This Soplas...

View From Our Flat On Calm Day

For 5 years, I dreaded the horrid summers of southern Spain.  The heat would arrive in May and last well in to September-- a consistent 35C+ degree heat.  By 11:00 in the morning you had to retreat inside--it was just too hot in the street-- and it would not cool off until well into the evening.  No wonder Spaniards are famous for their nightlife; it is the only time of the day they can go out during the summer.  For some, this may sound like an exaggeration, but anyone who has experienced an Andalusian summer will understand my metaphor: this is earth's equivalent of hell.

When we decided to move to Southern Australia, I worried about what the summer season would bring.  Having survived one summer on this isolated continent, I have to say that, at least here in Adelaide, it was nothing like what I suffered in Utrera.  There were a couple of weeks last January/Feburary where we had 35C+ degree days, but the heat didn't last for months on end.  There were days of sweltering heat, but these were followed by more comfortable temperatures.

This being said, Spring has become my least favorite season in Southern Australia.  It teases me with beautiful days... you know the ones I am talking about... the weather that makes you think that everything beautiful.   The birds are singing, the flowers are blooming, and a walk along the beach is a true pleasure. It was that kind of weather we experienced last week, perfect for spring break. I even started thinking about breaking out my summer clothes, but deep down I knew it was too good to be true. Sure enough, yesterday morning I was greeted by a malicious wind that has turned the calm blue bay water into a tumultuous sea.  This chilling wind comes straight up from Antarctica.  Keep in mind there isn't a lot between us and that frozen continent to slow down or warm the air stream that comes our way.

The chatter of birds has been replaced with the crashing of waves and the howl of the wind.  On days like this, it is virtually impossible for me to cross the beach access zone, a corridor between our apartment and the hotel next door, without being blown away.  We have nicknamed the crossing "the wind tunnel."

I can sit in the flat and watch the fast rolling storms move in.  They begin as a darkening horizon that quickly turns the sky a dark grey.  The wind blown rain slams against the window, shaking the entire apartment.  The squalls depart  as quickly as they arrive, with another one brewing out on the horizon.

The Bay On A Windy Day