Soul searching over Sangria

After a week of couscous and cumin in Morocco, I made my way to Tangier to board a ferry to Spain. Following a week of constant heat, filth and stank (I'm speaking affectionately here), I was craving some kick ass cuisine and some well deserved beach time.

I decided Malaga would be my home base for the south of Spain, birthplace of thee Pablo Picasso and a nice central locale to hit some nearby beach towns.

I spent my first day a la plage at Nerja, known for it’s Balcony of Europe, in other words a huge vista overlooking the med. Two words can only describe what I like best about this part of the world - topless sunbathing. Why oh why is this such a big issue in North America? I love being able to let the ladies free, avoid tan lines and not be gawked at by pervy men. How refreshing! My only issue with the south of Spain is the demographic tends to creep a little farther down the line from me than I would like, i.e. newly retired Brits and Germans reliving their youth. Bless them. I’ve never seen so many 60+ ta-tas on display in one sitting. You go gals!

I’m also a big fan of how Spanish people smell, in particular the men. The smell of strong cologne strikes you unexpectedly as you stroll the streets, reminiscent of Davie Street on a Friday night. They’re also very affectionate...with each other! Always hugging and kissing, hugging and kissing. Just giver fellas. I was so taken aback one evening, dining alone enjoying a huge seafood paella, when I discovered that my waiter...well, I think he fancied me. He asked that I come back at midnight as he and his friends were going to shut down the street and hold a fiesta in my honor! Talk about grand gestures. I politely declined as I am spoken for (woe, that sounded very old fashioned) but was flattered nonetheless.

The Spanish gals, on the other hand, were rocking a few fashion trends I found puzzling. 1) Stockings. It was a warm 25-30 degrees every day I was there, and these women still insist on wearing stockings? Funny, because no one seems to wear them anymore on this side of the pond. 2) Sporting Fall/Winter attire, in again, 25-30 degree heat. I completely appreciate the importance of fashion and these are two seasons most fashionistas would hate to miss out on, but seriously. A sweater and a wool jacket in this heat? I would shrivel up and die. 3) Hammer pants. Remember these bad boys? Gals are actually wearing them again - everywhere you look. I have to say...they somehow make them look chic. Can this be so? Clever Spanish.

I also had difficulty ordering a double espresso. Not because my Spanish was lacking, but because the baristas couldn’t understand the idea somehow. Does no one fancy a double smack in the face in the morning in this country? I had to demonstrate for them, pouring two espressos into one coffee cup. They thought that was weird.

I spent another day on the beach in Torremolinos and then sped off to the Algarve region of Portugal to a lovely little town called Lagos. One thing I had observed in both Spain and Portugal was that it was tricky to order just one glass of wine. Not that I ever drink just one, however it’s either a half bottle or full. No fucking around people. And the port....oh GOD the port....amazing. A glass of local port daily was absolutely necessary. The Portuguese seemed more laid back than my fragrant friends in Spain. One day I watched an adorable old fella reel in a fish from the beach, probably about 50 lbs. I love these people and I love their lifestyle.

One thing to note, as I was traveling alone, many people found this very odd. A woman traveling alone, eating alone...seemingly content, which I was. One night in Lagos I was enjoying a fabulous meal of duck pate, olives and grilled squid when these young men across the restaurant were talking and pointing at me. “Look at that weird girl eating alone in the corner,” I imagined them saying. When they were leaving one of them came by my table to tell me how impressed they were that I was ‘ok’ eating alone and that I seemed really happy. I told him there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. Given he was probably 21 years old, I’m sure my response startled him...he then asked me to meet him at a club later to get wasted. As you do.

After a fantastic taste of Portugal, I made my way back to Spain, stopping in Seville. What a darling little town. Given this is where Flamenco originated, I decided an authentic Flamenco show was definitely in order. Wow. I had no idea the level of intensity and emotion involved in this Spanish art form. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when she begins to cry watching Opera for the first time. I was moved.

Last stop - Barcelona. Everyone raves about this city, and rightly so. It’s the San Fran of Europe. It’s divided into diverse, charming little neighborhoods and has a Tapas bar on every block. Which brings me to the topic of Tapas - yes please. Standing around a busy bar, snatching whatever tapas tickle your fancy to then show your bartender at the end of the night how many tooth picks you’ve accumulated to determine the amount owing on your bill is simply brilliant. Almost like an honor system! I wonder if this could catch on in North America? One would hope so.

After more litres of Sangria than I could possibly count, I find myself back in beautiful Vancouver settling back into a routine of sushi and Hockey Night in Canada. Hasta Luego Espana.

Photo credits - Urban Cowgirl