREETSIDE. 

PARK ENTRANCE WITH LARGE EL JAZZY TERRACE AT LEFT.

Being away from the beach, El Jazzy Bar is a peaceful place for morning coffee or afternoon lunch or drinks. The chef, Tess, is half-English and half-Spanish and equally charming in both languages. We don't know all the staff but everyone has always been welcoming (and kind of cool). Today, we met Raquel, who happens to be from Sevilla. She's been living here just slightly longer than we have. She agrees with us that, although she misses the city, you can't beat the quality of life in Los Boliches (Fuengirola, Málaga).

REFLECTING...

As you probably know, San Geraldo and I always have, if not fascinating, at least entertaining conversations. Yesterday morning at El Jazzy was one of those highly intellectual exchanges. And last night San Geraldo brought up the subject again.

He began, "Remember what we were talking about at El Jizzy this morning?"

I never did remember.

(And if you don't know what "jizzy" means, all I'll tell you is it's NOT a genre of music.)

CHEF TESS TAKING A BREAK FROM COOKING
TO SERVE UP OUR GOURMET COFFEES.

CHEF TESS.

PART OF THE TERRACE WITH EL JAZZY BAR RIGHT AND ROMAN RUINS LEFT
(AND SAN GERALDO UNDER THE UMBRELLA).

THE PARK WITH MORE TERRACE AT RIGHT
(AND SAN GERALDO PARTIALLY HIDDEN).

THE LOCAL TRAIN RUNS SO QUIETLY, THREE WENT BY (2O MINUTES APART)
BEFORE I CAUGHT A SHOT.

TRADITIONAL SPANISH TORTILLA (A LA TESS).
WE HAVE TO GO BACK FOR LUNCH.

TESS STOPPED BY ON HER MORNING OFF...
JUST TO OPEN OUR UMBRELLA (WELL, I GUESS I SHOULD DREAM ON).

RAQUEL.

THIS MORNING'S PICTURE-PERFECT COFFEE A LA RAQUEL. 

This was what was playing Tuesday morning at El Jazzy.

I'm With Stupid

San Geraldo is trying, without much success, to remember the Spanish names for silverware.

Fork is tenedor. Knife is cuchillo. Spoon is cuchara.

Some time last week, His Saintliness said he was frustrated with how difficult it was for him to remember those three simple words.

I said that I had had the same problem. So, I found a little trick. "A fork has tines and that helped me remember tenedor (ten is similar to tyne).

"For cuchillo, I simply pictured two vertical knives in place of the two "els" in the word.

OUR GERMAN CARVING SET FROM SAN GERALDO'S FAMILY.
TOP: TENEDOR; BOTTOM: CUCHILLO.
(DON'T ASK ME HOW TO SAY IT IN GERMAN, BUT DO CLICK FOR A CLOSER LOOK.)

I continued, "The only word left was cuchara, which meant that was a spoon."

CUCHARA (BY DEFAULT).

San Geraldo loved my method and immediately put it into practice. But, Monday, while we walked home from an appointment, he told me he still finds himself mixing up the words.

"OK," he began, "Cuchillo is fork. I think of the two 'els' as the tines of a fork. Right?"

"No," I responded, "cuchillo is knife. You think of the two 'els' as two knives. Tenedor is fork because 'ten' is similar to 'tine'."

As we walked he continued to muddle the memory aids. And he kept repeating the incorrect versions to show me how he was confusing them.

I finally told him it would probably help if he stopped repeating them incorrectly, "over and over and over again." Maybe he should consider saying them aloud the correct way.

He tried to explain to me why that was so difficult for him to do now, finally saying, "Well, you know how I am."

I said, "Yeah. Pig-headed..." He then tried translating that into Spanish. (Don't ask.)

I JUST CAME UPON THE SOLUTION:
A TENEDOR IS WHAT WE USED FOR EATING MONDAY'S TARTA DE CHOCOLATE!

Along the way, we decided to stop and say "hi" to Tynan. San Geraldo, of course, immediately told him about our conversation.

Tynan facetiously told San Geraldo, "Oh, you're not pig-headed. You're just stubborn."

San Geraldo snort-laughed, "Well! I'm going home."

We said our good-byes and, as we walked off, San Geraldo laughed again and said, "I can't believe Tynan called me 'stupid'."

I said, "He didn't call you stupid. He said you were stubborn."

"He did not! He said stupid," he argued... stubbornly.

So, tolerantly and in my version of a Chesterfield accent, I explained, "He said stew-buhn."

"Oh! That makes sense."

Sunrise Shadow Of My Former Self

This is the semi-official next-to-last weekend of summer holiday here in Spain (there's one more week to go before school starts). It's already much more quiet and civilized in town.

Another indication of summer nearing its end is the fact that there are clouds here and there, which makes sunrise and sunset much more dramatic. I awoke this morning to gorgeous colors in the sky. So I hopped out of bed and headed to the terrace to watch the sunrise. (Click the images to experience the grandeur.)

WHAT I WOKE TO.

FROM THE TERRACE.

HERE COMES THE SUN.

DOO DOO DOO

AND I SAY...

IT'S ALRIGHT.

Of course, Dudo and Moose followed me outside. As I watched, I realized they were both sitting below me on the chaise. Usually, they look in whatever direction I'm looking. But this morning as the sun rose, they were transfixed in the opposite direction, staring at the wall.

WHAT ARE THEY LOOKING AT?

AH.  MY CLASSIC PROFILE (SHADOW TO THE LEFT OF STONE FACE).

FASCINATING.

I MADE IT MORE INTERESTING...

MOOSE NEEDED TO REACH OUT AND TOUCH...

A WHILE LATER, I WALKED INTO THE BEDROOM AND FOUND MOOSE STILL TRANSFIXED...

... AND DUDO, TOO.
I WAS TEMPTED TO GO BACK OUT AND SEE IF "I" WAS STILL THERE.

I know it hasn't been a long, cold, lonely winter (yet). But, here comes the sun.

St. George And The Half-Naked Brazilian Male Dancers

It looks like I won't be sharing a video or a collection of photos of the half-naked Brazilian male dancers. At least not this year. I never did see them again (after I posted this... click here).

Fortunately, however, sand-sculptor extraordinaire Paul Blane (click for his website) lives not far from where they performed all the time and he took a photo just for me, which I have enhanced a bit to give you a better look.

But first, here's Paul's latest sand sculpture. He wasn't there when I snapped these photos, but it's a safe bet that's Saint George (the one who slew the dragon). (Click here for the poem by Alfred Noyes.) Paul Blane's dragon still 'gets lit' regularly (there's a votive candle in its mouth*).

*Oops! I stand corrected. The fire-breather is not nearly so tame. Per Paul: "I've buried a tube in the sand which connects to an aerosol where I sit and so it blows a stream of fire on demand."

Click the images to enlarge Paul's work. 

The Half-Naked Brazilian Male Dancers are already as big as they're going to get.

...BUT ST GEORGE HE WAS AN ENGLISHMAN
AND DID NOT LIKE APPLAUSE.
•
"THE CREECHA WEIGHED A TON AT MOST,"
HE MUTTERED THROUGH HIS VIZAHD,
"I DO NOT FEEL INCLINED TO BOAST
ABOUT THAT PUNY LIZAHD."

THANKS GO TO PAUL...
AND THE HALF-NAKED BRAZILIAN MALE DANCERS.

Maybe they'll be back someday soon and return I will to old Brazil...

MEANWHILE, I'LL SIT BENEATH AN AMBER MOON.

There Is Nothing You Can Take

As I mentioned at the end of July, I started a new 3-day-per-week workout. It's called "You Are Your Own Gym." (Click here if you missed out.) Then my mood crashed and I didn't stick with it. But, now that I've been on my increased anti-depressant meds dosage for a couple of weeks (and I'm now feeling the effects), I decided to restart the program.

Monday was great. What a workout, followed later in the day by a great walk. Dudo finds my new workout fascinating — especially my exercise mat.

LEFT AND...

RIGHT AND...

LEFT AND...

Tuesday (a day of rest), I just did some general exercise because I felt like it.

Wednesday, my stomach was a bit off (well more than a bit, and it began Tuesday afternoon). So, after running some errands, I didn't do much of anything.

Wednesday evening, I worried that maybe the increased dosage of my medication was causing the stomach problems.

Either that or it could be the 1/2-kilo (more than a pound) of gum drops I ate Tuesday.

Or maybe it was my after-lunch dessert Wednesday — galletas rellena de naranja con chocolate (egg sponge biscuits with orange fruit filling and chocolate).

LUNCH...

Nah, it couldn't be that. I only had half the box. See how many cookies I didn't eat?


Maybe it's San Geraldo's fault...