It's back, again.
I came here looking for the sun and now I find I hate roasting in it!
I came here looking for the sun and now I find I hate roasting in it!
I really can't stand the oppressive summer heat, the sweat slowly dripping from my brows, the shirt sticking to my back, the constant thirst and need to refresh myself, the packed beaches and the flying sand that penetrates every pore in my body, the polluted Mediterranean waters full of jelly-fish and domestic waste - shall I go on?
So, when the long-awaited, by others, holidays finally arrive, I choose to sleep during the day and thus escape from the harmful ultra violet rays and the hot temperatures that bathe the country when the sun is out, and, like vampires and bats, I come out at night.
Of course, I don't go round sucking blood and transforming my fellow human beings into nearly perfect replicas of Count Dracula. No, no, that's not for me, thank you. I'm quite happy with my present low fat, low salt, and low sugar diet. I prefer to sit at one of the numerous "terrazas" that most bars offer these days and sip an iced coffee or a Martini Rosso. I watch the scene and try to absorb every detail; the colourful summer - and usually very sparse - clothes, the continuous to and fro, the excerpts of conversation I snatch here and there, the fragrance of the different perfumes and eau de colognes Spaniards love to spray on themselves before going out (and frequently even whilst they are out), or engage in pleasant conversation with the numerous friends I've made since coming to live here over twenty-five years ago.
Then, in the early hours of the morning, when the bars have finally pulled their metal shutters down and everyone has departed, I make my way home, sometimes, especially if the Martini was particularly good, following a slight detour, and sit at my computer to play a few games of "blitz" chess before starting to write.
The choice is wide: something new, something already started, something finished and in need of revision, a piece of poetry, some ideas I jot down, an e-mail, or two, a new article for my blog, and always music in the air, soft classical music, usually. And coffee, or tea.
But, unlike bats and vampires, I don't crawl back to the profound darkness of my cave when the first golden rays of the morning sun appear. I go on with my self-imposed task. I continue till I feel the first effects of its warmth raising my body temperature. Then I know the time is right. I draw the shutters and close the windows, lest the outside temperature invades and disturbs the coolness of my seclusion. I have a hot shower, followed by a cool one, and, having discarded my bathrobe and dried myself thouroughly, I lie naked on the white cotton sheet of my wider-tan-average bed and turn the light out.
Autumn is just a little nearer.
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