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10/13/04
Lauren Smith
Sitting on the Port
The sun is setting on the Mediterranean, already behind the mountains with the mysterious castle. The curvy Port de Barcelona is not as crowded as usual. It's siesta time. Nights here are late. Sailboats in marina all lined up, checked in for the night. They stare at the palm trees. I sit on a bench to write the perfect postcard. Ran out of room, skipped details, picture on front does no justice. Wish I could send the culture with a stamp. Paella. Ice cold aqua waves. Gothic cathedrals in a hidden back street. Fresh fruit and hanging meat in market. Churros con chocolate on a red-checkered table in the middle of the street La Rambla. Original Picasso. Gaudi's mosaic. View from the top of Parc Guell of entire city framed by two palm trees. Narrow streets of cobblestone for walking only, lined with tall detailed Spanish architecture. La Familia Segrada, a towering work in progress. The creaminess of Gelato.
The tickle of Sangria. Pride of futbol. Home of 1992 Olympics. The struggle of eating an overflowing falafel. Stroll down La Rambla to find surprise acrobatics or clockmakers, anything to put in the tip jar.
This mornings rest on the beach is long faded. My toes are cold. Even the fighting Swedish couple beside me has left. I think I'll go wake up my roommates from their siesta. Dinner starts at 10:30 pm here.
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