There's so much to see at Fuengirola's annual Feria (fair). To be clear, there's more than one annual fair in Fuengirola. This week's annual event is to honour the Virgin of the Rosary. She was processed (that's pro-CEST as opposed to PRAH-cest) from the church this week. I've seen her before and wanted instead to see the horses and costumes as they arrived at the fairgrounds. Here, today, are the horses (mostly).
(Click any image to equestriansize.)
A HORSE BITES OFF A WOMAN'S HEAD AS HER FRIEND LOOKS ON.
HORSEFEATHERS*! (*POLITE AMERICAN SLANG FOR HORSESHIT OR BULLSHIT.)
THE FIRST ARRIVALS. THE ADULTS WENT FOR A BEER AND
ARGUED A BIT BEFORE ENTERING THE FAIRGROUNDS.
PURE CLASS OUTSIDE ON THE NEARBY PLAZA.
STOPPING FOR A SARSAPARILLA AT A LOCAL SALOON. (ACTUALLY, STOPPING FOR A FANTA ORANGE.)
SPANISH MAN SMOKING CUBAN CIGAR ON ARABIAN HORSE?* *(REALLY, ANDALUSIAN — ALSO PURE SPANISH — HORSES, NOT ARABIAN.)
THE FAIRGROUNDS' STREETS WERE STILL FAIRLY EMPTY,
BUT PEOPLE KEPT WALKING IN FRONT OF MY SHOTS.
It's Feria (Fair) in Fuengirola this week. I went and saw the beautiful costumes and horses today and took about a gazillion (maybe a few less than a gazillion) photos.
San Geraldo and I met for lunch, because he forgot stores would be closed and there's no food in the house. Today was the Día de la Virgen Del Rosario (Day of the Virgin of the Rosary).
For no good reason, I went to bed awfully late Tuesday night and I was up early Wednesday morning taking pictures of the sunrise. After lunch, I had a three-hour siesta. It wasn't a very productive day. So, long after Wednesday's sunset, here's Wednesday's sunrise.
(Click any image for the awesome.)
AND THEN THE VIEW FROM BACK IN BED.
And I'll finish with a T-shirt I saw emblazoned with my new motto — which I don't understand.
"LOOK HERE: IT'SOWN FREE CLOTHING THE SRIRIT OF ADVENTURES DESIGN."
The Kid Brother is focused, which is another way of saying The Kid Brother is obsessive-compulsive and has a very difficult time changing his routine.
"Whadda YOU want?" he blurted when I phoned at 6:25. "I take my shower at 6:30!"
"You're late!" he snaps, when I connect on Skype at 11:01 instead of 11:00.
If I connect at 10:59, he mutters, "You're early!"
Sundays during spring/summer, he plays softball in Central Park. So he visits my mother Saturdays and they have lunch together.
Saturdays during fall/winter, he bowls in a league. So he visits my mother Sundays and they have lunch together.
Three mornings per week he drops off his laundry at a nearby fluff-and-fold. They originally told him it would be ready by 4. So that's when he picks it up. Not 4:15. Not 5. Four o'clock.
(Click the images; they get bigger.)
MUSY, AS OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE AS HIS UNCLE. HERE HE IMPATIENTLY AWAITS HIS AFTER-LUNCH TREAT. "IT'S 3:30!"
San Geraldo and I catered an 80th birthday bash for The Dowager Duchess (eight years ago). We included The Kid Brother as our co-host. The evening before, he told me he couldn't come to the party because, "I got softball Sunday, ya know!"
The Dowager Duchess told him when he was 13 years old that chocolate wasn't good for his skin. He's now 55 and still doesn't eat chocolate. Unless it's white chocolate, which apparently doesn't count.
Our sister Dale died in 1981 in Sheffield, England, when The Kid Brother was 21. We and our parents went to the hospice to say our good-byes. It was such an awful shock to see his big sister that way that he has refused to make a hospital visit ever since. Just being around someone who's ill makes him very nervous.
So, of course The Kid Brother wouldn't visit the Dowager Duchess during the 7-1/2 weeks of her hospital stay. I was pleased to be able to convince him to come to the apartment once she was home (before I came back to Spain). He only stayed briefly and then he and I went out for lunch. Having a stranger in the house (the home healthcare worker) threw him off.
Well, The Dowager Duchess is on her own again. After five weeks she, too, has had more than enough of a stranger in the house. So, now I'm trying to convince The Kid Brother that things are back to normal and he can return to his old routine.
I just have to break him of his new routine.
When I spoke with him Friday (to convince him to visit our mother on Saturday), he said, "Maybe in December."
I have my work cut out for me. (But I'm hoping he'll come around by this weekend.)
Meanwhile, I'm awfully pensive and unfocused lately. Maybe The Kid Brother's routines wouldn't be such a bad thing.
MUSY HAS ALSO BEEN VERY PENSIVE LATELY.
I LOVE THAT ELBOW.
For some reason, I woke up with this song in my head...
I'm beginning to appreciate the daring fabric combinations some people wear. Admittedly, some mixes still hurt my eyes (and my sensibilities). Yet others are not only daring but show a great sense of design and flair (in my opinion). I myself have become more adventurous in my pattern choices — although not yet in public. Unless, that is, I get hit by the proverbial bus.
(Click any image for a big, bold statement.)
FARMERS MARKET, OCEAN PARKWAY, BROOKLYN.
GRANDFATHER AND GRANDSON, NEPTUNE AVENUE, BROOKLYN.
SHOPPING IN BRIGHTON BEACH AND
WALKING ON THE BOARDWALK.
BACK HOME IN FUENGIROLA.
IN BROOKLYN: MY UNDERWEAR AND FLANNEL LOUNGERS
SET AGAINST THE BED SHEET.
Málaga's main train station (Estación de Málaga Maria Zambrano; click to learn about her) is a great place to spend some time. It's the main train station in the center of the city used for travel all over Spain and to other points in Europe, as well as a stop for the commuter trains. There are gourmet kiosks and specialty shops in the main area, plus a very nice shopping mall that includes a great choice of restaurants and cafés.
This time around, on our way to Sevilla, we noticed a new olive market. Fresh olives of every shape and size. Unfortunately, my photo wasn't pleasantly timed. The salesperson was on her mobile phone as she worked. A woman walked over and said in Spanish, "I want a taste," as she reached over the glass, dipped her fingers in one of the tubs and scooped out an olive. She licked her fingers and walked away leaving me, the salesperson, and the woman on a nearby bench in stunned silence.
I didn't buy any olives.
(Click the images for a closer look at what I witnessed.)
WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO PLEASE MAY I?
IBERIAN HAM. I DIDN'T SEE ANYONE HELP THEMSELVES TO A SLICE
— OR AN ENTIRE HAM.
IF THE FINGER FOOD HAS TURNED YOU OFF,
YOU COULD ALWAYS BUY AN IBERIAN HAM PILLOW. CLASSY, HUH?
We had some bank business to resolve, so were back in Sevilla Tuesday through Thursday. San Geraldo (my prince) decided we deserved the royal treatment, so he booked us a room at a recently opened hotel in a former private palace. Wednesday night, we dined at a brand new restaurant in another former palace.
The hotel (Ateneo) is in our old neighbourhood and just opened in December.
The restaurant, La Quinta, is owned and run by our friends Gonzalo, Elena, and Albert and sits around the corner from their other restaurant (now four years old), Catalina Casa de Comidas (click here for an earlier blog post about Catalina).
Catalina was my favourite restaurant when we lived in Sevilla. Now, they're both my favourite. If you're ever in Sevilla, I encourage you to check out La Quinta (and Catalina Casa de Comidas). Beautiful places, comfortable and welcoming, exceptional and unusual food, and surprisingly affordable.
(Click any image to make it grander.)
THE 'STOOP' OF THE PALACE.
HOTEL BRUNCH, WHICH INCLUDED SPANISH SHERRIES,
CHAMPAGNE, AND TO-ORDER DISHES.
THE CENTRAL COURTYARD. (THIS AND THE NEXT PHOTO ARE FROM THE WEB.)
OUR ROOM. FINALLY, A BED WIDE ENOUGH FOR THE TWO OF US. (THEY'VE ADDED A LOT OF ANCIENT ARTWORK TO THE WALLS.)
It looks like "summer season" has come to an end in Fuengirola. The flags (banderas) are no longer flying along the beach to announce safe surf (green flag), risky (yellow), or dangerous (red).
With July being unusually warm and muggy, jellyfish (medusas) were in abundance. So a flag was added to warn swimmers of the risk. I went for a long walk on the beach yesterday and found myself side-stepping jellyfish most of the way. Many beach-goers were collecting them and tossing them in the trash.
One woman was filling a plate with a half-dozen at a time. It reminded me of a plate of gefilte fish* — which, in my opinion, is not a good thing. (My grandmother used to make 'fresh' gefilte fish and put it in her own jars. It was beyond disgusting — In my humble opinion.)
I jokingly asked the woman with the plate of jellyfish if she was planning to cook them. I was grateful when she laughed and said she really didn't think so. She then unceremoniously dumped them in the trash bin and went back to collect more.
Click the images for a closer look.
FROM OUR TERRACE: CAUTION FLAG AND JELLYFISH (MEDUSA) FLAG.
I MIRRORED THE IMAGE — THE WIND WAS BLOWING IN THE WRONG DIRECTION!
MY FIRST CLOSE ENCOUNTER ON SUNDAY.
MANY BEACH-GOERS WERE COLLECTING (AND DISPOSING OF) THE THREAT.
A YOUNG FATHER WAS PICKING THEM UP SAFELY BY THEIR HEADS.
I STILL WOULDN'T RISK IT.
AN ODDLY SAFE BIT OF BEACH. THE CURRENTS ARE FASCINATING.
THE FOAMY SURF, MID-AIR.
*Gefilte Fish: Fish fillets are ground with eggs, onion, bread or matzo crumbs, and spices to produce a paste or dough which is then boiled in fish stock. It is popularly (don't ask me why) served with a fish-broth jelly! To me, it would be like eating jellyfish... Except for the poison. I found the gefilte fish photo at National Geographic (click here). The author of the article, Virginia Hughes, described gefilte fish as a "flaccid culinary specimen" that looks like "brown-gray gelatinous lumps." I think she was being kind.
The American Wild West is a popular theme at fairs and kiddie parks in Southern Spain. There's currently a ride on a nearby plaza complete with horses circling Native American totem poles, cacti — And a camel.
For a time there were camels brought to the American West from Tunisia, Greece, Malta, Turkey, and Egypt — beginning in 1855 and lasting only into the 1860s.
That said, I don't think the designer of this particular ride was aiming for historical accuracy, especially considering the ride was called "Far West" instead of "Wild West." I'm not quite sure where in the world the Far West actually is.
When I got home from my walk I told Dudo what I saw. When I mentioned the name of the ride, he burst out laughing. (Click any image for a closer look.)
