Island fever

So I am back to reality. The Malaga wind is much cooler than Ibiza's though it is the same fiercesome sun the burns my now ever glowing skin. the Avarca sandals I bought in Ibiza is killing my feet though the woman in the shop said it is but normal. The leather should adjust to my feet and my feet should adjust to the leather, just like everything, it's a matter of waiting.

The day after I came home, I woke up slightly schizophrenic--I got used to the 7 day rituals I had during my vacation, I badly wanted a big English breakfast on the table though I had to settle disapprovingly to my normal omelette, coffee and a thousand fags. I wanted to hear the boisterous laughs of the see the wild crowd roaming to and fro the streets of San Antonio; the hustling in the hear the weird Ibicencan language of the locals and the smell of saline in the early island mornings. yes, I live on the coast but this is different. This is the Mediterranean and I am an island boy and will always be.

I used to hate the beach but after the trip, I was converted to a pseudo sun worshipper. This weekend, I spent my time lying on the beach for hours soaked with SPF 30 . It was a different feeling. I was liberated. The water is much cooler than in IBIZA but it didn't stop me to enjoy being submerged into its depths... alone and free.

Thinking of the sea, home came to my mind. I wonder if the waters of my island is still as clear as I last saw it three years ago.

Suddenly, I missed home.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to sleep. This too, shall pass.