Bifocal

Saturday

There are days in my life that flow by in a tranquil rhythm. I never know when to expect them and I can never plan them. Like sand dollars on the shore, they fall at your feet if you wait long enough after the waves have passed.

Today was simple. Today was lovely. Like a drop of honey. Slowly sweet.

Michaella (a fellow profesora here) and I catch the morning bus to Nerja, a nearby beach town and from there catch the connecting bus to Frigiliana, one of the typical Andalusian white wash village towns nestled in the mountians. It is postcard worthy at everyturn and we easily peruse its streets in 2 hours. The far off sea, lounging beyond verdent rolling green hills tempts us back down, so we wait for the afternoon bus to carry us back to Nerja.









Nerja, being one of the usual tourist hot spots in the south of Spain boasts its fair share of cheap restaurants and typical beach shops selling bathing suits, towel, flip flops and kitschy souvenirs scribbled with the word "Nerja." But if you can crawl through the myriad of cheap deals and fast food, you reach the ocean and the aquamarine Mediterrean stares back at you with a gaping mouth. Large rocks, like the cookie crumbs of a long ago giant, sprinkle the beach, creating coves where small groups of people cluster in pockets of sand. Cliffs run right behind the beach, like a staunch hand, pushing the shore to sea, cupping the beach in sections and coves. It is Idyllic. Tramping by the cafes and restaurants on the overhang above the beach (called the Balcony of Europe) we high tail it down to the beach to snag a spot in the sun and soak it up. We scout out an open space between boulders and lay out, glistening in sunscreen.








A young girl was playing by herself in the waves in front of us. Laughing and jumping in her floatie like I used to do when I was a child. And as I causually watched her tease the waves, the ocean grew big, eclipsing the present in a memory of when I was young and the sea was my playmate. But all I could say was, "I can't believe in 2 months I won't be here." And it surprised me, how change was still unfathomable, even as we deal with change everyday. I'd eventually fly home and leave Malaga, just as I'd left my floatie and wave jumping days long ago. And even though I just arrived in Nerja I found myself saying, "I don't know what I'll do without the ocean...." as if I carried a small hope that my playmate might never forget me, even though I'd left him behind years ago. And maybe it was just the heat that was making me oddly emotional, but at the same time, the day was a moment of beautiful presence. Sitting on a beach and listening to waves. And watching my childhood jump the waves, wondering when we lose the lightness of being young.

Before I realize it, it's approaching dusk, but the sun is no where near the horizon, but my body says, go home, seek cool darkness.

And as we arrive in Malaga, its an odd moment, joking, "Home sweet home," feeling dry and sunburned, slow and cankterous, much like Alice must have felt as she walked back through the mirror, leaving Wonderland behind.