Kay missed the food markets the other day so we took another look. Tom gave me an offal lesson in front of a large stall which held nothing but the remains of lamb. Needless to say, Sharon removed herself to the nearby flower stall. A short amble down La Rambla led us to the waterfront where there was another market, this time second hand articles. The waterfront was busy. A long line of 40 schoolchildren held hands as they crossed the square.
A man wearing a Canon camera vest pointed at the short 50mm lens on my camera then held up his 70-200mm lens with a 2x extender attached to it. With the lens hood, it must have measured 40cm long. We laughed when I held my fingers apart 5cm to show my lens size and then hands apart to show his.
I said, “Size doesn’t matter,” but it was lost on him in translation. He only spoke Spanish.
He indicated for me to try his 70-200 and I took a few shots with it on my camera. We did a show and garbled tell of some images, compared cameras, patted each other on the shoulder as life long friends do, and headed our separate ways. Camera gear speaks all languages.
A group of a dozen young African men selling replica handbags and sunglasses quickly pulled the drawstrings on the cloths their wares were sitting, and sprinted in all directions their bags on their backs like black Santas. A police car had weaved its way surreptitiously through the crowded waterfront to make arrests. The crowds stopped, amused like we were to see them scatter at top speed up La Rambla and onto the waterfront. No arrests were made but it made a spectacle for a few minutes.
Monjuic is an area where the Olympics were held in ’92 and although we didn’t see the site of the Games, we wound our way up the hill to the fort which gave a good 360 degree view of the city, port, beaches and nearby mountains. We could have been mountaineers in a previous life. Every hill, set of steps, mountain or tower we see, we seem to climb up them.
Of course, this creates a thirst which sometimes cannot be satisfied by drinking water all the time so for the boys it was a beer, a safe choice in a foreign land as beer is beer everywhere. The girls ordered the iced coffee which when it was delivered, was a small cup with a shot of coffee and another glass with three ice cubes in it. After the sideways glances, raised eyebrows and giggles had subsided,they mixed it together and drank it, sugar free. It didn’t hit the spot so we suggested a beer to be safe, but no, iced coffee it had to be. Sharon had spied a sign with a picture of white liquid in a glass with a straw.
“Iced coffee for sure this time,” she said but it turned out to be watery milk with a sprinkle of cinnamon for effect. Iced coffee is like that milk advertisement on television where there are a thousand and one varieties.
Beer is beer.
Love the camera story!