Pablo Picasso grew up in Málaga, though after the age of 19 he is said to never have returned. The Museo Picasso Málaga displays a small portion of his paintings and sculptures. So, in honor of Picasso whose hometown I am visiting, and of beaches where the ocean meets land, here is a painting by Picasso named The Beach (La Baignade) -
Whether it is to be active or to be calm, the beach and the ocean together satisfy me in a way that other forms of this earth have not. Recently I have found myself near and in the ocean for a variety of reasons. What I love is the variety of beaches (a beach is not "just any beach") and the meeting of land with water you find at each and every one. Currently I am in Málaga. This city lies on the Costa del Sol in Andalucía, along the southern coastline of Spain. To the left and to the right are beaches. Sand and rocks going for miles, interrupted by ports and harbors and docks, apartment buildings, and chiringuitos (small restaurants and snack shops dotting the playas). Some beaches are crowded and cigarette-butt-laden, others are prim and groomed. Others are a little more wild and a little less touched - such was Playa Almayate which I sought out today with my boyfriend Ryan. We wanted to leave the city for the day so around noon we took a regional bus from Málaga to the town of Almayate. We had to guess where to get off because none of the stops were marked. After what we hoped to be enough time had passed on the bus for us to be in the right town, we descended and walked along the highway until we found a sign advertising a chiringuito pointed toward the right, toward the ocean. We followed the sign and walked a quarter mile through pepper and squash fields until finally we were greeted by the ocean and the bright, bright sun. Here I am, above, with our shade-providing shrub. Pablo Picasso grew up in Málaga, though after the age of 19 he is said to never have returned. The Museo Picasso Málaga displays a small portion of his paintings and sculptures. So, in honor of Picasso whose hometown I am visiting, and of beaches where the ocean meets land, here is a painting by Picasso named The Beach (La Baignade) - Of course, there are seasides made better for sitting than dipping. If the shore is rocky there is perhaps still beauty to be had in the view. If there is more trash than sand washing up on shore, then perhaps there is something more interesting to be seen just a bit inland or a trash-less beach not too far away (to mind comes the port of Essaouira in Morocco in 2010, where in the port area closest to the old town seagulls dove constantly to the bottles and bags piling up on the rocks, whereas a quarter of a mile south lay a long, sandy, and spotless beach perfect for a walk).
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It took me three plane rides, two books (neither finished), and one conversation with an Irishman to get me to Europe, but I made it! The conversation, by the way, consisted in part of me convincing my airplane friend, who had just spent a week in the Chicago area for an “American wedding,” that not all beers in the USA are watery and yellow. I recommended he go to the NW. He recommended I visit the bar he manages in Mayo, Ireland. I traversed the Atlantic from Chicago to arrive in Bath, England where I was picked up by my soon-to-be sister-in-law. She drove me from the airport to her and my brother's home. The following day would be their civil union and I had come to celebrate with them and to be a witness at the ceremony. Our next step would be France, where we were joining the rest of our families and friends for a weekend celebration of their marriage. We were ready for days of fun. Fate however, had something else in mind. The night before traveling, Vanessa and I were very suddenly hit with the Norovirus, a 24-hour nausea-inducing virus. We spent the night and the following day traveling to France all the while painfully cleansing ourselves, to put it lightly. The Norovirus had apparently been spreading through the UK, and it managed to find me by my second day on the island. In the following two days, three more family members succumbed to the virus, with Vanessa and I on their trails sanitizing the bathrooms. As we all made our way to south-central France, we continued to religiously wash our hands and never shared food until finally the nausea subsided for everyone. By the time friends and family arrived to the beautiful location of the wedding ceremony, no one was sick and we were all definitely ready for days of fun. My job was to translate the ceremony from English, being read by the celebrant (in white shirt above), into French so that our French-speaking relatives and friends could understand. The bride and groom didn't need any help translating the kiss into French, however. AND THEN DANCE!!!!
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yes blog is currently 'archived'yes blog started when I moved from the States to Spain in 2012 and documented the results of saying 'yes' - to the people and learning opportunities - that came my way. Archives
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