Wednesday, January 3, 2007

Three black dogs



Two hours into my arrival in Mojácar, I´ve sniffed out the only internet cafe in what is a small pueblo clinging to a small hill just above the sea here in the eastern corner of Andalucía. Mojácar was a last stronghold for the Moors back in the 16th century (I think) and thus retains much of that era--tiny, carless streets winding up and down the hill in between whitewashed buildings with small, shuttered windows. The occasional view of the countryside occurs only when they haven´t finished demolishing or building a new house, and the panarama down to the sea and out over the herbed hills unfolds.

But that´s after getting here. Copenhagen, all one hour of it, during which time I had to befriend a woman at the front of the endless security line in order to make my connecting flight, was flat and full of blonds. Castles from the air were visible in the middle of what looked like marsh flats. I wonder if they float. Barcelona was for three hours, while I tried to find a phone, a sandwich, a terminal and an internet service. Travel. With Tubby the Bus, which is what I´ve named my ridiculous choice of wheeling suitcase that doubles, supposedly, as a backpack. Not really. I should have known those people with wheels were just pretending to look relaxed in airports. Really, they were thinking, ¨yes, the backpack looks silly, but god damn those people must be more maneouverable than me.¨ Tub´s never going abroad again.

The three black dogs found me as I walked through Mojácar this morning, after arriving by bus, shepherded by a motherly woman who insisted that I sit across from her at the front of the bus, and then cast protective glances at me the whole way. They are beautiful Spanish dogs, which means they never do wrong, and can be trusted off leash anywhere.

Tomorrow, I move from my perch in the hotel Simon into Valparaíso, which is down the hill from the pueblo, but up from the beach. There are two parts to Mojácar--the hill town and the tourist hotel zone down by the water. In the meantime, there is bougainvillea, rosemary clinging to the cliffsides, and more jamon sandwiches to find. I am lonely, but that is sola travel, I suppose. Mojácar lies less than 3 hours from Granada, so perhaps some small ventures might take place. On the way here from Almería, the countryside was covered in tarped greenhouses, out of which what looked like tomato plant branches struggled. The mountains come almost all the way to the sea, and then the land flattens out into olive groves, orange trees, dates, and housing complexes. As in Las Alpujarras, you could furnish your spice rack by going for a walk up one of the hills. Small bursts of waking, a courtyard near the church packed to the gills with hibiscus plants, in bloom; the light and the warmth; Bob Dylan´s biography comforting me a little. When I figure out how to add pictures, I will. Love to you all.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Maleea,

Lovely to meander in your voice for a while. I don't think I've been anywhere quite like where you are. Maybe Santorini, but no. What a rich place to land in! And to be welcomed by dogs, a good sign.

And remember, the loneliness doesn't last. It's just the first week that's hardest, then once you're settled, you'll have a routine and begin relationships with the shutters, the wood of your desk, the floor tiles, and you'll feel more at home.

I just got a mystery roll of film developed and there's a picture I'd like to send you. What's your address where you are now. If I send it this week it will get there before you leave.

Funny about suitcases vs. backpacks. I was rather envious of wheels as I hefted my sack through yet another security gate. Maui was lovely. Sun! The perfect antidote to almost everything that ails you.

What music do you wish you had with you, but don't? Which way does your window face?

Sending you love!
b