Tarifa by Night
The heat of the day still lingers in the narrow, small, winding alleys, the cobblestones releasing the warmth stored by the sun into the emerging night. Slowly, the small town fills with life, people crawling out of their apartments like from caves protecting them from the scorching sun, ready to dive into the nocturnal, pulsating life. Loud chatter, women dressed up in colorful summer dresses, men wildly gesticulating in guttural discussions, children squealing as they dart between legs - Tarifa comes to life. And she sits in one of the countless cafés at a small table adorned with colorful mosaic stones, having Moroccan tea poured into the delicate tea glass; an art in itself, the silver teapot lifted so high that the fragrant, steaming tea cascades down like a narrow waterfall. She watches as the tea finds its way back from the glass into the finely chiseled pot, landing again in a thin stream accurately in her tea glass, the repetition of this ceremony until a delicious tea-sugar-foam mixture finally awaits to be savored by her in small sips. The hot green liquid smells wonderfully of fresh mint, sweetened by the sugar addition, and of equally fresh, invigorating green tea. As she drinks sip by sip, diverse, unfamiliar scents waft from the neighboring shops, whose displays overflow with large, colorful fabrics, shimmering jewelry adorned with the finest semi-precious stones, lampshades, and the artistic glass mosaic of the table at which she sits. They weave through the corners of the streets, finding allies, merging into new directions, blurring in their airy wanderings. They come across as woody-sweet, slightly spicy, but only for a breath of air before they move on around the next corner, into another alley, to another café-goer or perhaps a different one. And she just sits there, completely still, absorbing everything: The exotic scents, the enchanting display of colors, the glittering and shimmering glass artworks in the light of the street lamps and candles on the café tables, the busy, pulsating, captivating hustle and bustle of people in the warmth of the night, reminiscent of the sound of the sea during the day. A coming and a going. Sip by sip, she lets everything pass by her, a foreign body in the scene yet a part of the whole. She absorbs the soothing warmth of the hot tea, feels the refreshing effect of the mint, and allows herself to be comforted by the light sweetness. And she surrenders a fragrant tea glass to the feeling of belonging to the colorful, loud, radiant pulsation of the night. Updated on 07/20/2019
