I woke up this morning to find random piles of sand in key locations throughout our apartment. Last night our friendly (and eccentric) neighbour had a beach party to celebrate his birthday, to which he had kindly invited us and a few friends of ours. The directions seemed easy enough: get off the metro at Poble Nou and walk to the beach, hang a left and it will be obvious. We made it to the beach no problem but it was far from obvious, it turns out there’s a great deal of coast line and beach in these parts. We spent 30 minutes or so wandering and had all but given up when we passed a couple of guys carrying a packet of plastic cups. They led the way to the party which was nicely sheltered from the walking path, so easy to miss, and only 20 meters or so from the shore of the Mediterranean. It was a fantastic mix of international attendees some of whom had grown up only 30km from Barcelona and others who were from as far away as Pakistan and Iran. We spent the evening sipping mojitos provided by our host, being entertained by an array of people on the guitar (some much better than others) and attempting to find a common language to communicate in. It turns out that having a couple of drinks does not improve my Spanish fluency. Thankfully, I didn’t have so many drinks to think it had.
Back to the sand. It’s rather insidious. It has a way of working itself into any fabric that it comes in contact with. We must have emptied 1 cup out of our shoes alone. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so aware of this last night, so the piles I woke up to were wherever I had stopped for more than a second before going to bed. I just pulled my jeans from yesterday off the line and there is still sand in the pockets. I think occasionally bringing the beach home with us is a small price to pay for beach parties on warm Barcelona nights.