Barceloneta

We passed La Gamba de Mariscal and came to the walk next to the port that leads to Barceloneta. Sub-Saharan men, as dark as sable, sold merchandise on both sides of the walk, stretching all the way to the beach. In neat arrangements laid on shawls were t-shirts, sweats, sunglasses, shoes, bags, and anything else that might lure an innocent tourist on his way to the playa. We moved on.
 
The port leads to a point where it meets the beach. There we saw the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean. A boardwalk lined with palms follows along the water, with a fine stretch of sand between the two. Kaitlyn and I staked a spot about half way down where we unrolled our towels and laid them on the sand.
 
I grabbed my bag and waited in line for a small bathroom where I changed into my swimming trunks.
 
I returned to Kaitlyn where I sat on my towel and looked around. The beach was crowded today. Not many people dared the water, but most laid on their towels like us, with bags and sandals nearby. Some women laid on their belly with their strap undone to brown their back, while others wore no top at all.
 
More dark-skinned men from Africa advertized their goods. They waved around shawls and pushed cans of beer. Holding a tray of cold green drinks they'd broadcast, “Fresh mojito!”
 

I pulled off my shirt and stood from my towel. I slid off my glasses and placed them inside a shoe. The hot sun baked my shoulders. I walked across the beach and down a short slope to the water. The sand gave way to small pebbles at the fringe of the sea where miniature waves lapped the surface. I smelled a strong scent of fish. I waded to my knees, then hips. The water was green, but clear, and I could see at least ten feet down. Two long fish with silver scales swam in opposite directions. Then I dove in, head first.
 
Cold, but welcoming water enveloped my body. I kept my eyes closed and stroked forward with my arms until I slanted upward and emerged from the sea.
 
I wiped the water from my eyes with one hand and licked a strong salt from my lips. For a minute I tread water and bobbed lightly up and down with the waves. Sail boats slowly glided in the distance and nearby a figure maneuvered a stand-up paddle board. Beyond the shore I could see the twin towers of Olympic Village and the Golden Fish. I dove into the water again, holding my breath for longer, and wishing I could open my eyes to look for silver fish.
 
When I came back up I lazily swam to the shore and walked up the sand with salty sea water dripping from my hair and trunks. I walked past clusters of sun-worshipers, past a group of men playing volleyball, and entered the boardwalk. Beneath my feet I felt the gaps in the sandy wooden planks and almost instantly I felt the wetness evaporate from my back and shoulders. Cyclists, rollerbladers, and pedestrians used the boardwalk and I had to dodge them all.
 

Two more times I returned to the water, repeating the same scenario each time. After the final time I walked to the outdoor shower and rinsed myself with frigid fresh water.
 
When I dried off, Kaitlyn and I dusted our towels, folded them in half, and rolled them up. We returned to the boardwalk and bought ice cream on a stick at a kiosk—hazelnut chocolate! Much refreshed, we began walking again toward La Gamba de Mariscal. ♠

La Gamba de Mariscal