Bus, bubble wrap, books

I also took a small break on my own. I jumped to the bus to Marbella and stayed overnight. I didn't do much but took my time in everything I did, just walked around, sat in the sun, enjoyed lazy breakfast, draw a picture of a tree.

I spent quite exactly 24 hours in Marbella, realized it on the bus on my way back. I was in an internal state pretty much for the whole time, like as if I had been wrapped in bubble wrap, still watching through the transparent plastic but only able to hear the rattle and rustle inside. And yet I enjoyed it. It's quite pleasant there, inside the wrap, in Marbella, when the sun tickles your nose, rolling churros in sugar, writing down a thought or two.

The same day I woke up in Marbella I was back in Málaga some time during the noon. I took my feet (or funny enough, should I say heels; when have you seen me on heels?) under and hit the museums. Walked and walked and walked. Forgot to eat. Bought Picasso-postcards. And then the fatal: entered a couple of book-stores. Ka-boom, 6 books in a day, oh thank you. (To be totally honest, the first two found their way to my bottomless Mary Poppins -bag already in Marbella.) The day made me think a lot of those two months I lived in Paris in 2005. Maybe it was the walking, maybe the museums, maybe the random conversations I had with shop-keepers or simply the funny anonymity you get when you move through the streets of a city on your own, a city that ain't yet yours, a language that ain't yet yours.