Adventures in Nostalgia
Anna posted her observations of Andalusia from 2001. I visited her late in that trip, which was my second and most recent visit abroad.
We spent five days in Sevilla, where Anna's Spanish teacher successfully intimidated me and my crappy-ass Spanish. On the weekend, we hopped a bus to Tarifa, which is the last "major" city on the Atlantic coast. The town is the windsurfing capital of Spain. We enjoyed the breezes on the beach. Now when you're used to lake beaches in the Midwest, Spanish beaches are sort of a revelation. At one point I looked to my left and there were multiple topless women sunbathing. So that was exciting. Later, Anna and I were dozing and suddenly we heard a thump, thump off in the distance. As it grew louder, we both sat up. Suddenly our small little area was filled with protestors. The cause, it appeared was Spanish immigration law that had people trying to swim across the Strait of Gibraltar and dying in the process. The protestors stripped off all their clothes and started splashing in the water.
"Abajo las fronteras," they shouted bending over and splashing around.
Then they shot up, "Arriba las personas," they yelled, hoisting a sign that read "No mas muertes in el Estrecho"
After about 10 minutes, they continued down the beach. Two weeks later and back in Detroit, I told Fritz the story, omitting the topless women.
"Did you join them?" he asked.
"No," I answered.
"Fucking Republican," he told me.
A day later we arrived at the Tarifa bus station holding tickets only to find the station chained shut. The notice on the front said "Huelga." It means strike, which Anna informed me is a favorite pastime of Spanish transportation workers. I had a plane to catch in 12 hours and was carrying a credit card with a small limit, meaning I couldn't afford another flight. I started to freak out. So we eventually hooked up with a young Spanish couple, eventually communicating that we could drive a car up to Sevilla if necessary. When the car rental place said that wasn't an option, the couple negotiated us an affordable cab ride to Algeciras. That city is as seedy as Tarifa is scenic. It's mostly a port town that ferries people across the Strait. Anyway, the Spanish couple managed to chase down the final bus out of town. We bought tickets and ended up riding north with them. It was quite a weekend.
We spent five days in Sevilla, where Anna's Spanish teacher successfully intimidated me and my crappy-ass Spanish. On the weekend, we hopped a bus to Tarifa, which is the last "major" city on the Atlantic coast. The town is the windsurfing capital of Spain. We enjoyed the breezes on the beach. Now when you're used to lake beaches in the Midwest, Spanish beaches are sort of a revelation. At one point I looked to my left and there were multiple topless women sunbathing. So that was exciting. Later, Anna and I were dozing and suddenly we heard a thump, thump off in the distance. As it grew louder, we both sat up. Suddenly our small little area was filled with protestors. The cause, it appeared was Spanish immigration law that had people trying to swim across the Strait of Gibraltar and dying in the process. The protestors stripped off all their clothes and started splashing in the water.
"Abajo las fronteras," they shouted bending over and splashing around.
Then they shot up, "Arriba las personas," they yelled, hoisting a sign that read "No mas muertes in el Estrecho"
After about 10 minutes, they continued down the beach. Two weeks later and back in Detroit, I told Fritz the story, omitting the topless women.
"Did you join them?" he asked.
"No," I answered.
"Fucking Republican," he told me.
A day later we arrived at the Tarifa bus station holding tickets only to find the station chained shut. The notice on the front said "Huelga." It means strike, which Anna informed me is a favorite pastime of Spanish transportation workers. I had a plane to catch in 12 hours and was carrying a credit card with a small limit, meaning I couldn't afford another flight. I started to freak out. So we eventually hooked up with a young Spanish couple, eventually communicating that we could drive a car up to Sevilla if necessary. When the car rental place said that wasn't an option, the couple negotiated us an affordable cab ride to Algeciras. That city is as seedy as Tarifa is scenic. It's mostly a port town that ferries people across the Strait. Anyway, the Spanish couple managed to chase down the final bus out of town. We bought tickets and ended up riding north with them. It was quite a weekend.
1 Comment(s):
- Posted by
at April 06, 2006 10:28 AM |
Permanent Link to this Comment
fritz rules!
