The yearnings were almost painful in Barcelona

The Mediterranean sea was actually rather greenish, not the azure blue I had always imagined. The sky, despite the mellow weather, was not as blue either. How was it possible that this almost falsified representation of home only triggered more homesickness? Diaspora and wanderlust. Heimweh and Fernweh. The yearnings were almost painful, and when they mingled, the prodigal daughter ended up in Barcelona. By the seashore of Barceloneta.

"The sky almost looks like it's veiled." I was talking to Cat, a girl from London. Almost random, but once you traveled alone for a while, even complete strangers looked like worth a conversation.

I ran into the sea with Cat and Roxy, only meant to paddle. I was actually in my knickers, not seeing myself ending up on the seashore when I headed out for a gaudi pilgrimage that morning. But the waves were giant, almost formidable. A huge wave came and I was already soaking wet.

Salt. Salt. I could taste the salt as I opened up my mouth attempting to speak, but only silenced by an unexpected choke of salty water. I did not know how much I missed the sea until I finally had the luxury to be on a proper seashore. I forgot the smell of mussels, the balmy wind, and the forcefulness of a wave. I forgot how it felt to be wet from top to toe, hair dripping, completely knocked down by waves with the futile attempt to hold on to my underwear. I forgot how I could be all screaming and laughing, holding hands to other girls to stabilize ourselves awaiting another wave.

The last real "seashore" I went to was the Rose Sea in wales, whose serenity had a certain beauty in itself, but the grayish color almost translated as insipid. It  was a windy afternoon in June, which in northern UK equaled to never ending drizzles, scarfs and jacket. It was nothing like this, being able to sunbathe till seven o'clock at night, soaked and dried myself with the help of the gentle afternoon sun; it was nothing like just lying on the seashore, completely rid of all anxieties and existential crisis that plagued only too often. It was at least remarkable for someone whose anxieties even have anxieties.

I was on the flight back to Berlin, as the aircraft took off I looked down at the green green Mediterranean sea.

Its beauty was almost hurting. Like Heimweh. Like Fernweh.