Lost on Earth

We made a stop in Marbella after seeing Ronda. We stayed in the Hostal Luna, which is run by a sweet, generous retired Spanish couple. On our first day, as we walked out the door to go see the beach the old man was in the courtyard, concentrating on washing the bathroom mats in and letting them dry in the sun. He had neat white hair and thick glasses that made his brown eyes owlish and huge, and a southern Spanish accent. After inviting us to sit in his courtyard, he shuffled inside his apartment and returned with two beers and a plate of olives. He sat with us while we drank. When he noticed that the Spouse doesn´t care for olives the old man jumped up and disappeared into his apartment again, and returned with a plate of cashews. We were embarassed at the generosity, but also quite pleased. He resumed his mat scrubbing and squabbling in machine-gun fast Spanish with his wife, and we left for the beach.


The beach at Marbella is long and narrow, and impossible to see from the road because it is hidden by a pink cement curtain of hotels, office buildings, and condos. There is a nice, smooth promenade that stretches between the sand and rows of overpriced restaurants. People walk and rollerblade in the windy cool of the late afternoon before the evening meal. Far away on the horizon the rock of Gibraltar peeps out of the marine mist. We spent the entire day on a stretch of gritty beach under an umbrella that we cost 6 euros. After carrying my pack, sitting inside on rainy Spanish days, and walking around on cobbles for the previous two weeks the warm sand was lovely. Not even the ovewrweight, blistering tourists could spoil it. Not even the gawking Americans.

In Spain, women can sunbathe with their swimsuit tops off, whereas in America this is not allowed. A Spaniard explained American freedom to us this way "many countries think they are free, but they don´t realize how little freedom they really have. You Americans brag about being free, but you can´t even drink a beer on the beach. Women aren´t even allowed to take their tops off." Then he added that the tops are better on, to preserve some mystery. When we first walked on the beach in Marbella I sensed a profound feeling of disappointment emanating from the Spouse. The only women who were decent looking had their bikini tops firmly tied in place, whereas the only women who wanted to take them off all seemed to have three things in common: belly fat, purplish sunburns, and pendulous breasts that sagged as if someone had put two tennis balls in two gym socks and tied them around their saggy necks. I liked the beach, but for him I think it was a bit of a ...bust.