The road was bursting into the landscape with brute force, curling around the mountains it could not cut open. The sea below had the deepest blue colour, I have ever seen and the sky was simply no competition for it today. The tops of the mountains, mellowed by wind and rain, seemed soft like a cream cake. Monotonous landscape was distracted from time to time by cars, rushing through an empty road, taking advantage of the freedom not available where they came from. City rush stayed far far behind and it was the perfect time to enjoy the ride.
We stopped for a moment, so I could take a few pictures from the top of the mountain. The valley below was slowly opening towards the sea. White rectangles of salt, snatched from the sea, lay below like an open book, letting the sun drinks the last drops of water. Far far away a tourist ship was slowly conquering the sea to take its guests deeper into the bay. At this point I could not really decide where I would rather be. Down there, cutting invisible waves or up here – witnessing nature adapt slowly to the work of human hands.
It’s incredible what you can find on a beach, washed by the sea. Any sharpness in the piece of wood or stone is dissolved by water, salt and time. Even palm leaves, left with the pointy tips, are losing their prickling abilities. Water is recreating and bringing out the softness of the soul, reflecting its own calmness hidden under the surface. Even the sharpness of the sea side cliffs is destroyed when water and wind work together. There is no exaggeration in saying that nature is the best sculptor.
Lush. That was the first word which appeared in my mind after going through the door to the casino in Murcia. Lush and luxurious. At the same time soft and delicate, artistic and perfect. The picture of rich Spanish gentleman of 19 century, smoking cigars and reading newspapers before lunch, playing cards and roulette in the evenings, reading books in the library or fencing in front of allegories of four seasons settled in me immediately and stayed throughout my visit.
The marina in Santa Pola was filled with fishing boats. Few people were cleaning the nets after busy early morning out in the open sea. The characteristic smell of sea and fish was looming around, irritating my nose slightly. The marina was quiet, out of season. Few catamarans taking tourist to the Island of Tabarca were comfortably sitting at the shore, letting the water rock them slightly.
This funny feeling in my stomach every time when the plane takes off is a beginning of a new adventure. When I sit on a plane, looking at the world below on the first day of my leave, I feel the happiest. Traveling is an addiction and even if there are any negatives to it as an addict I am not able to find them. I am simply blind and not interested in finding out. I prefer travelling.