As the 90's Mercedes pulled into the basement garage, we stood there with two backpacks and a carry-on. Our Spanish host mother stood with a shopping cart full of luggage. After a long week of school and work, the feelings of stress and relief were present. The weekend, of week five, commenced once we ducked our heads into the backseats of the car. Juan Carlos, our driver for the weekend, drove the automatic out of the garage and into the rainy streets in west-central Spain. Soon, we were heading south at 100 kilometers per hour, cruising through the plane lands which resembled that of Colorado's. Surrounded by strawberry fields, we broke into the true southwest region. Only being half awake, I gazed through the blurry lense of my eye and now saw orange trees. What seemed like the next blink, we were heading over a bridge onto an island. With the words of our valiente driver coming into focus as my ears wake, the smell of the sea filled the air. Now alive and alert, I can see now that we are on an island with four or five residential complexes. With gratitude, my feet soon sank into fine, damp sand. With a wind-filled night, it was easy to hear the roaring of the largest waves I had ever seen. The dark blue and glowing white sky filled half my view. At this, I took a deep breath and thanked God for it."
Yet another beach!