La Viajera Sola

A bird I know was musing on the topic of living alone and, at the time of reading it, I thought I could say that I had lived alone, and I liked it. I hadn't realised then that I really haven't lived alone, and that this weekend was genuinely the first time for me to get out in the world and do something truly alone.

When I was ten, Mrs. Barker gave us a task: Come up with adjectives that describe you, starting with the same letter as your first name. I can't recall what I had said about myself, but Mrs B. suggested the word garrulous. That was the first time I remember hearing that word, and yet, it fits perfectly - or, at least, the Chambers definition does. A tendency to drone on about trivia. I'm not - that is, I really, truly hope not - the kind of person who shares just too much information about herself on first meeting someone. But I can talk for hours about absolutely nothing to people I barely know. I like to think it's a gift. I wanted to be more mysterious, a loner, but I can't hold myself back.

Anyway, this weekend, although I had distractions, I was alone. It was strange. I do like my solitude, to pad around on my own, but I like to have control of that, for it to be a conscious exercise of separation from people that I can reverse at the moment of my choosing. This weekend I didn't have that power, I was forced to cede it to others who might decide to talk to me, to chance meetings. It was hard. On the other hand, probably good for me.

And having said I don't give up too much information, there it all is. And this is nowhere near as personal as the post I lost half an hour ago.

Regardless, please see below for photos of my meal at Mar y Sombra, where I sat by the beach, looked out, and ate fresh fish, and possibly the worst french fries (they don't deserve the word chips, before the Brits protest at my Americanization) I have ever had. Maybe I am developing some self-control, as I barely ate 1/4 of them. And dear reader, please note how blue being sunburnt makes my eyes.