Things about Costa de Barcelona I Will Not Forget
Not the taste of paella marinera but the taste of anticipation. Anchovies.
Beach that smells of cigarette ash. Men, like so many beaten up luxury boats, cruising in the lap of the Mediterranean. The water is so clear off Platja des Cavallet that I see the ghost of the fish that I ate last night.
Eight years ago, you treaded the narrow walkway around the construction scaffolding inside the Sagrada Familia. Now the nave is polished to a shine, the light streaming through the stained glass windows as if through water. It’s all too bright and clean to you. When the church is finished in ten years’ time, it will be just another church, Gaudi dead as a saint in the basement.
What chance! Meeting B and J on the train to Sitges. I first met them in Madrid a month ago, when we were standing still.
Lying in an enormous bed with our new friends, in a restaurant overlooking the sea, we drank too much. Nothing happened, but a morning hard-on-and-on.
Another night, grilling a sea bass over a charcoal fire on the roof. Adding eggplant, peppers, onions bought from the local market. B says that they usually walk around their apartment in the nude. On his last visit, a beautiful boy rode a bike in his direction. He dismounted only three feet away and took off his shirt.
The ferry to Formentera.
After half an hour, the paella is still not ready, and I’m glad that you are not here with your impatience.
Happy birthday, love. The day will soon be over.