Sitting at a cafe in Marbella, on flimsy plastic red chairs sponsored by the locally popular Cruzcampo beer, rather unbalanced on the carpet spread over uneven sand, in viewing distance of multi million dollar white yachts docked in the distance, glimmering in the bright sunlight. dusk approaching, very slowly, the rays of the sun making a straight golden shimmery projection, on the dark blue Mediterranean waters, that swayed with the waves. I found my self at this little rendezvous, after having met the rather lazily peculiar macaques atop the rock of Gibraltar, in the nearby tiny British overseas territory that surprisingly had cloudy British weather conditions, a stark contrast from Sunny Spain literally a stone’s throw away, and having driven in the warming winter sunshine, a comfortable windless 20 degrees celsius, exploring the golden coast, the Costa del sol.
The cafe - flanked in the background by high rising pale yellow apartments, with white compact balconies, for rent in the winter for the expat retiree European clientele - was strikingly red against the yellow, and served a melee of seafood and meat, including the popular Espetos (grilled sea-food) grilling on vertical skewers fixed precariously on smoke spewing flaming red charcoal, emanating rather delectably inviting aromas on one end of the cafe.
The establishment had a kitchen in the back, a combined bar and cafe, a very common setup along the laid back Mediterranean, where the times appropriate for a café Solo or a shot of Anise dulce were conveniently blurred. The cafe rustled with activity, full to the brim, all the plastic red chairs occupied, with Spanish locals enjoying a late lunch with their extended families, some tourists sampling the best of the local wine alongside a serving of the popular fried tentacled pulpo (Octopus) and other similar tapas, and the old regulars chatting away animatedly on the bar stools along the bar counter inside.
We were at a juncture in time, in the evening, where all who sat at this cafe or indeed at any of the many that lined the beaches of Marbella, were waiting for the sunset. It was impossible to leave before the spectacle of dusk, for it was tantalisingly close, and the sky teased of impending splendour with its colours transitioning ever so minutely to those spectacular hues; the hope of a visual treat, and the powerful energy of that magnificent star, held prisoner everyone along the magnificent cloudless coastline.
From my comfortable vantage point here on the southern edge of Europe, I could see, across the seemingly endless blue of the sea, the mountains of North Africa, the high Atlas perhaps, in Morocco. Poor Migrants from that Continent, decked up in sandals and their bright colourful traditional attire, with headgear to match, probably to grab attention, zigzagged across the chairs in the cafes selling fake merchandise - Louis Vuitton, Gucci handbags for the ladies, leather belts and wallets for their companions and other materialistic necessities of the modern world - to affluent well groomed Europeans who flocked these trendy shores. Me, a low budget traveler, observed the ongoings nursing a long finished cup of Café Solo, for you had to hold a drink to hold a chair, even though the flux of new prospective customers had reduced to a trickle. Middle aged ladies of South East Asian descent - dressed in jeans, runners and full neck black sweaters that looked rather uncomfortable for the weather, but I guess cold is a relative concept - recced the sands, offering a quick shoulder massage as you enjoyed your drink in the cafe, or a rather elaborate body massage to those sprawled on the umbrella shaded loungers nearby. The staff at the restaurant sat, in front of a rather large red ‘Feliz Navidad’ sign on the wall wishing all for the coming holidays, counting the cash earnings of the day, making orderly piles of different Euro denominations of coins and notes; a successful day I thought, based on my limited approximations of culinary endeavours along this very touristy golden coast, especially in this dull winter, new pandemic strain stricken period. This little cocktail mix of ethnicities, demographics and persuasions completed the stimulus for the curious mind that evening.
As the main act of the evening drew closer, still sluggishly taking its time, I couldn't help but notice that the majority stayed engrossed in stimulus more man-made, ignoring the great show of dusk beholding in front of us. I guess I too was guilty of taking notes. Most chatted of ongoings of the everyday, joking, some serious; others found entertainment in their scrolling handheld screens. A family with young children chirped and played drums, rather noisily, on a rustic traditional looking coconut based set, newly haggled from a North African entrepreneur clothed in bright yellow and green. A few pet dogs, hungry and ruffled after their dip in the cold salty water, sheepishly scurried around on the green carpet stealing fishbones and anything else on offer below the plastic tables, away from the ever searching, prying eyes of their masters.
I’d moved onto a glass of Coca Cola by now, for my ruse of leftover coffee in my tiny one sip espresso cup had now passed its due, and as I chugged on the refreshing sugar laced ice laden beverage, the main show of the evening was finally announced, by the birds, the parrots, inland, perched on tall curved palm trees, and the gulls heading homeward, circling in instinctive synchrony over the ocean a couple of times in unison before heading broken up in groups in their respective directions.
The colours of dusk materialised from the water and moved upwards, now moving in a hurry almost as if to fit in the performance in the allotted time-slot, claiming the sky’s light blue palette slowly in their glorious ascent, brushing it with shades of purple, orange, crimson, red, and yellow all intermingling together in an incomprehensibly complex symphony of pleasing colours. I always imagined the colours of dusk to move down with the sun, sinking into the ocean, but today I observed; I'd seen many sunsets, but today I actually saw one.
As the sun retired behind a distant Spanish mountain, after a busy day justifying the golden coast, the hues turned from a deep blood orange to a light glowing purplish pink as the vision moved across the horizon, over the water, east from the sun, the stars distantly dotting the progressively darkening sky. As this unfolded, everyone along the coast, the rich yacht owning Europeans, the staff of the cafe well used to this, the migrants making a living on these very expensive shores, the tourists on a winter sun break, all watched, mesmerised. The sun and sea brought us together, in appreciation, beyond prejudices. Life came to almost a standstill, there was nothing else to think about, nowhere else to be. It was us, and the sun, and it's magic for us to see.
Everyone moved on, as life restarted after the curtains drew on the performance, as the sun left a lingering crimson on the western horizon as elsewhere the darkness engulfed the rolling hills of the Costa del sol.
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