Life: Idiotropic

Ahhh. I've found my beach. Just 25 minutes from my house in a nice village with a long boardwalk with small vendors that set up each evening selling ice cream and imported clothing and jewelry. The beach and it's boardwalk seem to stretch out forever, long and wide with silky soft sand and aqua water shallow enough to wade out into as far in as the dunes are away - it's wonderful. Gentle waves with no undertow. Lifeguards. People in all shapes, sizes, and colors playing paddle ball, jumping in the waves, reading in lawn chairs, and walking. I've never seen so many people just walking the beach. I am a beach walker. Sitting still has never appealed to me, and here, I will not be alone. As I watched the girls play, I saw in the constant flow of people obscuring the view from my lens, many people walk by once, then return, and some even walk back and forth several times in the time we were there.

Topless is the norm. And while I cannot imagine the pain of a sunburn, well, there. I also am learning to just not notice, or not be bothered. It's just normal here. So there they are. Bouncing, hanging, swaying as the ladies walk. Brown, white, red. And though I don't think it's particularly attractive, eh, it's their country and if my little ones have noticed, they must not care. No, I won't acclimate here quite that much.

So far Luci and I have been disappointed by the scarcity of shells, but we were able to find a handful. Jut a handful, but that was enough to console us, the beach combers of the family. Leaving a beach without a shells is like returning from a trip without a single photo.

Not to leave without a bit of "strange" - not that the beach attire wasn't strange enough - we returned to our car parked just in front of a stage now congested with an ecclectic assortment of sweaty people wearing some sort of shoe elevated from the ground on a bouncy oval. Aerobics in funny shoes. Sweat, the handful of awkward ladies who were clearly lost, the girls who couldn't concentrate with their tongue in their mouth, and the instructor wearing a thong under the ill chosen white yogi (not yoga) pants clinging damply.

We watched that for a good 10 minutes before driving away, then laughed hysterically later at the photos I took... the facial expressions and the women who really needed more support. :)

Loving Spain.

PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=131455&id=674507268&l=646d88e2b5