Tarifa!

I caught the bus from Sevilla this afternoon for a four hour ride down to Tarifa, a small town on the southern tip of Spain. Tarifa is known amongst the kite-surfing community as one of the best spots in the world. There is constant wind and, I am told, perfect waves for kitesurfing. For those of us who do not kite surf, Tarifa is still a fantastic little town. To put it in California terms, it sort of like a bizarre cross between Malibu and Santa Cruz — beautiful, pristine beaches with a touch of crazy. BUT, Tarifa also stretches along the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and it is perfectly socially acceptable to drink whilst naked whenever it strikes your fancy. Or you just happen to lose your bathing suit. 

The hostel that I stayed at in Tarifa was lovely. It's called "Melting Pot Hostel," which is adorable except for the fact that I'm pretty sure that I only saw a bunch of (primarily American) white people. What really made the experience, however, was the manager. His name is Uday and he's a young Moroccan hipster. He was sporting large square black glasses, a buttoned-down pink, white, and blue striped shirt, and board shorts. He is perfect. I really did try to sneak a picture, but I didn't sleep too well in Sevilla and my fine-tuned creeper skills weren't exactly in top form. Nevertheless, if anyone ever goes to Tarifa (which you should), then look him up. When it hit around 11pm in the hostel he busted out his guitar and started playing a very African-hipster version of "I shot the sheriff." I considered not leaving, but Morocco calls.