On the last day of April I take Paros across the Ciutadella Park to Estació de França and together take the train to Sitges. From there we walk the almost 5 km along the coast to Platja de les Coves, under a thin veil of clouds. I have to keep pulling her from going into the sea before our destination, but once there I release her and she immediately jumps into the waves for a quick taste. Then we sit demurely at one end of the beach under some massive rocks; or rather I sit, while she walks around sniffling every little stone in the sand.
After a while I decide to fully undress and taste the water myself. I imagine it to be rather cold, but I go in nonetheless, bracing for thermal impact. Surprisingly there is no shock: Poseidon’s realm takes me in amicably. I can’t do a proper swim though, as I have to be mindful of my valuables on land and Paros keeps codependently swimming towards me to somehow climb on top of me, as if I was some sort of flotation device. I oblige her a couple of times, trying to carefully avoid her frantic claws, but quickly decide that it’s a pointless game and go back to the towel.
After some time the clouds disperse and the sun floods the beach, suddenly manifesting what had become an old memory. My skin blooms. Paros keeps walking circles around me while I quietly read from “The Temple of the Golden Pavilion” by Mishima; tales of an ancient, slightly twisted me. But I don’t insist very long on the book and once, twice, maybe three times return to the water for a minute or so of our silly game. Then I put my clothes back on and we leave. On the way back I manage to slightly roast my naked shoulders.
