Las Playas y La Tortilla

So today’s theme is: the beach. The original plan was for Monday to be our day of adventure, searching for Cabo de Gata—a beach that Margaret had heard good things about. But we were both pretty tired and accidently overslept. One of the things I’ve learned about Spain is that you really have to “go with the flow.” So we decided to stay in during siesta (yes, it’s a beautiful thing) and play some guitar.

A couple hours later, we headed down to nearby Aguadulce, which is a fairly small but scenic stretch of beach. The water is sparkly blue-green, and the shore is remarkably clean—especially for a country where littering is pretty commonplace. We walked along the sleepy port in search of a good café that served Spain’s traditional paella.

Sadly, the locals were still enjoying their siesta when we arrive in Aguadulce. There was one restaurant full of young teenagers smoking things they shouldn’t. We still had a couple hours before the usual mealtime, so we continued our leisurely walk, following the red cobblestone sidewalk around the corner.

We first noticed a large sign that read: “HOTEL. Puerto Salud. Fisioterapia.” The walls of the three story facility were completely white. At first, we thought it was simply a hotel, but as we approached the building, we looked up and saw that the high walls surrounding the buildings were protected by barbed wire. As we passed closer, we peered through the gates. Inside looked more like a hospital then a local hotel—a deserted hospital.

Margaret and I can only guess what that place actually is. Was it really a hotel? A mental institution with a nice view? The sign did say “fisioterapia.” I suppose we will never really know. The place reminded us of something straight out of a horror movie. Whatever it was, we decided to head back toward the port before our imaginations got the better of us.

We changed plans again and picked 30°, a Mediterranean café. At least, that’s what it said it was. Spain’s beaches are on the Mediterranean Sea after all. We sat at one of the beach front tables and enjoyed lemon sorbet (Margaret) and fresh mango juice (me). My mango juice was really good, but the straw came with firework streamers attached to it, which made it difficult to drink without either swallowing plastic or choking in laughter. Margaret was particularly amused by my sorry attempts at drinking my juice seriously.

That evening, we actually ended up going to the mall to do some grocery shopping and eat dinner. We were dead set (well, almost) on eating paella that night, but after we sat down to order, the waitress informed us that you had to call in advance if you wanted to eat paella. Margaret and I were pretty sad about that, but we were still able to enjoy each other’s company at dinner. Dad always did say it’s not about WHAT you eat, but WHO you eat.

On a side note, at the mall we bumped into three of Margaret’s friends from her church. They kindly gave us a ride home, with a stop at Daisy’s flat on the way. I love meeting new people, so it was really neat to meet Margaret’s friends. They’re from all over the place: Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia…and they all have their own accent. I didn’t mean to be so quiet, but I was trying hard to understand the conversation, and my Spanish comprehension is painfully slow. It was great fun though.

Since we weren’t able to go on our little adventure on Monday, Margaret and I left early (early here is 10) this morning to catch the bus to Cabo de Gata. It took a total of about 1.5 hours to get there, but we were abundantly rewarded for our patience. The sun was out and the beach was relatively secluded save for a few fellow sunbathers.

Margaret and I enjoyed soaking up the sun and listening to…well…our mp3 players. But it was really peaceful there. The sand at Cabo de Gata is much softer than at Aguadulce, too. Once we got too warm, Margaret and I cooled off by taking a dip in the sea water. And when I say cooled off, I mean cooled off. It was cold! But it felt great, anyways.

We ended our trip with a cold Coke, sitting under the umbrellas at one of the seaside cafés, listening to the sound of the gentle waves. If only we were able to eat the paella they were serving—it looked and smelled absolutely delicious. But alas, we had a 4 pm bus to catch.

One thing I had heard about before I arrived in Spain was something called a “Spanish omelet.” How I heard about it is a long story, but ever since then, I’ve wanted to try it. Fortunately for me, Margaret knows how to make it! So after we got home and cleaned up, we moved to the kitchen and began our lesson. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m more of an eater than a cook, but it was really exciting to learn how to make it.

The Spanish omelet is actually more of a potato pancake with egg in it. The funny thing is, everyone here calls it a “tortilla.” Never would have guessed, right? The best part is flipping the entire omelet, out of the skillet, onto the plate, and back into the skillet. Margaret is a great cooking teacher, too. I felt like I learned a lot of practical cooking tips just from watching her and listening to her explanations.

After we finished cooking, we walked ten minutes to the house of Margaret’s friends, who are also missionaries in Spain. I’m getting tired, so I won’t go into detail. But they’re three children are amazing—they speak English, Spanish, and Arabic. The two year old doesn’t actually speak much at all yet (at least, not coherently), but he’ll definitely be trilingual when he grows up.

I’m really having a hard time believing that tonight is my last night in Spain. Tomorrow I make my journey to London. Pray that I’ll make it safely to Roehampton, sanity intact. I wish I could say that I’m excited, but at the moment, I feel quite nervous. I think once I arrive on campus I’ll feel better. Alright, time for me to go pack. ¡Ciao!

*Tangent: we saw jamón serrano EVERYWHERE. It's really strange.