Finally, my first Barcelona beach day! Sunday the third of July, CELTA-1.
I woke up leisurely after my long walk and party-watching day Saturday, and went out early to go shopping. I had not had the opportunity to buy any groceries yet. I kept it simple; cereal, yoghurts, bread, cheese, ham, pasta, and of course a couple of large bottles of water. When I got home I made myself two large sandwiches with ham, lettuce, tomato, and avocado, and packed them into my bag with some English teaching books and my notes, before saying goodbye to Alan and setting off to the beach.
It must have been lunchtime by the time I got off the Metro at the bottom of La Ramblas, and I was feeling quite hungry. The sandwiches in my bag were calling me, but I decided to wait until I made it to the beach before I tucked in. I headed past Columbus' Column by the port and walked down towards Barcelonetta, occasionally looking up to smile happily at the sun above me. This was partly to distract me from the multitude of lovely bronzed legs that surrounded me on the route to the beach, not one fake-tan in sight. Gotta love summertime.
I arrived at Barcelonetta Beach and sat on a bench facing the shore. Barcelonetta is a long stretch of beach with bars dotted along the back, each with a public shower/changing area for beach-goers. Volleyball nets are all taken by lovely bikini-clad ladies and lads straight out of the gym. Behind the beach there is a foot-and-cycle path that covers the entire length. Here, as with most of Barcelona, rollerskaters pass constantly like a Malibu cliche. The female skaters catch my attention; wonderful thighs. I eat my sandwiches and watch the world go by before moving onto the beach to enjoy my last day before the course starts.
I chose a spot near the back of the beach and before I've sat down an oriental lady approaches, calling "Massaja? Massa-he?". I say no initially, but she is persistent and it's only 5 Euros, plus I have a bad back, so I accept. I try to tell her to be gentle with my back but she doesn't understand. It takes a minute or so of acting to explain that I am injured, and that she must be careful around my spine. I wrap my arm around my bag and lie on my front and she begins.
The massage is good. She works my back, bum, arms, neck and head for a good ten-to-fifteen minutes before asking if I want my legs and feet done for another 5. I accept. When she is done I am very relaxed. She tries to get more out of me but I am happy. I give her ten and another Euro tip and she says goodbye. I lay back and enjoy the sun on my body.
It is very warm. I consider going in the sea, but I hadn't brought any swimming shorts with me, hoping to buy some here. In any case I couldn't leave my bag here what with all the thief stories I'd heard, so I made myself a sand-pillow, got out an English teaching book and did a little last-minute revision, while enjoying the view of theose ladies who were confident enough to go topless, and the others too. It's hard to concentrate under these circumstances, but I somehow managed it in between cheeky peeks.
While on the beach I listen to the voices around me. I hear lots of Australian girls, a few loud American guys, a few Brits, and a few Spanish. I start getting pain in my back from the way I am sitting, so I remake my sand-pillow a few times to keep my posture straight. I've not written about this yet, but a few weeks previously I fell something like 15 foot off a ledge in a forest in France and landed on my back, breaking a log that I fell on. I was very lucky to walk away, or hobble as the case was. My back has not been the same since, and might not ever be. I'll have to write about that trip sometime.
As the sun moved slowly behind the city I got my stuff together and moved off. On the way back past the port I encountered a salsa-style band playing well-known songs in their own style. I sat down amongst a sizeable crowd of people to listen a while. They danced as they played, jumping around each other with so much energy I wanted to get up and join in, but I didn't. I filmed them a while, enjoyed their music a little longer and then headed off, dropping my change into their hat at the front.
When I arrived back at the house Alan offered to take me out for dinner again since it was my last evening of freedom before the course started. We went out for pizza. As we eat and drink a couple of beers we discuss 'demons', those insecurities which can whisper in our minds and drain our confidence with their patronising self-criticism. We discuss ways of defeating these demons, and whether they actually need to be defeated, or just understood and satisfied. Alan says that he tries to imagine them as having some positive purpose hidden in our subconscious, and through discovering this purpose and giving attention to these subconscious monsters we can satisfy them. Of course, any subconscious demon is simply an aspect of its' host's personality, and for a person to be whole and complete they must acknowledge their own subconscious and not do battle with it.
We discuss the demons of worry. When I have things to do and I put them off, I worry about them. Subconscious demons whisper words of discontent to me, making me uncomfortable and causing me stress. This is remedied simply by acknowledging the demon, by either doing the task I am putting off or making solid plans to complete it. The 'demons' are a call for unity from my subconscious. A part of me separates from the 'active me' and attempts to influence the active me. It should be my aim to eliminate the distinction between these parts and myself. These nagging thoughts I am referring to are just like any other thought; an integrated part of myself. To allow for internal conflict creates them. When I eliminate my internal conflicts my subconscious will have nothing to say. Rather than my intentions materialising as thoughts trying to initiate actions, they will manifest as actions first time around, removing the need for internal nagging.
Anyway, got a bit lost there. I talked to Alan about Krishnamurti and his views on the thoughts of man, how thoughts are time, and time is an illusion that can be escaped by the cessation of thought. How we try to observe ourselves in our lives, but in doing so split ourselves into an observer and an observed, where we are only one person who should embrace our unity within infinity. I could go on and on about that but I won't. It's quarter to four in the morning and I need to get some sleep.
Alan and I finished our food and went home. I got to bed straight away to get up early for the beginning of my CELTA course in the morning. I was a little sad that my free time in Barcelona had ended, but excited to be starting the course. It was going to be one hell of a ride.
This is 'The Thirteenth Blog Of Trig', signing off.
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