Those Annoying Piles / Esas Pilas Molestas

La versión español está después de la versión inglés.

FUENGIROLA TAKES CARE of its unsightly piles. The beach was a mess after our most recent rain and wind storm (already weeks ago). The crews were out for days cleaning and stacking before hauling it all away. When they were done they smoothed out the sand (a job I would really enjoy). Unfortunately, someone always comes along and messes up my massive Zen garden with their footprints. Then again, I do like to walk on the beach and, if I arrive before anyone else has left a mark, I tend to be very hesitant to take that first step.


FUENGIROLA CUIDA SUS montones antiestéticos. La playa fue un desastre después de nuestra lluvia y tormenta de viento más recientes (hace ya unas semanas). Los equipos estuvieron fuera durante días limpiando y apilando antes de transportarlo todo. Cuando terminaron, alisaron la arena (un trabajo que realmente disfrutaría). Desafortunadamente, siempre viene alguien y arruina mi enorme jardín zen con sus huellas. Por otra parte, me gusta caminar por la playa y, si llego antes de que alguien más haya dejado una marca, tiendo a dudar mucho de dar ese primer paso.

En inglés, la palabra “piles” puede significar “pilas” o “hemorroides”.

La Tormenta Y Los Ciclónicos

Sunday was quite the day here on the serene Mediterranean. We began the day with rough seas, which continued rougher until the sky exploded with thunder, lightning, heavy rain. And … San Geraldo’s cyclonic winds. A storm is “una tormenta,” which seems especially appropriate for San Geraldo given how tormented he becomes. But he still calls them los ciclónicos (the cyclonics).  This was almost deserving of the designation. I went out on the terrace to take some pictures, tried to go around the corner for a different view, and was almost blown off my feet. (So no photos from there.)

We moved (San Geraldo did) plants and brought in (San Geraldo did) some furniture. We also picked up (I did. See? I did do something) a couple of big cacti that got blown over. All three yuccas are finally well-secured and positioned (click here for a bit of their stormy history).

We were supposed to take a walk down the paseo with our friends/neighbors Jean and Ray for an always wonderful dinner at Sandpiper. But it was blowing and storming so hard at the time that we instead went downstairs to Cosmopolita, a restaurant right outside our front door. All the street lights went out for a short time as a result of a lightning strike. San Geraldo, whose great-grandmother was killed in 1909 when their house was struck by lightning, was slightly stressed (to put it mildly).

The surf actually came up onto the paseo in places (over the low wall separating the beach from the street) and even flipped heavy wooden trash holders and walkways on the beach. The walkways end far from the surf-line, usually.

(Click the images for a closer look at how things progressed.)


The name of the song is “Llueve,” which means “It Rains.” His name is Pablo Alborán (or as our friend Elena calls him “Mi Pablito” — My Little Pablo).
He was next to me on my overnight flight from New York in September. He slept. I respected his obvious desire for privacy and quiet. Elena will never forgive me.