Sandy Supposes....

I'm a playa (player) on the nude playa

Still in Barcelona . ....fielder's choice, a free Day of Spanishness . .

         Our wonderful tour organizer , Lyn , has lined up some great choices for today. How does she do this? An excursion to one of Europe's largest theme parks, Port Aventura could be riotous fun, but I'm not in the mood for 'gritando ' or 'chillando '; otherwise known as screaming and screeching . Strange, I've never associated the word chill with raucous voices ; to me this is slang for relax, calm down. Ah, languages and their nuances. The noise level is ridiculous . It's a shame because I am a Sesame Street fan. I'll never know how Cookie Monster or Grover sounded speaking Spanish.

          Now I'm just reacting to one of Lyn ' s suggestions, but she wrote " if you want some down time", and then she directed me to a nude beach. Hmm, this is intriguing, and most definitely a radical shift from my comfort zone. Yeah, maybe I could get down and naked. Perhaps I could drop my drawers. Lounging on a beach, face down, or bare butt down would be a novelty. What could I possibly lose, but my dignity, and my inhibitions? Okay, Lyn challenge accepted, and so I found myself on the playa of Mar Bella Beach. In my new special tongue, I pasar el dia en la playa.

         Ahem, I must admit that I have never flaunted or revealed my birthday suit in public before. I kinda felt like I was forgetting something when I hesitated at the changeroom door. Usually in a swimsuit I'd be tugging at straps and elastic. All I had on was my sunglasses, or las gafas, and a tremulous smile. I didn't want to be squinting. I did take a deep breath to steady my resolve, and suck in my stomach. Walking was breezy that's for sure. Okay, I was more than a little self-conscious. At first, I thought all eyes were on me. Oh, there was a stark, (haha, starkers, yes, I was a streaker), contrast between the tanned, bronzed beach bodies and moi, extremely pale-skinned. Wow, there are so many shades of brown; mahogany, walnut, pecan, chocolate....This was so risqué, if my amigos could see me now!

         When nothing earth-shattering happened and I wasn't struck blind, or incinerated by a bolt of lightning, I relaxed. I was just another body, no better no worse than anyone else.I was officially a naturalist, a nudist. I soon learned there was a little strategical snag though.... Um, I had to slather, slop, and slap far more sunscreen on my skin than ever before. Certain sensitive areas were sun virgins, no sol had ever attempted to burn them. I became slippery, but I didn't need a bronceado/sunburn.

          Settled on a chaise, I proceeded to people-watch. This sounds more genteel than gawking, or staring. What can I say I was a tourist after all. I read. I scrawled my impressions in a journal. I slurped ice cream/helado. I'm happy to report that dripping was minimal, like my attire. Yes sirree, I was chillaxing with the la desnudez.

          Out on the ocean, a velero/sailboat or two bobbed and swayed on the swelling waves. The cheerful reds ,blues, and greens caused me to smile. There aint nothin' like this back home. What happens in Spain, stays in Spain.

         Yes, sand did somehow accumulate in my nooks and crannies, but a soothing shower rinsed it away. Sigh, my gafas del sol left their mark, their brand on my face. Yep, I now have raccoon eyes. I'll just keep my glasses perched on my nose. Who will notice?

         Shedding clothing made me famished which makes no sense because today I was light and care free. I was eager to reunite with the amigos at Montserrat for a winery tour and cena/supper. Unbelievable, this vineyard and winery is based in yet another gorgeous fairy tale castle. I have never experienced a wine-tasting, and this one was magical. Who was the genius who thought to crush uvas/grapes in order to create a divine drink? Sadly, we were not invited to stomp grapes with our bare feet. The stroll amongst the vines and the gardens was intoxicating or was that the wine?

          I am a devout fan of dining al fresco, so our evening meal on the terrace was the perfect end to a perfect day. Not that I' m complaining, the food was delisioso, but is it just me? Bread translates to pan de molde, er, um, mould??

         Thanks Lyn's a Witchy Woman *! Sweet dreams to you too!