My mother sits beside me, meditating to the accompaniment of cars driving by on the road behind us. A moderate breeze rustles the leaves of the palm trees and threatens to close the book I’m writing in.
A couple talks quietly to each other on the bench about 10 feet to our right. They are discussing something in the local paper, which he holds. His left arm is about her waist.
People stroll by in front of us, and some stop to admire the view of the sea, which through my darkened glasses is a mixture of blue greens and green blues.
Tranquil waves ruffle its surface, moving westward. Heavy grey clouds line the horizon. It had rained that morning, the clouds have moved out to sea now.
Far past the buoys, a lone boat sits upon the water. Even with binoculars – I carried a small pair from The Nature Conservatory in my purse – I can’t tell what kind.
Later, we walk along the paved paseo and come upon sand sculptures. One work is a portrait of The Simpsons – Homer even holds a real can of Amstel beer and Maggie has a real pacifier in her mouth.
A little further along, are a couple of mythical beasts. One looks like something you’d find in Aztec art, the other is a dragon with sea shell pupils, his nostrils black with soot. Upon closer inspection, I find burnt cans in the holes.
To top the day off, we share some churros y chocolate with my mother’s cousin and aunt.
As I pull the sheets up over me that night, I recall how amazingly relaxing the day was, so different from the world I call home.
Next installment: On to Romania!
