28 Aug 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.
08/28 Nerja Spain
We had awakened almost in the same position we had fallen asleep. But now the birds below sang that the morning was new and filled with joy. It was as if natural geometry and rhythms had aligned and everything was clearer than the day before. We traveled hand in hand occasionally catching each other smiling as if it was just a bit hard to believe that we had found one another. We continued southeast along the Costa Del Sol until we eventually reached Malaga and filled our stomachs. Neither of us had the desire to stay there longer than we had to. Our destination was Neria, an attractive little beach side community. When we arrived in Neria we walked about searching for a room, but there were either no vacancies or they were overpriced. Every time we expressed disbelief at the price of the room, each responded with the same phrase in Spanish. We didn’t get discouraged we just got hungry. We sought out a nice restaurant for a meal and a bottle of wine. The Irish Derby running in the background. Before it actually got too late we decided to hit the pavement again and try to find a reasonable priced room before it got too late. As we turned a corner there was a well-manicured lawn adjacent to what looked to be an apartment building. We thought maybe we could pitch Ann’s tent there for the night and searched around to locate someone who could give us permission. Eventually we found the caretaker of the building but his gestures were negative and he then repeated the same phrase in Spanish that we have been hearing over and over. Luckily he spoke enough English to translate the Spanish phrase in English for us, “Sleep on the beach”.
We followed him down toward the water where he introduced us to an elderly gentleman. We still had our hearts set on the patch of grass above but he smiled and walked us over to a utility shed. To our surprise and smiles he had pulled out a pair of mattresses. How could we say no? It was just too perfect. We placed them side-by-side in a small bamboo cove just in front of an adjacent restaurant. The beach was ours. He also suggested we lock up the majority of our gear in the utility shed, explained that he would return in the morning and that they would be safe for the night. Once we set up our love nest we wandered back into the crowd for a few drinks and a little night life. Later we lay back in our nest, gazed out at the contrast of the stars against the backdrop of the dark night and watched them dance against the sea. We made love quietly so we would not draw the attention of the dinner guests behind us.
Colors that tinges the clouds at sunset, gazed down onto nature’s naked loveliness
the butterfly, the soul, who turns to greet the tidings with a kiss
she dropped the corners of her apron and let the flowers run, a curiosity too strong to resist
whose head is turned by the sun
Like Cupid wounding himself, I awoken hidden seeds of lovers so entwined
the memories, the melodies, in this hour of my deepest need, you are in my mind
emerging from Daedalus’s labyrinth, where silence sits and shadows call,
your fingertips, your moistened lips, I find,
and in your passion I will fall
How sweet it is, the downward stream, from heavenly harmony
the tranquil landscape, through which it flows, the waters washed away and set my soul free
as if Clotho was spinning faster than Lachesis could measure, beyond her shears,
immortality I could see, not minutes days or years
Skinny-dipping with the morning sun, passionate children playing as one. We didn’t notice anyone but each other. The grounds keeper suggested that if we wanted to we could use the shower; they were located on the first level of the apartment complex. The idea of removing the salt we had accumulated seemed like a pretty good idea so we wrapped ourselves in towels and took him up on his offer. It was quite amazing this being together and in love. It showed in everything we did. Everybody saw it and people kinda wanted to be involved as if it would rub off and bring renewed joy into their lives. The best kind of love is the kind of love that makes you reach for more. There was no hiding it. I was still toting the guitar so you could imagine the attention we received.
We ended up heading back into Malaga and queuing for some time in their train station. Ann with her fingernails painted pictures on my back. The game was to guess each picture but my goal was to prolong the game for as long as possible. I love to be touched. We crossed paths with a pair of Italian gentlemen sporting some recently acquired hash but lacked ingenuity and couldn’t figure out how to smoke it without a pipe. I emptied a cigarette, mixed in their hash with the tobacco and shared in their festivities. When I’m in the company of a woman weed spins me into an uncomfortable feeling. I suppose it’s a type of guilt. Like a window being opened where they might see in and discover my weaknesses or secrets. I consider myself to have restraint in many areas and total disregard in others but they do all play out according to the same moral plan. The point I’m trying to make is that if I mix weed with the availability of the female body, I grow horns. What happens between my ears resonates through the rest of my body like a hunger pulling me deeper and deeper into the passions of the physical world. I guess my uncomfortable feeling has, without disregarding the other elements, more to do with me hiding that desire. But in Ann’s company I knew that she was with me and required no convincing, which really pleased me because it usually always ended up costing me something or I was afraid it’ll cost me something. But that wasn’t the case with Ann. I felt totally at ease and comfortable even in the silence. Perhaps I was growing up.
When you make love to me, it’s something so divine
a touch inside, I’ve known silently. I feel but can’t define
and in that silence, I am more than answered
You’ve painted me, a melody, a meadow of delight
the way the wind moves through the fields
an sings, a song of life
where my heart longs for the refrain
We boarded a late train into Granada and wandered about with eight others searching for a campground. The campground was filled to capacity but accommodated us anyway by allowing us to setup our tent on what appeared to be a road no longer in use. The ground was so hard without a hammer or firm rock it was impossible to proper secure Ann’s tent. Bottom line it ended up being a half ass job and would not have surprised me if a strong wind took it away. We hung around the pool drinking beer, staying cool and eating sandwiches off by ourselves. There wasn’t all that much room in her tent but I’m sure the silhouette would have been something to remember us by.
