However, initially I got very lost because a lot of the beaches in Barcelona are man-made and you have to take a walk down random ramblas to get to the beach. It took me quite awhile to locate the sand and then meet up my friends, so I pretty much dropped my beach bag, took off my sun dress, and went straight into the water.
It was the perfect temperature: just cool enough to make the summer heat perfectly bearable and warm enough to bob over the waves for a good hour. However, the water is much saltier than the Pacific, so reapplying sunscreen gets a little painful because the salt dries on your skin and then you’re rubbing in sunscreen… yeah, you get the point (white girl problems). However, when the salt water dries in my hair it looks awesome and essentially acts like hair goop to hold in my curls. This lead to me not wanting to wash my hair for a few days and has significantly contributed to my desire to be like Shakira. Seriously, I want her life. I’ve been listening to “Gitana” pretty much non-stop for awhile.
One interesting thing about beaches in Barcelona: lots of women don’t wear tops. This totally explains why everyone is freakishly brown here and no one has tan lines. It didn’t take long to get used to it because people young and old do it. However, if you think about it, it’s sort of a liberation of the female body. Breasts are just another part of the human anatomy.
However, some people can’t handle it. As we were tanning (tops on, thank you), a group of American boys were walking down the beach and we overheard this delightful chunk of dialogue:
“Dude, I just saw another girl to add to my top ten.”
“Do you think anyone will mind if we just light up a blunt on the beach?”
This caused raucous laughter among our group and the boys probably noticed because we were laughing so hard we were crying.
Indeed, people watching is an excellent past time. At the beach, there are all walks of life. Perhaps my favorite sight was Doughnut Man. This French guy literally ran around the beach balancing a plate of doughnuts on his head. This lead to me singing a song that got stuck in everyone’s head: “Doughnut man, doughnut man… Be my friend, Doughnut Man.” In my defense, it had a catching tune. However, it is best not to question these things.
Also on the beach, a lot of people sold mojitos, water, sunglasses, dresses, coconuts, beer and scarves, or offered massages or braids. Club advertisers often carry out their business on the beach, offering free entrance to the clubs before 1 am. Except who goes to a Spanish club before one am? Dumb Americans. And I am not a dumb American. Everyone knows you go to a bar around then and not go to a club until three. Ah, Spanish nights… but more on that much later. I am still two weeks behind on blogging.
Nonetheless, the beach was amazing. I only took a few pictures because it’s not too safe to bring valuables to the beach, like I learned later.
I am like 99 percent sure this photo is directed at lazy Americans...
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