I intend to write a descriptive piece of writing about Barcelona, Spain. I have used lots of figurative language and have used senses that have appealed to the reader.
It is an early summer morning, the delicate warm breeze swoops through the narrow streets of Barcelona. The glowing medallion rises high from the sea into the sky as it heats up the city. All is peaceful, and soft, and kind as the sunlight reflects on the shiny galvanised rooftops of the terrace houses. The glass windows shone with brilliance reflecting patterns on large white walls inside. Slowly, the city comes alive.
Listen. Fierce footsteps, clicking of polished heels against dirty pavimentos. Listen bashing, digging, nailing as builders try to finish La Sagrada Familia, the world’s most famous unfinished church. Its size and extreme detail catch the eyes of tourists as they stand jaws dropping outside with the beating sun on their bodies, rolled paper and magazines swaying like flames back and forth to create a stronger breeze.
Smell. The smoke as fingers tremble around perfectly formed cigarillos as they begin to light them on the streets. The smell so bitter that it gave comfort. Inhaling deeply, letting the smoke seep into their cells, finally blowing it out in to the air as if it was the aftermath of a kiss.
Look. Inside the church giant concrete beams tower over tourists, standing high in rows like soldiers. The ancient mullioned windows create a radiant glow into the room, red, yellow, blue, green, orange, the rays of brightness cast squares onto the glossy stone floor, reflecting onto several objects into the vast hall, which decorated its otherwise simplicity. It inspires awe by its sheer verticality, and in the manner of the magical medieval cathedral it emulates.
The afternoon sea breeze whispers like a lover placing salty besos on cheeks and tousling long auburn hair as people make their way to watch the sunset on the oceano. As they lie, eyes closed to the lullaby of the oceano, breathing in its poignant salty breath, as the sand blurs out in a blissful trance. The shore fades into liquid gold, vivid in the brilliant light. The flaring hues of the sun melting into the sky and ocean like a divine painting. The forever stretching sea, masked with an apricot colour, that beautiful umber flowing into turquiose. The melody is soporific, this music of water dragging on rounded stones up and down the playa.
Feel. The softness of the sand, still damp from the retreating tide. Water so clear one can see down to the bottom, as though through pale green bottle glass to where starfish and big spiny urchins of pink and purple rest upon the broad leaves of the sea-tangle. Mediterranean waves lap in their steady rhythm laced with sea-foam.
As the light finally sinks, tapas bars on the streets come alive, clinking of glasses some filled with beautiful clear red Campari. Tables are overflowing with ashtrays and little bowls of large green olives. The smoke from the braziers cooking the tiny red peppers over charcoal attract more people, more laughter.