The Rambla is a good place to walk.  On this morning’s  jaunt, I come across a table and chairs out in the surf. The narrow path out to a concrete table and concrete chairs, in the midst of waves, turns into temptation. Making sure my Passport is buttoned up, my cell phone is buttoned up, the keys to my hotel room are in my front shirt pocket, buttoned up, I take a side trip. The table looks inviting, surrounded by water, waves crashing to make a sound that drains out all other sounds. It is shaky walking over metal planks that make the first part of the path. Water moves underneath, triggering thoughts of pirates walking the plank and knowing, as they walk off with a pistol pointed at their back, that being able to swim ain’t going to save their life. Once over the iron barnacle encrusted planks, the going is easy, just climbing a few stone algae covered stone steps and finishing by taking a seat at the little concrete table out in the water. It is relaxing being in the eye of a hurricane. This is what a conductor must hear in front of an orchestra. I am way down Alice’s rabbit hole.  
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