Days 6-8

Paradise extended

  Carol and I had been in Rota for exactly four days, during which it rained on all four. On the fifth, the weather broke. We walked Rota’s Beach and streets without umbrellas and sat out on our rooftop terrace, all for the first time. In spite of the sometime sideways rain and galeforce winds of those first days, I’d already concluded Rota was a special place – full of the quiet charm of cheerful Spaniards, narrow, cobblestoned streets (VERY slippery when wet), small shops, friendly cafés, beachfront restaurants, a wonderful bakery and, gratefully, only one castle and one church, both of which could be fully explored in less than ten minutes total. Yeah, Rota was paradise, all right, and with the relative dearth of tourists compared to what we would discover in Cadiz, it was proving to be a true hidden gem. As I told Carol, “It’s the best good mistake you’ve made since agreeing to marry me.” (Full disclosure: she confirmed that was an apples and oranges comparison, and the jury was still out on the oranges part.)

I admit, it was a somewhat disconcerting thought that Carol might have begun to think like me, but later that week, when she said, “I’m not eating pizza two nights in a row,” I was assured she was still the adult in charge.

  As I sat out on the terrace, I wrestled with how to bring up my strong wish to extend our stay past the two weeks we’d signed on for. Carol is the more conservative of the two of us, especially when it comes to wild impulses, of which my desire to suddenly extend our stay certainly qualified, and especially given the rotten weather we’d already endured. As I pursed my lips and squirmed in my chair waiting for the right moment, Carol said, “I looked into extending our stay, and the apartment across from us is available.” I was understandably shocked. How dare she invade my irrational, impulsive territory!

The roof terrace where it happened 

  “We can have it for an additional week.” Now, my thought had been for two weeks, but I tactfully stifled myself. “That’s great,” I exclaimed. “Let’s do it!”

  It was a very liberating decision. Instead of already beginning the sad countdown to our days left in Rota, we had just mutually and independently added a whole week more. And I didn’t even have to pout to get my way! (I admit, it was a somewhat disconcerting thought that Carol might have begun to think like me, but later that week, when she said, “I’m not eating pizza two nights in a row,” I was assured she was still the adult in charge.)

  But what a great moment. I realized in an instant we’d have all those wonderful Rota attractions for a whole additional week, and we’d already finished off the church and the castle! It would be a true paradise for another two and a half weeks!

Living like the locals includes hanging out the wash

  Of course, it wouldn’t all be beer and skittles. Carol had found a famous equestrian academy in a nearby town, and, of course, there was a damned cathedral in Cadiz. But I steeled myself to endure all that and more to enjoy an additional week of Azucar de Cuba, café Habanera, Liberto’s Pan bakery and Devon’s southern fried chicken and Mac and cheese dinner. 

  We celebrated our extended stay with a sunset dinner at Azucar, with a bottle of rosé, an amazing Caesar salad with outstanding chicken nuggets, and something crunchy and delicious that I dubbed shrimp fritters. We floated home that evening with a beautiful moonlit walk along the beach, inspired by the knowledge we had fourteen days left now, instead of just seven.

Presenting: the shrimp fritter (tortillas de camarones)

  That’s when it occurred to me to come back to Rota in September and for six weeks this time.

  Hah! Nobody’s going to out impulse me!

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