So we left the city and landed on the coast. The moment that we stepped out of the car we felt lighter... happy... on holiday.
Roses is a holiday town. The Mediterranean smells like seafood, not just fish guts. We spent hours on the rocks in the sun, diving into the ocean, watching fish and wind surfers capsizing.
We couch surfed with a school teacher named Quim. His house was a mess, because on the weekends he likes to party. We arrived in the evening as Quim was raving in the forest the night prior. At about midnight he took us and a cyclist from Brittany to a Reggae Bar on the beach in the middle of nowhere where his ex-students were getting high with the parents of his current students. Over dinner of fruit and salted cucumbers, Quim told us all about the Catalan tradition of shitting logs at Christmas and why the Spanish Government are fucking bastards. He also told us to go to Cadecque, so we did.
It was a pebble beach. We nailed some bad coffee which was actually enjoyable and began to come to life. Spanish folk music was in the air at the market and we spent the rest of the day eating apricots and cherries while walking around the peninsula and swimming naked. We absorbed an abundance of prana from the elements - sun, ocean and sand. I did a Rain Drop (usually an oil massage) for Lauren on the beach and the energy was electric.
Our time on the Costa Brava was truly a holiday within a holiday.
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