WARNING: This post not suitable for children. Please do not include as part of your evening bedtime story line-up.
I woke up this morning determined to do battle with yesterday’s epic crepe-tastrophe (more on that this weekend) and after two weeks of the same running route, I needed a change of scenery. Borja’s family lives on somewhat of a point here in Alicante and the Playa de San Juan makes up one side, while the Cabo Huertas is the other. I hadn’t yet made the uphill climb to the cliffs above the Cabo Huertas and thought I’d use this morning’s motivation to do a little discovering. I ended up at a beautiful point overlooking a turquoise-blue-water, calendar-worthy coastline with only a fisherman in sight, and decided I’d come back with my camera later in the day.
After making lunch at home for mi familia de espanol, I packed a bag of artsy goodness (sketchbook, camera, tripod, etc.) and headed out in search of those beautiful blue waters. When I reached the cliff, I threw my jacket over my arm, found a path, and began to make my way down the precariously craggy rock formations, all the while keeping my eye on that gloriously rugged coastline. It did get a little bit stumbly at times, but nothing too bad. Mental note: short skirt and leggings not suitable for all-terrain sightseeing.
|Top of the path to the beach.|
|This is a more mild section of the beach path.|
When I got much closer to the water, it quickly became apparent that I was one of the few people who were women...or wearing any clothing. Let me just show you how I came to this realization:
“Oh this coastline is just gorgeous....(walk, walk)...How would I say that in Spanish?...(slide down rock wall)...Bonita? Precioso?...(brush off skirt)...There’s more people here than there were this morning...(stumble)...Wait...(walking stopped)...Is that a...?...Yeah, he’s naked...(walking slowly)....Eh, no biggie...(chuckle)...He’s probably the only one....(trip, stumble)....I’ll just avoid that are--wait...(walking halted, looking around)...Oh. God. ...They’re everywhere.”
It’s amazing how quickly a leisurely evening outing can turn into a desperate scurry to get-the-hell-outta-there-outing. The long and short of it (sorry, couldn’t help it, I just crack myself up...get it?) is that I had to either find a more “clothed” section of the beach or head home...quickly. And just as I decided that I best just turn around and call Borja for neglecting to inform me of the...um...wildlife, I realized that I’d dropped my cell phone. The one that was in the pocket of my jacket. That was currently hanging upside down on my arm. Yeah. Somewhere amidst the columnal cacti, the fallic rock formations, and the...water, my little phone was lost.
So now, please use your imagination to picture me, dear, sweet, Alicia, stumbling around a beach full of male genitalia, head down, eyes shielded; trying to retrace my steps through all those precariously craggy rock formations to find my little phone. All the while mumbling to myself something like, “Stupid idea....never again....penises....it wasn’t like this this morning.” A half hour later, the phone in question was located at the very beginning of the path I took to get to the beach. Of course.
When I got home and recounted my story to Borja’s parents, they informed me that the nude beach is only a tiny section of the miles upon miles upon miles of other beautiful beachy coastline. And somehow, I found it. Huh. So the moral of today’s story, boys and girls, is that things like this really only happen to me.
But you guys nude, I mean, knew that already, didn’t you?
Thanks for reading,Alicia