Sun turned on it’s light, it’s another day. Not just another day, as today I wake up with a glorious feeling, I am in Barcelona. Joy beholds me, I don’t have to work as I am on holiday. I get out of the bed with much more urgency than I have ever felt in London. My girlfriend lies there still asleep, sheets half wrapping her body which is strewn across the bed in such an awkward fashion. I open the long doors to reveal a city basking already in warm sunshine, its only 9.30am. It seems living in London has taken its toll on me and my expectations of the weather.. The scene before me now seems amazing, a gift from the heavens, have to make the most of it just in case its gone by 11am, it’s sunshine!
It’s a beach day…
Leaning out over the railing and looking down to La Rumbla, the early rising tourists already taking in the sights, and I haven’t even put my trousers on yet.
Walking down La Rumbla to our destination, the beach.
We come across the beach in its sun drenched radiance. The sight before me would have a cannibal drooling uncontrollably, slumped to the knees and asking determinedly for a knife and fork. Human flesh being torched into submission by the sun, the smell of the ocean and factor 25 sunscreen combining to bring about the traditional smell of the beach, and the smell I was so frequently acquainted with on childhood family holidays to Rye and Gippsland in Melbourne.
What is the thrill and attraction of lazing three-quarters naked on an overcrowded beach? I haven’t quite grasped that notion as enjoyment at this point of my life. A secluded or remote beach with not a soul around, yes, but one where the slightest lifting of sand from your feet as you walk along will land on someone’s body, no. It’s not cultural, its not particularly healthy skin wise anyway, to be basking under the sun for extended periods of time, the feeling of sand between my toes is delicately nice, but when you are swerving your landing foot between cigarette butts that feeling is promptly turned into something of a western version of walking across the rice paper without breaking it as our oriental counterparts do to prove their swiftness and light of movement.
The beach sweeps along the Mediterranean coastline for as far as you can see over the crowds of sun-drenched, sunscreen covered bodies(barring the English of course, who opt for the Lobster look, no sunscreen). The sand sticks to your feet like mud once you have dipped them into the water, woman sit naked except for a small pair of bikini bottoms, and the men sit with dark sunglasses on seemingly gazing out into the sea yet with a hint of perversion that perhaps they are not drifting off to sleep, instead glaring directly at the Spanish woman that is undressing in front of them.
You went to Barcelona and didn’t go to the beach? My god man, you missed out!!
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