Last Saturday I got an email from my Spanish friend Beatriz (of salsa dancing fame) that said "Hola! Salva and I are going to check out Marbella tomorrow...you and The Mister want to come? Pick you up at 3." I like getting those kinds of emails.
Marbella is a beautiful little coastal town/overdeveloped touristy nightmare, depending on how full your cup is. The shape of the earth itself is lovely - long sandy beaches circled in on three sides by green mountains. But it's taken its allotment of pretty land and filled it with British tourists, British ice cream parlors, British yachts, British pubs, and the odd Burger King thrown in here or there for good measure (I really love the Brits, by the way, and I don't hold it against them - it's the same thing we Americans have done to Cancún, among other places). There is also a marina that is full to bursting with yachts proudly waving the Union Jack while their owners shop at the nearby designer stores. It's basically your full-on nightmare.
But it's a half hour drive down the Mediterranean coast and we were going with friends, so what's not to like?
Observe:
Apparently Michelle Obama got in the action recently?
"I've got an idea! Let's take this street and make it look just like England!"
"The Spaniards wouldn't like that, now would they, you bloody wanker? I've got a better plan - let's make it look like IRELAND. We can still have our pub but they'll get the dirty looks"
There was a Lamborghini...next to a Jaguar...next to a Ferrari.
Salva decided to take the unexpected option: steal the '88 Fiat!
I found a Spanish boat!
Ahh, this is what we came for.
The Spanishness has its star moment.
And so does a seagull.
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