Costa Tropical

Each wave releases a prism of many colored stones before its rhythmic break.  A brief clear window through the reflecting dancing surface to the bottom with its jumble of rocks.  A pleasant first morning in Spain–ran down to the beach—sat in the sun water-watching.  Endless mosaics of exploding light:  sparks swirling, uniting, and vanishing—a metaphor for all being.  Am I not the same at the deepest level, merely a pattern of exploding interacting energy-being like the sun’s reflecting fireworks on the Mediterranean?  Is it possible to glimpse this truth, not just in meditation, but at all times?  Would one do anything but smile, were it attainable?

Today I headed up, picking my way past new and abandoned homes to the flag marked top of the headland.  Snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada to the Northeast, dry crags to the Northwest.  Stumbled into avacado groves on the way down, filling a bag with the dropped—not quite ripe, but bound for delicious guacamole.

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Click for slideshow

Guacamole and many other delectables were spread for the Christmas feast following a santa-hatted parade down to the beach, a la Brown tradition.  Rowdy board game and a flying spider-saucer were the gift highlights.

During an overnight visit to the ancient city of Cordoba–roman ruins, massive moorish mosque with cathedral inside,  bursting orange trees, and endless narrow streets concealing elaborate fountain-filled courtyards–a peak experience with a restaurant:

I found my gaze returning to the mesmerizing portrait above our table at El Churrasco, particularly the large eyes, dark with the shine of entreaty.  Bull’s tail and wild boar followed an unprecedented thick gazpacho–the vanilla wine smooth and bold, the olive oil grassy green.  Cordovan specialties.  Just up the street prior, we stood on cobbles as a busboy pounded a non-descript wooden door, demanding our entrance into the wine cellar at the bequest of our charming Spanish speaker Caty.  Greeted by a jovial fellow who immediately poured us white wine from an oversize barrel–he then lead us through the 17th century abodes surrounding a small courtyard:  17 person banquet room- numerals carved into its pie-divided round table, adjoining art alcove– walls covered with deeply stacked paintings, antique instrument music room, wine cellar where I noticed a dusty 1925 vintage, yet older no doubt piled in a hole in the wall corner.  Each room immaculately maintained–oozing age from the dark rafters and railings.

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Click for slideshow

From my rock perch in Sierra Nevada National Park I can see the sunlight breaking through in angled cascades to the Mediterranean and dark coastal range, Grenada below and opposite, and a peak I wish I had time to reach on my left.  Father and brother waiting in Lanjaron pull me back down instead of up–which is really all the better for my feet.  What I took for a herd of diminutive shaggy deer, which turn out to be wild goats, stared stock still.  I heard a huffing noise, perhaps an attempt to pick up a scent or warn me off.  Eventually they wandered over a crag and out of sight.  Bluish rock, burnt trees, abandoned bungalows, and barren snowy ridges made up  an exemplary New Year’s Eve hike.  Another fabulous feast at the Brown’s, followed by fireworks care of the coastal towns–and we are in 2009.

Happy New Year to all from Costa Tropical.

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Click for slideshow

~ by Scott Hamilton Peters on January 1, 2009.

2 Responses to “Costa Tropical”

  1. When I read the opening paragraph of Costa Tropical, I thought of this

  2. Fascinating article. Could it be that the foolishness of mystics is validated by scientists?

    “Yes, and this too is also very good and pleases me greatly: that one person’s treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to others”. -Hesse from ‘Siddhartha’

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