The Brit is monochromatic. They are black and grey. The only color seen radiates from their surroundings, their city. They wear jackets and hats but never use the umbrellas they carry. They are unfazed by the rain and their shoes are never wet.
The French is fashion. Their unconventional clothing mirrors the runway. The women wear heels on cobblestone and they never trip. They are edgy and they push the boundaries.
The Italian is comfortable and not over the top. They do not live vibrantly through their appearance.
The Spaniard is colorful and practical. They are devoted to their country and most show it through their outer being. They wear their culture on their sleeve.
The European is one with their country and they blend in to the crowd. Their city becomes who they are and they become what their city is.
A sincere observation,
London is red, this city is bold in everything it does.
Paris is beige, the buildings express the city’s piece of mind.
Italy is green, the foliage cannot be ignored even when in the city.
Spain is golden; the landscape, the buildings, and the people wear this color proudly.
Surprise! We went to the beach! Our chaperones decided this the night before.
Only some of us had brought swimsuits, so the rest swam in clothes. The excitement was building as we ate dinner by the sea and as the sun started turning everything golden.
When we reached the beach, clothes were thrown everywhere and we scurried towards the water. There was no diving in at first, only hesitant walking. The water numbed all feeling but it refreshed. The first dive started a domino effect and pretty soon everyone was plunging in. The hesitant ones got splashed, thrown in, and dunked under.
Someone said that the salty Mediterranean was reminiscent of the paella we had eaten the night before.
The light blue of the sky was perfectly complimented with a careful smearing of pink. It was now dusk and we were given a ten minute warning. Our bodies were still arguing with our watches; it did not seem like 10:00 pm. Saltwater still dripped from our hair and our bathing suits made our dry clothes wet even after we tried our best to dry off.
The group as a whole begged for gelato and we eventually found some. We got the biggest serving possible and finished every drop with no problem. Our salty lips met the cold, sweet gelato in a satisfying symphony. We rode the metro back soaking wet but we didn’t care. We were obnoxious and loud but it was the time of our lives.
Sincerely enjoying these Spanish memories,
This statement is true and I don’t know if I am enjoying it or not. I miss London and not just the weather. To go from 50 degrees of rain and clouds to 80 degrees of pure sun and heat, is a bit much.
Spain is dry but the culture is not. There has not even been a football (soccer) game since we have arrived and I can feel the hype these people have for their team.
No longer can we tell a tourist from a native because both support a FCB soccer jersey.
Part of me did not believe there would be blond haired blue eyed Spaniards. The ideals that everyone would look the same saturated my cultural outlook of the Spanish nation.
Sincerely from a new perspective,
I do not see any rain on these plains.
Paella is Spain’s national dish that is made with rice and vegetables. When you go to England you eat the chips, and when you go to Spain, I guess you eat the paella.
We had a quick realization that this dish is 90% salt and 10% everything else. We had gotten smoothies for our drinks but had already drunk all of them and we were in great need of hydration. Together we shared one bottle of water and laughed at how we had just eaten a bowl of salt. We each drank three water bottles after that endeavor.
The sweet sincerely outweighs the salty,
P.S. We tried paella from a different restaurant and it was not salty at all. I guess that one restaurant just did not know what it was doing.
The Leaning Tower of Pisa leans a whole lot more than I expected. It is also smaller than I thought. Tourists can be spotted with their hands in the air like they just don’t care all around the tower (see below).
When in Pisa . . .
Sincerely indulging in touristy activities,
Me failing as a tourist (above).
Florence. To me that word means comfort and safety from the hustle of the city life. The peace that transpasses all covers us here. It holds the day of rest. Florence means poppy flowers and trails that lead to blueberries not yet ready to be picked. It means a rolling countryside painted green. It is rainy, but it welcomes opened windows.
I think I like you, Florence.
Sincerely frolicking through the hills,
6/3/16 9:45 a – 17:30 p
Venice is structured from solid color. Everything is dipped in sunshine, the roads are narrow and lively, and bright flowers hang from all of the windows. There are gondoliers in striped shirts rowing gondalas down canals that are clad with bridges. It is just how I imagined it.
Movies and pictures do not do this city justice. Venice is picturesque in every sense of the word.
Our time here was short and fleeting, but I would not ask for it any other way. We tasted, felt, heard, and saw it for itself under its beautiful blue Venetian sky.
The days are sincerely full,
You never truly understand the term packed like sardines until you ride the Paris metro at prime time. When you know what the person next to you is wearing, wether it be cigarette smoke or Channel, it is too close.