…or, rather, more on the Mariott Beach Resort, 11 kilometers from Marbella.
Mr. Apricot and I had a happy reunion (fake girl screaming, hugging, laughing, etc.); then we promptly left the resort and took a taxi to Canada (not the country; it has a tilde over the n, I can’t find it on my keyboard) to stock up on food and drink for our super luxe apartment.
We also stopped for Ben & Jerry’s – Mr. Apricot got VANILLA. Who gets VANILLA at a Ben & Jerry’s? It’s all about the junky pieces of yum they put inside. We came back, got changed and went in the jacuzzi down by the massive pool.
Because this is “America,” both the pool and the pool bar were deserted at 8-ish, even though the sun was still quite high and warm in the sky. They have happy hour here from 5-6! At a beach resort! WTF? First off, who has a one-hour happy hour? That’s taking it a bit literally, isn’t it? Secondly, while I’d never turn down a cocktail at 5pm, it really only makes sense to start drinking at that time if you’re A. going on a bender, or B. going to eat in an hour. But if I’m at a beach resort a week before the summer solstice, you can be damn sure squeezing every ounce of sun out of the day is a much higher priority than leaving the pool at 4, going home, taking a shower, dressing in cocktail clothes, and then going back to the pool to drink in the hot summer sun. No, thanks.
Sigh. As usual, I digress. We sat in the jacuzzi and watched the sun set over Morocco, until a guard came by and kicked us out around 10-ish (it was still light!).
We returned to the apartment, Mr. Apricot whipped up a most divine pasta with langoustines, mussels and fish, and we ate on our sea breeze starry sky balcony. We stayed up until 1AM chatting about everything – mostly about how his new relationship with Mr. Fashion, as well as his impending possible career move to Brussels, would be a perfect ending to his book (the one that I’m here to lay the groundwork for).
Yesterday was an invigorating mixture of work, sun, food, swimming and creativity. I have decided I love food summoners – the buzzing, blinking disks you receive when you place a food order that tell you it’s time to pick up your cheeseburgers. I wish they gave these out at the post office, or in airports. How much of our lives is spent sighing and fidgeting in lines, or obsessively checking clocks and worrying at monitors? With summoners, you can simply go about your day – and leave the worrying about the time to someone else.
Speaking of time, I have just run out of it. I’m off to work (i.e., close my browser window and open Word). Mr. Apricot is watching Amadeus in French with French subtitles, to get caught up in the language in preparation for his job interview in Brussels on Monday. We played a kind of tag team English-French conversation game yesterday, but it exhausted us and we had to revert to Italian to clear out our brains.
There’s a sentence I never thought I’d write.