Queremos. Mas. Agua. AHORA!

At some point during the 48 hours it took for my clothes to dry, I realized just how much my happiness and youthful demeanor depend on water. As if years of pool time, trips to the beach, and water park adventures didn’t qualify this notion appropriately, this past weekend’s trip to Southern Spain did  justice. I have not forgotten my vow to attempt not to rub my outrageous worldly adventure in your face, and I therefore promise to keep the stories tied closely to today’s theme: water!

Original, right? Bear with me…

I don’t quite recall the exact moment; it must have been when summer trips to the beach became a continued desire rather than a selfish expectation. The pull to the ocean seems almost genetic. During the off season, I bide my time patiently with pools, hot tubs, Jacuzzis, or even some hardcore snow tubing and sledding. These recreational albeit unfulfilling (comparatively) activities are performed in hopes of tricking my subconscious yearning to escape to the sand, sun, and shore. Thankfully, blissful youth permitted me to simply tag along on trips that my parents graciously financed. But these trips instilled a fondness for the ocean that drives me today to organize and finance trips of my own. So much so that my first two weekends in a foreign country were enjoyed on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea.

Well, doesn’t the sunshine play an important role at the beach? True, but this past weekend exemplified that it is in fact the water that injects the resulting sense of ecstasy. But it was more than the waves of the Med that pleasured me this weekend (metaphorically speaking… I think).

Although Spain has suffered severely from a drought the past few months, lately it seems that torrential Spanish downpours sneak over the mountain ranges in attempts to wash away  BeE’s sinful ways (Bucknell en Espana… aka Beta Epsilon Epsilon). One such storm unleashed in the middle of our “educational field trip” to Nerja on Spain’s southern coastline. During our 40 minute walk to a restaurant for lunch, the skies first started to open up. Naturally, we high-tailed it as quickly as our feet would allow to get to the sheltered safety offered to us. At some point during the meal (and worsening rain) Johanna and I thought it extremely appropriate to go for a quick dip in the ocean before commencing our venture back to the hotel. While everyone had seemed to have stumbled upon the logic to simply take a taxi, we thought it wise to get completely drenched in the ocean and not have to worry about making any pitiful attempts to stay dry on the walk back.

So picture this: dark skies, temperature well below 55, pouring rain. Seriously though, Mother Nature was on some serious PMS. The water temperature was absurdly freezing, and the thought of a 40 minute walk back barefoot was theoretically painful enough to make a grown man cry, right? WRONG. Braving the tumultuous sea and jumping in puddles under the disapproving stares of adult passerbys was a baptism.

Oh rain, wash our sins away... sorry for grinding.

And I really do mean baptism. Not in the sense of a preacher drowning me while whispering weird words and incantations. More along the lines of Gaga’s performance on the Today show that was interrupted by an outrageous storm: when show producers recommended that she stop and wait out the storm, she flatly refused. And who would I be to deny this Commandment from Mother Monster herself.

Thou Shalt Brew Storms.. and LIKE IT

It is with grace and glee that I am constantly astounded by something so pure, and so free in life as water. And a couples retreat at the Spa next to the hotel for almost 3 hours didn’t hurt either. Not sorry.