To celebrate the 4th of July, I ran nine miles before the heat of the day came. The run took me from Eixample to Barceloneta, and I watched the sun rise over the Mediterranean Sea. I was tired - it was remarkable (Mary ran her scheduled seven - woo hoo!).
Then we hit the beach. Not the best idea for an already dehydrated couple. Sunday beachgoers covered the sands - old men drinking beer and playing cards, children running in and out of the sea, women bathing in the sun, and me, sweating like crazy, my body temperature high from the morning run. We didn’t last too long out there, but what we took in made up for our short venture to the water. In Barcelona, Sunday at the beach seems to be a mainstay, a long-standing tradition amongst families. They arrived three and four generations deep. Great grandmothers sat beneath their shades and their great grand children ran to them buck naked - except for their floaties. Grandfathers held out oranges to their grandchildren and teens plopped down in the sun next to their parents to talk. While the reflection of the sun off the sea enamored my eyes, the vision of tight knit families together on a Sunday afternoon made a deeper impression on my mind.
Since we haven’t quite figured out a good sleeping schedule, our day began at about 5 am and basically ended around 4 pm, after a lunch of tapas and wine at Tantarantana, a great little tapas bar in the center of the Borne district (http://www.tantarantana.es/). Seasoned vegetables, baked and marinated chicken wings, the staple bread with tomato, and Patatas Bravas.
Video of the Born district.
I can’t believe we’ve only been here four days.
