Lost on Earth

After saying goodbye to the lovely couple at the Hostal Luna in Marbella, the Spouse and I hit the road and headed for Tarifa, a little white gem on the very southern tip of Spain. Tarifa reminded me of Pai, in Thailand. It´s laid back, sleepy, and people there know how to have fun. Because the wind tears through the straight of Gibraltar between Spain and Africa, kiteboarders from around the world converge on Tarifa for its persistently breezy weather. Thus the town feels similar to any other surf town, except that unlike most surf town this one stares at Morocco all day and is surrounded by stone walls and monuments paying homage to Guzman el Bueno.

On our first night in Tarifa we saw signs advertising a free flamenco performance. We found the cafe where the band was playing on some steps near a small plaza. The cafe was too full of people for us so we sat outside and listened to a very young male flamenco singer, a small band, and several girls keeping compas (there were no dancers). A small crowd gathered outside on the steps with us, including a rathered tall, disheveled gentleman and his little dog that cowered around with its tail between its legs. The man heard the music, straightened up, lifted his arms in the air, and began to dance. He snaped his fingers and stomped his feet, still in their flip-flop sandals, and he spun so hard that his crack pipe flew from his bag and clattered on the ground. No matter. He put it away with great ceremony, removed his dirty sandals and secured them under his bag so they wouldn´t be stolen, straightened up proudly, and tried again. He wasn´t terribly steady on his feet and eventually stumbled. The crowd laughed and he bowed. The Spouse and I watched for a while and then decided to leave before the police came to investigate the proliforation of drugs that suddenly appeared on all sides of us.

The next day we woke up and dawn and boarded a boat for Morocco.