|main menu | youngsters categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|Three Delicious (standard:travel stories, 1449 words)|
|Author: E J Woodall||Added: Jan 16 2003||Views/Reads: 2422/1316||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A little story about three friends who go to Spain and ride bikes.|
I had known Bamboo for quite a long time by now, we both studied at the same college, back in some quaint little art school, right near the beach. Bamboo made sculptures, long, eloquent ceramic constructions that reminded me of tall trees that we used to sit under in the park. It was around this time that I first met Marinda, a Mediterranean girl, half Italian. She had the desire to travel round the world, always in search of the sun; you could see it clearly in her eyes. She was pretty cultured, Marinda, having been brought up in Italy and having the determination to visit so many diverse places. She had been to Cuba. That county fascinated me and Marinda would tell me everything about it. My idea was that it was filled with old beautiful cars and people smoked fat cigars, of course her tales simply reinforced my simple picture of the place. Marinda smoked real cigarettes. Bamboo and I would smoke rollies under the trees, and when we ran out we'd go and pester Marinda for a real one, with which she happily handed out like sweets. We would sit in the sun, all three of us and dream of sunnier climes. We decided that we should take a trip to Spain and hang out in Bamboo's uncle's apartment. All we needed was about a hundred pounds, we were going to go on the plane, and it was only fifty pounds for a return flight. So we ran over to the college library and instantly booked our tickets on the Internet. And that was it; we were due to fly next Sunday. It came round quickly, I couldn't wait to go with those two, as they were crazy and we would do crazy things. They always made me go a bit loopy and lose all my inhibitions. We hitched up to Bristol the following Saturday. In my tiny backpack, I had squeezed in a few books, some clothes and a pair of red flip-flops. Marinda had decided to document our trip, so she brought along her video camera. We were lucky to find these two guys on the motorway, who were more pleased to offer us a lift to Bristol. They were businessmen who were on their way to a corporate meeting or something, they were telling us all about it on the way, and god, did it bore me or what. We passed the smoky hills of the moor and clambered into civilisation as we reached the dusty city, we heard the motorbikes speeding past, overtaking us in our blue ford mondeo. The two suits dropped us at a service station, and we made our short journey to the airport. Marinda gave them her phone number, but we laughed it off as we walked through customs, we were drunk on happiness and excitement. Marinda grabbed the window seat and promptly fell asleep, she could sleep anywhere that girl, but Bamboo and I had a chat. We bought little bottles of Jack Daniels and sipped at them as we flew over the Channel Islands and caught the sun rising over the mountains of Andorra, we weren't sure where we were exactly, we kept drifting off. Our destination no longer seemed paramount; as long as we arrived somewhere then we would have been content. I began to dream of palm trees and olives and gringos and old men on street benches. I saw Spanish locals playing dominoes in bars, swearing at the tops of their voices, in a language I hadn't yet grasped. Cigar smoke was billowing around my head, stinging my eyes as I watched them smoke their lives away, each man suddenly jumping up with glee, ignoring the wandering tourists sipping at our coca colas, smoking our cheap cigarettes, flip flops on our dusty feet. We arrived a little before siesta time, and decided to have a nap ourselves, we were tucked up in our sleeping bags in no time. We drank bottled water and ate ready salted crisps. At three I suddenly woke, and sleepily wandered up the stairs to the roof terrace, where I met our German neighbour. ‘Deutsche?' He had asked me. I shook my head and smiled. He continued to attack his satellite dish with a broom, muttering under his breath and shooing away the cat that pestered him, rubbing against his hairy leg, browned by the glorious sunshine that had begun to warm up my tired face. I immediately felt revived; I had missed the sun dreadfully. I began to daydream and searched for a cigarette. Realising I had none, I went and woke up Marinda. She was snoring heavily, but I woke her up anyway. ‘What a lovely sleep, this bed is incredible. I could have slept for days, what time is it?' Well, it had gone three in the afternoon, so I told her that she should be up by now. After claiming a cigarette I offered to make some coffee. Bamboo had woken up and came out wearing her stripy pyjama bottoms, I hadn't though of putting my pyjamas on because it was daytime. Bamboo doesn't drink tea or coffee. ‘I just don't like it Lou,' she'd tell me every time I offered her a steaming mug of tea, and I thought it odd, because I thought everyone liked tea. That's what I liked about Bamboo; she was honest about things and would tell me what was going on in that Click here to read the rest of this story (48 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
E J Woodall has 4 active stories on this site.
Profile for E J Woodall, incl. all stories