Our hotel was clean and spacious but FULL OF KIDS! The hard marble foyer reverberated with elfish baby voices and battery operated flipping yappy dogs that someone was hawking at the beach (quite successfully, obviously, as every kid had one.) The schedule of hotel events listed a personal appearance by Bob Esponja (Translation: Sponge Bob Square Pants) followed the next day by his pink friend, Patricio.
There was skin everywhere, lots of semi-naked tourists, none of the skin attractive or worth a second glance. Most of the nakedness was way too close to the dinner buffet for my liking. Grannies in housecoats and hair-rollers, toddlers in soggy diapers, furry bellys, fat thighs wrapped in networks of purple veins. Loud, loud, loud, like a frat house whose membership was comprised of angry, rioting villagers and chattering woodland nymphs. We watched the evening news of London riots in the peacefulness of our hotel room.
My husband and I walked along the beach, observing the locals. Old men in caps playing dominoes on their porches. Ladies patiently walking elderly mothers. Parents with strollers, children on tricylcles, Spanish teenaged girls, clad in the tiniest of bikinis, pursued by skinny, teasing Spanish boys. The beach was not as topless as Marbella. Traveling with teenage boys, topless beaches may sound intriguing, until you run across the occasional grandma that participates. This is an especially tough life lesson when you stand next to the same granny at the breakfast buffet the next morning.
Food has not been good as of late. Peanut butter and crackers in the car. Looking forward to going to Murcia tomorrow to spend time with our friend Paco.