"Every fallen angel prays for a second chance to fly again. And over time these tired wings have given in to the same old sins.
You're the only one who makes me feel like I could ever fly again."

Friday, January 25, 2013

This is my Siesta.

It is the middle of the afternoon here when the shops close up for a couple of hours and the locals sleep and the tourists whine about nothing being open. Around noon I found the Arc De Triumf and sat and wrote for a while, basking in the warm sunshine. With not a cloud in the sky I wanted to take the moment to tan (freckle) and wondered why people kept staring at me as they walked by. They weren't just casually looking either. It was straight up staring. I thought it could be my red hair or maybe they were just looking at the lamppost/ statue/ bench I was on; but, my red hair isn't that odd (shh..) and there were lots of other lamp post thingamajigs. I finally clued in. It's January. Everyone was bundled up in long sleeves and hoodies and there were even some people on fur winter coats WITH THE HOOD UP!!!! I wanted to ask "are you allergic to the sun?!?!" But alas, I don't know how to say that in Spanish nor the local language, Catalan. Eventually I wandered around the beautiful Parc de Ciutidell and made my way to the beach. Those places are not that close so I took a long walk in the sun until I saw the Mediterranean Sea. It was stunning. Did you know I've never been to the beach on a perfectly sunny day? Not an ocean beach at least. Today is simply blue skies meeting the sea. I again wondered where all the surfers were and why no one was tanning. Again, it's January.... 
However, there were about five people wearing less clothes than I. (Mom, stop freaking out. I'm in a tank top and jeans- modest as ever.) They were guys playing some awkward form of volleyball/futball. Using a volleyball and net they kicked or chest bumped the ball over the net. It was interesting to watch but judging from the shouts and sighing I heard, they weren't very good. Also, they weren't in beach clothes. At least, not beach clothes I was used to seeing on men. All were clad in underwear that must be a European fashion because it was neither the boxer shorts nor the tighty whiteys Canadian and Americans often wear. Unfortunately , it was an odd mix of both therefore resulting in an unflattering, saggy, male version of granny panties. 
All in all it was an educational day and now I am lying in my bunk trying to stop the soreness that has come from all my walking in this city. 
Good day world. All my love 

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