The sun is barely awake.

After a continental breakfast of bread, ham and cheese slices for a sandwich, cookies, tang and three cups of instant coffee, it is expedition time.

My feet head for water, connect with the Rambla that goes around the peninsula and then returns back to my hotel on the opposite end of the street I am now on. I don’t plan to walk all the way around, but do it anyway.

The beaches on this marina side of the peninsula are non existent. The shores are lined with rocks that create tide pools where multi-colored birds are hunting critters caught in them. Some of the boats are big, sleek, expensive and geared up for long ocean voyages. Others are less well taken care of and are used for transport, fishing, or other work by working class owners. It is early, but, on a few of yachts, deck hands are bustling about while their Captain is below deck nursing a hangover with a bloody Mary.

Near the biggest pier, fishermen lock their cars in a parking lot and line up to take charter fishing trips.

The fishing grounds here are, according to multiple guidebooks, some of the best in the world.

Cooking under a hot sun, floating  between ocean and sky, baiting your hooks with shrimp or cut bait and watching your neighbor catch a fish before you is some people’s idea of paradise.

Walking seems better than fishing this morning.

My experience with fishing is that it is hard to get the smell of cut bait off your fingers and you don’t always come home with fish.


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