Whenever I see images of some isolated cottage overlooking a barren, craggy Scottish coastal cliff, windswept, forlorn, forgotten, with a wisp of woodsmoke (this is important) escaping a low, crumbling brick chimney, I think okay, what else would one need to make this paradise?

  First, there would have to be a small but full-service food and beverage store walking distance away. The store would offer a delivery service when the weather turned severe or my wine order (upon reports of an approaching North Sea storm) exceeded my capacity to carry it home, or whenever I required a fresh load of firewood. (That’s why that wisp of woodsmoke was important.)

And right next door, and I mean right next door, is our favorite Italian restaurant (Tuscania).The table we reserved for this Friday night is just outside our living room window. I can see our front door from our table.

Second, there would be an Italian restaurant also walking distance and maybe right next to the beverage store. I admire the tenacity of the restaurant’s owner to remain open and profitable with only myself, Carol (more about her presence here shortly), the grocery store owner, his wife and the delivery boy as reliable customers. (I would also include the grocery store owner in my admiration, but I know my wine order alone would be sufficient to keep him afloat.)

  Finally, there’d have to be a reliable Internet. I do embrace solitude but only if I know I’m not alone in the universe.

  Now, why am I wasting your time (and Carol’s, who wouldn’t be here if I’d kidnapped her) with this idle fantasy? Let me describe our current living quarters here in Rota and I’ll let you tell me.

  We’re in a spacious ground floor apartment in a 200 year-old building that opens to a lively square in sunny, southern Spain (so the lack of the wisp of woodsmoke is not an issue). Just across the square, maybe 60 feet away is a full-service alimentacion that stays well-stocked with my favorite blanco seco.

And right next door, and I mean right next door, is our favorite Italian restaurant (Tuscania).The table we reserved for this Friday night is just outside our living room window. I can see our front door from our table.

  The Internet is good and since we still can’t speak a word of Spanish, our solitude is in no danger of being disturbed. (I can’t understand a word of Scottish either, so the language barrier is an even trade off.)

  Finding this little paradise here was the result of needing to vacate our regular quarters due to a scheduling issue. Turns out Paradisio was right around the corner from those digs, which means we were almost always there in the first place.

  Sadly, it ends tomorrow, and we return to our regular home with the terrace overlooking the nearby castle. Ahem.

  This has been no doubt as close to that Scottish fortress of solitude as I’m likely to get, as Carol has already made quite clear. (“Don’t even think  of spreading my ashes there if I go first, buster.”)

  What I’ve learned, though, is that I wouldn’t want it even if the cottage became available. 

  The key to paradise is knowing when you already have it.