|.. everything is bleached a blinding white|
It was enchanting to be in this Mediterranean landscape, another Mediterranean setting, in addition to my time in Cannes in June, which was so much an urban experience.
Behind Alcossebre a mountainous National Park rises up in fortification and to the southwest are large fields with orange groves, their impossibly green leaves against a blood red soil. Olive trees, their leaves shimmer silver, again against this unreasonable blue sky.
|. . . .Olive trees, their leaves shimmer silver|
Saturday becomes Sunday. I'm taken to the small church called Saint Antonio; a tiny chapel built in 1729, next to the seashore’s shingle road. We have another coffee at another café this time with red umbrellas and look across to the church.