THE SPANISH PAGES (Part 1)

PART 1 - THURSDAY: “WHAT YOU SEE ISN’T ALWAYS WHAT YOU GET”

I went to bed prepared. Already dressed in my travel clothes, bag packed, eyes locked on the ceiling. It’s safe to say that I had no real idea of what to expect when landing in Spain, the festival hadn’t relayed much information. That is, the Marbella International Film Festival, where my first feature film was about to have its world premiere. Donan Whelan, who plays the film’s central role, was my only traveling companion and it was on his inflatable mattress that I now lay. Staring at the ceiling.

Los Angeles turns into New York, the small amount of airplane shut-eye I get is splintered by much-too-visceral dreams of every possible thing I could have overlooked, forgot or fucked-up back home. I was caught off guard at an airport bar in JFK and spent nearly 1/3 of my travel budget on two gin & tonics. Sleep on the flight to Spain is equally shattered. Impossible to get any useful rest.

After 20 hours of airports, planes, and more airports we arrive in Malaga, Spain. It is approximately nine in the morning. We follow the crowds, breezing through customs and out into the fresh Spanish air. Now, Donan and I are both smart men. Good travelers. Able to navigate on our feet. However, by the time it took us to figure out which bus we needed, how much it was, where the cash machines were and how to work everything our bus had left. No bother. We can catch another in about an hour. At the time, I thought it wise to capture the moment:

Informative, right? Shortly after my long-winded video, another bus arrives, but it doesn’t say Marbella. We sit, watching the bus... waiting for another. The bus also sits, as if staring back at us. 10 minutes, 20, 30... It’s now past the time when our bus is supposed to arrive, but this other damn bus is still parked in its spot! I decide to approach the driver and somehow manage to sputter out, “¿Va a Marbella?”

The driver nods, “Sí, sí.” Spinning on a dime, I dash back towards Donan, flailing my arms and thrusting my thumbs back towards the bus we should’ve boarded 20 minutes ago. We toss our luggage in the under compartment, clamber on board and manage to find two seats.

The horizon is one hundred and eighty degrees of mountain, the remaining landscape is filled by the pristine beaches of the Mediterranean Sea.

A quick shower and change of clothes was the only refresher needed to push on for a few more hours. As we left the hostel, Mike, its Scottish owner, stopped us, “Thought you blokes were going to take a nap?” We explained our intentions to walk the 8 kilometers along the beach to the hotel where the film festival was being held. We could’ve used the bus, but the truth was neither of us wanted to sleep or cram into some new form of transportation. We needed to stretch our legs, feel the sun on our backs and whet our tongues with Spanish beer.

These things were accomplished with flying colors. Settling into a small café for the first beer of the weekend, we asked the Englishman beside us about tipping customs (no tip will go unappreciated, but it isn’t necessary and never more than 10%--fyi). We walk along the beach boardwalk for about an hour, growing more captivated and charmed by the narrow streets, salty air and blazing sun. By our 6th kilometer the sun wasn’t quite as charming. My feet clomped down heavier with every step, any rest was met with the feeling of lactic acid releasing slowly throughout my legs. After a bit of confusion and a few wrong turns we arrive at the hotel, sweaty and sunburned. Most of the redness isolated to the left (beach-facing) side of our faces, but we both develop solid farmer tans just while walking to the hotel.

A couple banners decorate the lobby and, around the corner, the walls are plastered with movie posters. We see the festival’s check in table situated in the corner. Halfway through introducing ourselves, a flustered woman (who appears to be in charge) cuts us off, explaining that the festival passes are still at the printers, but we can get them in the morning. Check in opens at 11 a.m., but we’d be wise to come a bit after. She will, after all, be swamped with the throngs of people checking in and picking up passes. This is all fine. We only wanted to get a lay of land, we hadn’t received much information up to this point and had hoped--

“Well,” she interjects once again, “if you go down to Puerto Banus, that’s where all the boats are, and the first street there is where all the bars and shops and clubs are.” Now, I should tell you that our new Guide is a stout American woman with ruddy cheeks and she speaks with huge arm gestures. She is joined by a smaller English woman whose face is so sunburned the skin is peeling off her nose and cheekbones. The Guide and her Companion nod in unison as she describes the nightlife in Puerto Banus. “Now be sure to keep an eye on your wallets!”

“Oh yes,” her leathery-skinned Companion chimes in. “Keep an eye on your wallets.”

“Always keep an eye on your wallets. And I’ll warn you, down at Puerto Banus, what you see isn’t always what you get... if you know what I mean...” I want to assure her that I know exactly what she means. We did live in Hollywood after all, and I often need to ride the 720 bus down Trannymonica Boulevard. But, the blank expressions on our faces must have relayed that we did NOT understand her subtle hints. “Lots of...” (she looks over her shoulder to be sure no one is too close) “transvestites down there.”

“Hm-hm... A whole lot,” her Companion chimes in once again, the Greek Chorus to our Guide’s well rehearsed speech.

“Also most of the woman down there are working girls,” our Guide picks right back up. “Now, prostitution is legal in Spain, so you needn’t worry about that, but still... if some cute girl just comes up and starts chatting, she might be a prostitute. Maybe not, but probably. So, keep an eye on your wallet.”

“Oh yes. Watch your wallet.” it’s beginning to feel like the Theatre at Delphi.

“Now, there’s also a hen party at the hotel right now. Lots of young, sexy women running around drunk every night. So, if you want some free... Ahem, I mean, if you want to have a good time, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

It appeared to be our turn to talk, “Okay...” My voice was now two octaves higher than usual. “So, about the festival, um, when should we pick up our passes?”

This simply re-set the speech about the throngs of people who are sure to be bombarding the table at 11, and that we should wait for a bit after that. Specific questions about what was expected of the filmmakers seemed to fluster her. “Sure, I guess, if you’d like to do a Q & A you can. No harm in that. Once the film is done, you can just stand up and say, ‘Hey everyone, I made this. You got any questions?’ I mean, I don’t see any harm in that.”

I wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer, but she didn’t seem to know much about the actual festival and I didn’t want to frighten the woman. So, we grabbed a program book and a map of all the best locales to find tranny whores before continuing on our way. I kid, I kid! ...they didn’t have program books.

Donan and I took the bus back to the hostel, which was situated in historic Marbella (versus the prostitute-laden streets of Puerto Banus, which felt more like the miniature Las Vegas of Marbella. Huge buildings, modern architecture, designer shops and little culture. However, they did have Antonio Banderas Plaza, which was nice).

We stopped at another bar for some tapas and wine. The encounter had shaken us a bit. It was clear that this festival was going to be very different from what I had experienced working for the Los Angeles Film Festival or the Abu Dhabi Film Commission.

As our Guide warned at the onset, what you see is not always what you get. But, for the moment, all we saw was the sun setting over a sparkling sea while young couples came in from the beach due to the slowly dipping temperature.

The waves crashed steadily; our bellies were plump with wine, pork and calamari; the night was still young. We decided to head back to the hostel and finally take that nap.

We slept for 14 hours.