WE PARTY LIKE ITS 1999...

Up late with the rest of the slackers--Ron made spectacular omelets from “our” eggs—Nick is fascinated by the rooster and chickens his caretaker keeps—especially the rooster, which he refers to endlessly as his cock. He’s just so British. There’s no other excuse for it.

Nick took us to a village up in the mountains, where, in his memory, there is a rebellious, free, old-fashioned hippie enclave he greatly admires, and a pretty scenic spot just beyond. Ron and I both got an extremely heavy case of bad vibes—we definitely did not want to go into that village, especially since we’re dressed like middle-aged, middle-class American tourists, cameras and all, and the people we’ve met on the road were not particularly friendly. We looked like we were on assignment to capture the natives for National Geographic. An argument ensued, nobody won, and I stepped in someone’s outdoor toilet. Enclave, my foot.

Mercifully, we left, and drove way up the mountains into the national park to walk and hang out--prickly bushes, biting ants, gorgeous, gorgeous views. We came down and shopped in tourist shops in the villages below--Ron and Nick scored, I did not—I fell in love with rugs and pottery, none of which was portable.

Late as usual, we managed to break a bottle of wine just as we headed out the door to Brenda’s. We cleaned up the glass a bit and left a puddle on the floor (surprise! When we came home, it had been completely absorbed—those Spanish floors are thirsty, an they do love their wine.)

We were met with an enthusiastic group of folks who—according to Aussie Dave, who left relatively early with serene Di—often party like it’s 1999. Ainsley was a total charmer, though I didn’t get much chance to talk to him or Claire; goofy, funny Andy left early; also in attendance: Nick’s caretaker, the ruggedly yummy Helinick (so named as to not confuse him with “our” Nick; “heli” because he was a helicopter pilot). Also in attendance for far longer than was necessary, an attractive but increasingly drunk woman, dubbed “la Boracha”, who insulted everybody, one by one. She was entertaining, I’ll give her that. Rita and Nikki showed up later, and the party was still rolling into the wee hours. Brenda’s property is beautiful, and blessed with a plant I had never seen the likes of, a plain-looking leafy bush that only gave off its divine fragrance after sunset: though I don’t remember the exact words, it was rightfully named something like “beauty of the night”.

Check out the video: https://vimeo.com/70760985