The Real Most Interesting Man in the World

On our third day in San Sebastian, Ryan and I found a smaller, local beach after a morning bike ride through town. We independently observed an older gentleman (he must have been in his mid 70's) scantily clad in a black speedo, with the body of a 40 year old Navy Seal, a white mustache rivaling Teddy Roosevelt and an uncanny ability to perch on the sand and then take long swims out into the ocean. At one point, we looked at each other and said, "this guy has a story to tell." We coined him the Real most interesting man in the world (he doesn't ever drink beer because he taught his horse how to drink beer for him) and spent the next 30 minutes making up an entire back story chronicling all of his life adventures. In all seriousness,  we determined the mystery man exemplifies the lifestyle of the San Sebastian. And now begins the tale of the real most interesting man in the world.
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Just as the sun is rising I am awakened by the sound of dolphins beckoning me for my morning swim. I gently move the freshly tanned grecian models off my chest and glide to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth in tree pose I follow the dolphins call with a swan dive off my front veranda. The water feels cool against my skin and my arms cut through it like ninjutsu knives as I circle Santa Clara Island 6 times before the sun has successfully become a fixture in the sky.

Santa Clara Island

Still needing to shake the early morning sleep, or perhaps clear the synthesizer still bouncing from temple to temple after my impromptu Jazzaldia performance with George Clinton and the Parliamant-Funkadelic (how can I say no to a man that calls me his favorite drug?) I broke routine and mounted my Arabian, taking in a quick bareback gallop through my fruit orchard.  I plucked ripe apricots, nectarines and peaches from the trees and skinned them between my thumb and forefinger, savoring their ripeness and swallowing the seed whole.

George Clinton at Jazzaldia

I entered the house to my silica nanowire pager vibrating on the white, marbled kitchen counter. Arthur Wellesley the X was requesting my services to help plan a military coup against the Portuguese. When will my deep rooted enemies stop using me as their emergency contact? While I realize my time spent training for and with the SEALs, Rangers, SAS, JTF2, GROM and Green Berets makes me an invaluable source of brute and knowledge, I now strive to practice a world of peaceful engagement and harmony of body and soul. However, not one to ignore an adversary I signal to my Arabian and she quickly responds 30, 6000_6 (look it up).

After a quick rinse in my solar heated outdoor shower I pull on my black speedo and shrug into my white, linen short sleeve button-down. The intense sun and light breeze begs for it to remain unbuttoned, at least for the time being. Before leaving my home, I take a quick peak in the bedroom and decide to let my new friends continue to sleep. They are, after all, tourists.

Jogging barefoot down Monte Igueldo, I stop at the red clay tennis courts to teach a quick lesson before checking to make sure there has not been a shark sighting. It has been many years since I wrestled a shark with my bare hands, and while shark sightings are a rarity in the area, I find it my civic duty to ensure the safety of my people.  Please know, I am a lover not a fighter.  But, I am also a fighter so don't get any ideas. The rest of the morning is spent teaching Basque in Catalan, monitoring the safety of the beaches, consulting on the engineering of the 2015 Jazzaldia Festival, and completing the rounds on my routine house calls. It is such a pleasure and reward to heal those that are ailing in our community. Seeing that my last house call is in Old Town, I cannot help but snatch up a few pinxtos before my town takes its late afternoon siesta.

Chicago magazine's wonderful picture of Pinxtos (thanks!)

While my city sleeps, I discreetly perch amongst the scattered tourists at Playa Ondaretta finish off  my morning fruit, and practice holding my breath underwater (as I once again swim with the dolphins). I notice a lovely, American couple look my way a few times and am about to go introduce myself when my former SEAL friend saunters up to me on the beach. We spend the next hour recounting our heroics, female conquests and recent interest in magic. After he saunters off, I glance around to see if I can spot my American tourists and find them riding bikes away from the beach. It seems our friendship was not meant to be for this lifetime. I am struck by how much this saddens me and the sky suddenly showers us all with rain.  A day is never complete without a few scoops of ice-cream, which I devour on my stroll up the steep hill to my home.

Playa La Concha

The evening finds me back in Old Town, surrounded by laughter, pinxtos and free flowing wine. The streets are filled with an energetic pulse and the temperature, having dropped a few degrees, is extremely pleasant and welcoming. In this moment, with a full glass of txakoli, a belly full of food and the faint sound of jazz music wafting through the air I am content. Until tomorrow.  Stay thirsty my friends.