Morning has broken
The beach at 9 a.m. on Sunday morning. The hard-working street cleaners were already out picking rubbish up off the beach, and the tumboneros were preparing the loungers for the Sunday onslaught. It was delightfully cool and quiet. See yesterday's blip for contrast.
Why was I out at 9 a.m. on a Sunday? S had got up at 6:30 and gone out for a run. He Whatsapped me to meet for breakfast at the Alhambra on the beachfront. Over coffee and tostadas con tomate, he proudly showed me the evidence ... he'd just run a half-marathon (see extra). He only started running (up and down the garden path) after lockdown in mid-March, and until four days ago he hadn't run more than 10 km. At which point he thought, "Hey, I'm not that tired, maybe I can double it." Superman!
A good start for another great day in Paradise. Neighbours B and C had invited us for coffee and pastries at 11:30, along with our immediate neighbours H and M. They have a large shady terrace which was perfect for a hot day. We were still there at 1 p.m., so the wine came out. Then we played an increasingly silly word game which got faster and sillier as more wine was drunk. Two rounds were enough ... then B and M got their guitars out and gave us some tunes.
We ended up not leaving till 4 pm. S and I had a quick turnaround, a bowl of chicken soup followed by a walk to the Playa del Muerto. To our surprise it was less crowded than yesterday. A couple of hours there included a lovely swim. On the way home we noticed that the Italian restaurant at the bottom of our road had reopened, so we went back at 9 p.m. for a light dinner. We needn't have bothered booking ... we constituted 50% of the customers. This is the only place I've had my temperature taken on arrival. It was a lovely warm night and we sat out till after dark.