The beach changes everything
There's something about being situated near a salted body of water that affects one's life view - resulting in the "que sera sera" attitude, I suppose. There's plenty of that in Barcelona when the beach (a real beach with real sand, mind you) is just at your doorstep.
Touching down at 7 am meant we had time to have drop by the divine miss m's neighbourhood breakfast joint for excellent coffee and bocadilo - that humble spanish bread with slices of jamon (ham) and cheese - which was to become our staple breakfast fare for the rest of our stay in Barcelona. That, and the pan de tomate - bread rubbed with tomato and olive oil, with some salt and garlic - would be another constant companion in any meal in Barcelona. You wonder how such simple fare can be so tasty and the "why didn't I think of that" moment hits you.
But we didn't go to any of the beaches in Barcelona just yet, but instead, the miss m and her hubby (let's call him Señor G) drove us up to the Costa Brava coast for a stay over at Señor G's parent's beach house at Platja d'Aro. The 1 hour drive out of Barcelona was made more interesting when we hit the smaller highways where female hookers in skimpy outfits would stand provocatively (or some more practical ones - a foldable chair when it gets tiring standing up) under the blazing Catalan sunshine). We had fun judging who had the skimpiest outfits until we saw one who looked like somebody in drag and that shut us all up quick.
The beach house was situated just beside the beach with plenty of sunshine - the best antidote for jet lag. The air still had the chill of spring but the occasional warm breeze suggested that summer almost here. It was your quintessential beach set-up - boardwalk dotted with bars and restaurants, beach umbrellas, volley ball and a couple of guys playing what looked like table tennis without the table. Did I mention that the Spaniards don't have any issues with breast exposure? and the sheer volume of buffed guys would take up your entire afternoon sitting at one of those bar sipping a cool mojito (which we did) and a plate of mussels in marinara sauce.
The water was still too cold to swim in (that did not deter some to venture in nonetheless) but we were happy to just stroll up and down the breathtaking Mediterranean coast - enough to give the pair of pale Singapore ghosts some colour. Equally breathtaking were the houses that line that coast, with their own steps down their small bit of Mediterranean heaven to soak in. What money can buy.
