The Tour Continues

Here is a shot of my penthouse apartment. The space is not tall enough for me to stand up in but the bed is comfy enough. Plus, when the weather warms a bit the plastic sheeting on the north side rolls up to let in fresh air. A kind of convertible penthouse. We will see if warmer weather shows up before I leave. For now I am using, four blankets, three pillows and my winter hat to stay warm at night. It only gets down to about 50 degrees at the coldest, so not too bad, but these are colder temps than I am used to sleeping in. The temperature during the day has been as high as 65 however, most people are saying that this is the coldest winter in the last fifty years. I am not complaining because I know that this beats Montana with a stick. When the sun comes out it is nice to find a warm rock to curl up on and watch the waves roll in. I have been walking up and down the shoreline finding places where I shouldn't be. I crossed some farm land to find this vantage point on the cliffs. This particular beach below me is called La Playa de Maro. It is only about a 20 minute walk and, as you can see, it is all mine. I still have not figured out this blog site's formatting requirements so enough for now before I hit the wrong button again. Hasta luego.

Guided Tour

I think it's time for pictures and maybe some general information about this area. This first picture is of the Barranco. Just past and slightly to the right of the big white tarp-looking thing is a large bush. This is Darcy's house. Down in the bottom at the end of the canyon just before the ocean is the evil cane tunnel. Climbing the ridge from there to the left is where Tom Hanks lives (you can see a few trees in this area). I took this photo from an old bridge that is always covered in water. When you cross it you have to decide whether you want mud on your shoes or water inside them. In the bottom of the canyon there are: at least four homes (piles of rocks and sticks), a family of four, a Russian lady (creepy looking) and some Spanish farmers. The family of four actually live on Darcy's land. The father's name is Billy and he was born in the States but moved to Spain with his parents and sister when he was eleven. He traveled with a gypsy circus for most of his teen years and can now often be seen and heard juggling and riding a unicycle in his backyard. He performs in fairs and festivals all over Spain. His wife and two daughters are very nice and come around quite often. The youngest daughter, Lela, calls me Gregorio because she thinks it bugs me. The thing is that is now quickly becoming my nickname. It is hard for the Spanish people to pronounce my real name. It always sounds like they are saying Shreck or Crepe. So, like my sister who goes by the name Ana, I am finding it easier to choose this new name. It keeps introductions simple. Well, I am now too frustrated with this blogger site to continue. I tried to add more pics but when I do it screws up the order of my sentences. So that is it for now. I will try again another time.

Urgent Beach

I decided to walk the length of the bottom of the barranco the other day. To do this you have to make your way down the canyon wall either by a super sketchy trail or the road which takes you quite a bit out of the way. So, being the direct route kinda guy, I made my own way avoiding both of the obvious paths. I bushwhacked my way to the bottom through thorn bushes and a bunch of tropical bullshit. On my way down I found a dead cat and the disgusting end to the sewage system. Lovely discoveries. Already I knew that this was going to be awesome. At the end of the canyon there is a very secluded little beach so I was still motivated to check it out. The trail to the beach has a section that is basically a dark tunnel about 75 yards long which is formed by sugar cane and thorns. I took one look down the dark hole and said "Nope, not going in there". I went up the side of the canyon to find a way around. This is about the time that my bowels started screaming bloody murder. Darcy says that my system is cleaning itself out. I agree with her but does my system have to use a fire hose to clean house? Needless to say, it was emergency purge time. I got to the top of the trail and found a shabby little tee pee made from cane. As I was about to search it for some toilet paper, noises from the bushes in front of me got my attention. Out stumbles this shipwreck of a guy chewing on a leaf and staring at me with crazy eyes. His pants and shirt were torn in the classic Hollywood fashion. The only thing missing was a volleyball named Wilson. I quickly tried to form a coherent Spanish sentence in my head. Something like: tienes papel de culo? Which, for those you that don't know Spanish, means holy shit you look crazy where is your volleyball? He immediately starts babbling in Spanish so I cut him off with my pathetic phrase. He understands what I am asking. I know because he bends over and imitates wiping his butt. Yes, I say with some desperation building. He proceeds to tell me that he has no toilet paper and instead he uses water. I turned to leave but he runs around me and blocks my way saying something like all the toilet paper you ever want is the other way. Which I think meant don't shit on my beach, I live here. "Too bad." I said, "My bowels want what they want". He keeps on babbling and I just wave him off and say, "Adios." In Spanish that means I'm going to shit where you eat. I leave him talking to himself and make my way to the beach. I scramble to find the other end of the dark cane tunnel and make my way inside. I whip down my shorts and do my business. As I am cleaning up in the little creek that runs out of the tunnel my eyes adjust to the dark and I begin to see that some one has made a camp right where my bathroom is. I can see a clothes line and a chair and maybe a person. I don't really know because I just quickly pulled up my pants and took off running with the hair on the back of my neck beginning to stand up. The only obvious route for my escape was deeper into the cane tunnel. It gets super creepy very quickly. I pulled my pocket knife out and ran through the tunnel once again like a panicky nut-bag. I make it to the other side and begin to calm down as soon as I can see the light of day. Eventually my heart stops racing and I make my way back to Darcy's house. I tell her about the freaky castaway guy and she tells me that he is a "skitz-so" named Santiago. She feels bad for me and tells me that she should have warned me about him. She also tells me that he has tormented her in the past. I let her know that I delivered a gift for her.

Hippies abound

I found out where all the hippies went after Jerry Garcia died. They are all safe and sound here in a little canyon called El Barranco de Maro. The barranco is located between the small town of Maro and the slightly larger town of Nerja to the west. The terrain in very rugged and is used mostly for agriculture. This is where Darcy lives with her husband Chu chi and their three children Mago, Hada and Sai. Word of mouth between the European hippies keeps a steady ebb and flow of squatters and travelers to the area. It seems like I meet a new face everyday. The feeling you get of this place is mostly calm and relaxed, that is if you can get used to all of the barking dogs. I awoke this morning to a huge dog ruckus. I grabbed the sling-shot and chased off a pack of three brown wild-eyed marauders that were guilty of killing all of Darcy's Guinna Pigs the day before. They had returned to the scene of the crime this time to chase a few of the chickens. I got off one shot that just missed one of the little bastards and then ran at the dogs like a screaming nut-bag in his skivvies. The dogs bailed over the side of the canyon with Darcy's dogs hot on their tails. Then I had a cup of coffee. There is quite a bit of life here. At first glance you might think that the area is unpopulated but soon you feel surrounded by animals and the smell of armpits. It reminds me of the parking lots in the early nineties outside of Grateful Dead shows. Peace dude.

Made it!

Hola everybody. I survived the trip. It was probably the hardest flight/bus traveling that I have ever been through. The hangover that I left Kalispell with was my ever present travel companion. Not the brightest move I have ever made. On top of that, I couldn't sleep at all and had a few dry heaves that had me eyeballing the vomit bag hanging on the seat in front of me. This was a first for me. Other than that, the flight to SLC and Atlanta were uneventful but my progress was delayed in Paris due to heavy fog. Watching out the window as the plane landed on a runway that I never saw scared the shit out of me. In all the trip took about 24 hours, twelve hundred dollars and about two years of my life. But like I said, I made it!

Prep Work

I'm packing my bags. Leaving on Wednesday headed for a little spot in Spain. Three months seems like a long time but I have a feeling that it is a perfect amount of time. Packing for uncertainty is screwy. There is a tent and sleeping bags (yep two bags) in my huge rolling duffel bag. The duffel is maxed out at fifty pounds so my carry-on bag will be working overtime. The cold chill that most of the U.S. is feeling right now is also affecting most of Europe. Nerja, Spain has an average winter high temperature of around 62 degrees. However, the current high temp is 51 degrees. I know poor me, right? Well it makes packing difficult. Do I pack a warm coat? How about socks and pants and all the other cold weather stuff that I am wearing right now. My sister Darcy says that I can buy what I need when I get there but do they sell "woollies" in Nerja?