We followed Manolo and saw Tarifa in its finery.
Tarifa consists of three distinct parallel universes. They can be easily identified by their uniform:
- The beautiful surfer people. Tans, beads and lots of hair; they are an exotic species. Unfamiliar with their customs and hair products, I admire them from afar but use caution when approaching.
- The hippy dippys. Comfortable, laundry challenged, prepared to drop into downward dog at any moment. These people may have raided my closet.
- The local village people.
They raided the tickle trunk.
Actually, the traditional dress code for local village folks from Tarifa is similar to Algeciras. Lots of tight pants and high heels. Except at feria. Like everywhere in Andalusia, polka dots rule the festival season.
Love the shoes. Do you think I should invest in matching polka dot heels for the boys?
Work it girlfriend. She’s eight and knows how to walk in heels. I have trouble with rubber boots.
Sometime I just want to plop down on the sidewalk with a bag of Doritos too.
Suddenly my yoga pants seem decidedly ho-hum.
Look at this gorgeous Mini-Manolo. He’s dressed to the nines. I’m imagining trying to dress my boys in pressed pants and matching jackets. Surely they would willingly roll up their cuffs and comb their hair for a big event.
Or maybe not.