I hear it's snowing back home. I will try no to rub this in.
We left El Valle (and Don Pepe and his parrot Ricky; and the howling winds; and all the stray dogs that wake you up in the dead of night and all the roosters that start their shift at 4:30 in the morning) and headed for the beach. Plans had been yesterday after the zoo and before another high brow supper in a lavish secluded Villa with a courtyard pool and Enya on eternal drone. I still wish I would have gone with the hamburger and the not the Tortellini. I blame Amy for clouding my otherwise impeccable meal judgment.
We were up at seven (again) but didn't actually get to Playa del Palmar until noon. I think I have a good idea why the locals always exaggerate traveling time - and it has little to do with distance. Life just moves slow here. No use trying to charge into the passing lane.
But what an absolutely beautiful day to be at the beach.
Not even seven clouds in the whole sky.
Alright, I'm done.
Seriously though, It's funny how productive you can feel while doing absolutely nothing when you're near the ocean. Applying sun tan lotion, reading, running bear foot - real life and death stuff here. I'm kind of happy I brought Moby-Dick after all. It suddenly makes sense. And speaking of a sea misadventure, I got my first jellyfish bite (sting) in forever after not even ten minutes in the water. I cursed the fucker for another five after that and then got over it. The ten of us on this beach are now trying to decide if we've got some kind of epidemic on hand. High tide left tons of them stranded on shore like so many squirmy landmines. The Germans walked the shore but apparently decided against going in.
I kicked sand on one, made my peace and went back in the water.
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