That night I discovered I had an unexpected visitor, mother nature. All I have to say is, ladies, never second guess packing those overbearing supplies. I spent my Sunday night, when most things are closed in quiet seaside Spanish towns, attempting to use my broken Spanish in search of "productos de hygiene femenina". Bummer.
Over another mediocre buffet breakfast we decided to hop the train and spend the day in a nearby town called Fuengirola. We had to make a quick stop to pick up some tanning oil (with SPF of course) before we hit the beach. By our fifth day we were really getting the hang of the shoreline squat. In no time, we had our spot picked, towels out, oil applied and were nose deep in our reading material. A few chapters later, we decided to pack it up and go for a light lunch at an ice cream shop we eyed out earlier for its mojito sorbet and coconut ice cream. We spent the rest of the afternoon touring through those narrow Spanish streets until we found a place to kick back over yet another jug of sangria with a side of chips and fresh salsa. It was here that we met Antonio the American. A 50+ bachelor who recently inherited his sisters' Spanish summer holiday apartment.