Saturdays in Spain

Instead of visiting the Rock of Gibraltar, I spent many hours alone in the small town of Tarifa which had not been the plan. Tarifa is located on the southernmost coast of Spain and is directly across from the Straits of Gibraltar which we had planned to cross the next day when we traveled to Morocco. However, due to my oh so responsible traveling mate being kind enough to become oh so intoxicated the previous night, she ended up missing the bus that would have taken us from Seville to Gibraltar, a bus that only ran once a day. I ended up getting on the bus since the tickets had already been bought and paid for even though for most of the ride I was near to tears cursing the fact that I had ever planned a trip with this amiga who was known at the center where we studied as being a mild alcoholic. When I arrived in Tarifa, I basically wandered around aimlessly for hours since my mala suerte (bad luck) continued when I was unable to check into our hostel due to the fact that mi amiga had made the reservation using her credit card. And so I spent time in the town’s plaza watching happy people go by while I myself was seething on the inside. I spent time in an Internet cafe where I penned a long and upset email to my parents. And then when my stomach decided it had had enough of my anger imposed hunger strike, I went to an organic cafe and got the best fruit salad that I had ever eaten…well outside of Central America. Tarifa isn’t a bad place to visit. It has some pretty beaches in addition to the well-preserved Guzman Castle and a medieval gate which still stands today-la puerta de Jerez. It’s just that Tarifa wasn’t on the itinerary in the manner that I had intended. And needless to say I never planned another trip with said amiga ever again.

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