By the Sea

This weekend, my friend Kate and I decided to do something different. Instead of hanging around, waiting until nightfall to engage in various acts of debauchery to the accompaniment of repetitive Lady Gaga songs, we decided to embark on that shining ideal of vacation that those with middle-aged souls such as ourselves hold so dear--the beloved day trip!

Kate's host grandma (who knows everyone and everything) was going to Benidorm to visit her late-husband's family anyway, so we decided to harness her omniscience for a day of frolicking on the city's famous beaches, located conveniently a mere one hour's Tram ride away.

Benidorm has been (by me, yesterday) affectionately referred to as the "Florida of Spain," which essentially means that no one you see in the city actually lives there. At least, that was the impression we got. Apparently, a Friday morning in early March is hardly the prime vacation time for anyone but Kate, myself, and a gaggle of retired English snowbirds with spray-tanned ankles. Paradise!

It actually was pretty fantastic, probably because when I stepped out of my house at 9am, having stubbornly left my coat at home despite the looming storm clouds, I fully expected to be miserable for the duration of the day. After all, what is there to a beach town when it's too cold and rainy to go to the beach?

As it turns out, my friends, quite a lot. Precisely because the weather was so dreadful, we had the best time of our lives. Normally-swarming beaches were deserted and we had the town practically to ourselves. It was like going to see a movie that's been out in theaters for ages and being one of three people in the entire theater--a magnificent experience.

Between the stormy weather and British tourists, I felt less like I was in Spain and more like I was strolling between Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter in a ballad from Sweeney Todd ("By the Sea," to be exact). I caved at the end of the day and finally bought a sweatshirt to stop my teeth from chattering as we roamed the streets near the beach, buying delicious treats ranging from nutella crepes to a wonderful alcoholic chocolate shake called a "Triple Orgasm" which nearly lived up to its name. We returned home completely spent, in a good way.

Here's a video I took of a lovely smattering of white and blue things we stumbled upon that we would later learn was actually the Castillo of Benidorm. Video's a bit shaky and the wind is loud, but you get the idea.

Also, sandcastles? Pshh. In Benidorm, they make sand horses.

Sweet Disposition

Dear Universe,

I had a great FANTASTIC day today. Seriously, it was awesome. 

First off, let me give you some background information. Due to erroneous and/or hyperbolic representation in the media, this is what I expected of European men when I came to Spain (I literally just googled "Spanish men" and this was the second picture of 38,300,000 similar results):

You know, some like...Antonio Banderas action, with the long flowy hair and rippling obliques that make me want to say, "To hell with feminist progress, of course I'll stay at home and make you a sandwich, you sexy Spanish man, you."

So, you being the Universe and all, you're probably already aware of this, but a startlingly-hilarious population of Alicante's young men actually look like this:

 And, unfortunately for me, most of the ones I've met act like this.

Thus the not-caring anymore about how I looked and just doing what I wanted with my hair. However...just when I decided that that's the way it was going to be, Universe, you decided to switch things up a little. I saw an attractive young man on the train to school this morning who didn't look like a douche-bag! Overwhelmed with joy over the fact that he didn't have crystal earrings, a spray tan, or frosted tips, I did something I haven't done since coming here and learning that doing this to strangers is generally frowned upon: I smiled at him.

Later, as I got off the shuttle that takes us from the train station to the university, I hefted my backpack and felt a friendly tapping on my shoulder. I turned around and the non-douche mystery man was there, pressing a piece of paper into my hand. Quickly, and with just a hint of accented English, he said, "This is for you," and walked away. Somewhat stunned, I cautiously opened it, expecting to see his phone number and something about getting coffee sometime. Instead, this is what I saw:

I just couldn't wipe the smile off my face the whole day! Mostly because A) he knew who Jean Seberg is, and B) she was one of the inspirations for my new 'do. Even if I don't really care what people about how I look, it's nice to have someone compliment you in such a specifically-desired way. Seriously awesome.

But wait! There's more!

I also had two tests today that I'm pretty sure I aced. And my headache from trying to quit coffee was less bad today. And my less class let out early. AND I got a Nutella sandwich in my lunch bag. 

All I can say is, fuck yeah, Universe! You rock!

Love,

One of your appreciative inhabitants

P.S.: Listen to this song to get in my happy mood (and try not to think about how much all of that shit that they're breaking costs). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=su7ik94u9Yw