Mar Amable

I flew over the Mediteranean once before.
But this weekend I actually swam in it.
After a three-hour trip in a bus with seats that might have been comfortable if my legs were half their current size, I arrived with the rest of my study abroad group somewhere on the Spanish coast. I´m told it´s called Roquetas de Mar, but I was so glad to get off of the two-story bus that I didn´t really care. We checked into our hotel, were told when the buffet would be open, and then hit the beach.
Wow, how posh does that all sound?
Wow, I also can´t believe that I just called something posh. I guess I really am in Europe.
I am used to beaches in Oregon where everything is damp and surrounded by cliffs and evergreens -- all fog and sweatshirts and driftwood. I have gotten used to beaches in California, more or less the sandy parking-lot at the end of the world, lined by firepits and tee-shirt stores. But as I stood up to my shoulders, being slightly rocked by waves, and digging my toes into sand and pebbles, the only words of description that came to my mind were: "I´ve never known the Mediteranean to be un-friendly."
It sounded like something Erin would say.
It´s less naturally impressive than the Northwest coast (no big waves, no sweeping vistas, just sand and sea and sky), and less commercial than SoCal (no surfers, no boardwalks, no billboards, only a patch of beach umbrellas and some topless middle-aged women), but entierly agreeable. The water is calm without being boring, the water midway between warm and cool -- transitioning from standing on the shore to being in the water is nearly seamless, and though the pebbley beach negates sandcastles, it also doesn´t stick get stuck in shoes, between toes or under swimsuits.
For a while we played four-on-four Ultimate Beach Frisbee (both ocean and beach were legal playingground) and I wished it could be an every day activity. I had two spectacular dives (neither entierly succesful), at least one goal-scoring throw, and my team emerged victorious. One goal was my tee-shirt and beach blanket. The other was a patch of sand by a lady with a book and blue and white umbrella. I think she was glad when our game ended.
Sadly, most of the charm of La Mar ended at the seashore. Aside from our strange and spectacular buffet dinner and breakfast, there wasn´t a whole lot to the town we found ourselves in. I have never seen kitch quite like I saw at this particular Spanish beach´s souvenier shops. Somehow the calm of the Medeteranean must have stolen all discerning taste from this town. Never once did I see anything I found to be funny, amusing or even terribly interesting. And never before have I seen so many statuettes of odd cartoon characters (including anamorphic bananas) engaged in every manner of sexual positions. I´m trying at the moment to purge these images from my mind and cannot imagine why anyone would purchase or display them.
But at night we went out watched. The water felt warm against my ankles as sand swished back and forth along the coast, the sea a deep gray-green, calmly rolling and pulsing underneat the starry sky.
It´s a scene you won´t find on a postcard.