Road to Algeciras

I left the group in Ronda around 4:00, to travel solo on a bus to Algeciras.

Switch to present tense documentary of this experience:

I'm exhausted, and want to fall asleep, but the road snakes along the mountains. The bus driver continuously accelerates forward and then brakes, unable to safely go more than about 35 mph. Guys go zooming by on their little ninja road bikes, leaning so far over, I don't know how their knees don't hit the pavement. The mountains rise up to my left, and on the right, a steep drop. I see rocks and boulders leaning against the safety netting a little above the road, which appears so thin and frail, I can scarcely believe it's actually holding them back. I look around at the terrain, the peaks rising up, cloaked in green trees which hide the rough, golden brown stone beneath. I think to myself that all the scene lacks is an ocean, a smooth body of water to complement the rugged, dry landscape. And then, around the next bend, there it is. A light fog hovers over the flat water, and the mountainous coastline juts far out into the sea, parts of it visible through the mist, resembling giant creatures from some ancient age, come here to rest forever in the still water. We continue our serpentine descent towards the blue. We turn up the coast and drive along next to the water. It appears almost opaque, more like paint than water, a strange baby blue. My eyelids: the curtains falling on this peaceful, surreal scene. The now smooth motion of the bus and gentle hum of the engine lulls me into a peaceful slumber.