From our hotel window you can see the Mediterranean Sea, and it is exactly the color I always imagined it would be. We’re in a city called Málaga, on the southern coast of Spain, and here it seems to always be hot, sunny, and happy.

Last night, we made ourselves a picnic, and wandered down to the beach at around half-past eight. It was virtually deserted, and we sat on a bench looking out over the sand and the sea. We made ourselves a plate of cheese and crackers and salami, cracked open a couple of beers, and sat back to watch the colors change.

The sky turned maroon as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon, and the water took on a spellbinding array of colors: colors that the camera can’t capture, colors that no one has ever thought to name. If you’ve ever seen that incandescent dance that the sea does at sunset, then you know exactly what I mean.

Our next course consisted of a bowl filled with chunks of tomato and cheese, olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and a touch of diced onion. We ate it with pieces we tore off of a baguette, and watched the moon rise. A long finger of land snaked out over the sea beside the moon, and upon it tiny lights began to twinkle on, all at once, until soon it was lit up like a Christmas tree. In the playground to our right, an elderly couple appeared with their grandchildren and began pushing them on the swings. Two girls sat on a bench behind us and held a long, lilting conversation in musical Spanish. Waves crashed against sand, and I drained the last of my beer.

On the way back to our hotel, we stumbled into a fair, and stood arm-in-arm for a time watching a trio of very amusing performers juggle fire from atop 10’ unicycles. We lost ourselves amongst a maze of little stalls and shops, and then bought some ice cream and sat on a railing watching a group of Native Americans play traditional songs over some pleasant techno backbeats.

Back in our room, we stood at the window looking out over the city and the sea. Below us, children jumped about in an inflatable castle and bounced thirty feet into the air on some sort of a bungee/trampoline contraption. Couples, walking hand in hand and head on shoulder, mused their way among the stalls and shops we had just been exploring. The warm night air was filled with Native American chants carried on gentle drum loops, and teenagers emerged from McDonald’s carrying ice cream. In the distance, beyond where fire was still being thrown and caught, the mighty Mediterranean shouldered restlessly against the horizon.

Málaga makes us feel things we haven’t felt since we were in La Paloma and Punta del Diablo. We’re planning on spending a week or so here: relaxing, laying on the beach and playing in the sea, drinking sangria and eating tapas. Hopefully, this will also prove to be an opportunity to catch up a little on some of the stories we’ve been wanting to tell, stories about Galapagos in particular.

In the meantime, as usual, we’ve also collected an assortment of stories we don’t have time to tell yet, stories we may well not get around to telling for another year or so. Included among those are the following:

• The tale of an eight-hour busride through the jungle, featuring a Viagara salesman and three hours of the song Gasolina.



• Many more stories from Yachana (such as the search for the mother tarantula, inner-tubing among the camens, and the scariest-looking thing I’ve ever seen).



• Tales of a place called Baños, where we drove around on 4-wheelers (and were chased by dogs), walked among waterfalls, and rode a “chiva” bus up a mountain with twelve liters of beer and our good friend Greg.



• The story of El Nariz del Diablo (“the devil’s nose”), a train that winds its way though some absolutely stunning cliffside scenery as it descends from the city of Riobamba. It should be noted that you ride on top of the roof of this train, instead of inside it.



• The tales of most of our advenutres in Quito, notably our visit to Mitad del Mundo on the equator, where we each received certificates for balancing an egg on a nail.

But have no fear: we do have plenty of other stories that we are planning on telling, very very soon.

For the moment, though, I think I might retire to the balcony with certain young lady and some bottles of beer, and stare at the sea until the sun sets again.