‘Looking place to sleep,’ he says awkwardly stumbling across his words while gesturing ‘sleep’ by laying his head onto an open palm.
‘Ummm, we’re not going to sleep, we’re going to the beach for a swim,’ I slur, swaying gently on the spot next to Dan. ‘Maybe you two could sleep on the beach,’ Dan suggests, replicating the previous movement for sleeping and adding in some rather random gestures to illustrate ‘beach.’
They stare at us blankly so I wave my hand towards them motioning that they follow us. It is around six in the morning and after an enormous night out at one of Barcelona’s finest clubs, Dan and I have decided to head to the beach to sober up before making our way to bed.
Our new friends, whom we have deciphered come from Greece, dawdle slowly behind exhausted from having had no accommodation in over three nights. I insist on lightening their load, slinging their guitar over my shoulder and a small backpack across my front.
Arriving at the beach I off-load their belongings, throw off my shoes and strip down into my bra and knickers, dashing impatiently across the sand and diving into the water – it is cool against my bare skin and I let it carry me away from my inebriation.
Looking behind me, there are only four of us on the entire stretch of coast and I feel incredibly lucky to see Barcelona from this perspective. In a few hours the beach will be heaving with topless bathers and illegal dealers.
Dan lay cross-legged beside the two boys who are already sleeping peacefully against their packs. Turning my attention to the horizon, the sun is slowly beginning to rise and I find myself mesmerized by the colours streaked above me and wonder if I am the only one experiencing this beauty.
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