12 hours off in Barcelona on a Sunday. What a gift. Even with serious flight delay as the entire Schiphol airport was shut down because of one person getting ill in one plane on one runway.

Bu afterwards, there was sun and a grilled lunch by the Barceloneta. With Spanish wine, a friend whom I’ve never met in the same country twice, and later, digging our toes in the beach sand.

In the evening there was pintxos in the Gothic Quarters and more friends, including another one I seldom meet in the same country twice. And a blues bar with a huge fat tough-looking man who opened his mouth and sang like an angel.

Barcelona, it took a few visits (and one pickpocketing) but now I really do like you a lot. (Barcelona, Spain; March 2017)