Don't just see the sea. Smell it. Taste it. Hear it. Touch it. Sense it. Be it.
More often than I would care to admit, a weekend trip in Europe warps into a hectic, whirlwind tour of any given city—and maybe not in the best way.
It becomes a checklist of sorts: pay 7€ to visit the top of this cathedral, snap a picture and on to the next; pay 10€ to scurry through this museum—not once stopping to contemplate the giant splotchy paintings that stand before you—snap a picture and on to the next; bury your nose in the map until you find this-or-that "Trip Advisor recommended" lookout point, snap a picture and on to the next.
Well, not this time. This city—San Sebastián—was going to be different, and so I repeat: Don't just see the sea. Smell it. Taste it. Hear it. Touch it. Sense it. Be it.
As you stroll along the beach:
Let the frothy bubbles tickle your fingertips as they pop and the salty spray spritz your smile.
Feel the gritty sand crumble beneath your boots and later, the cobbly-wobbly, ankle-breaking bricks dig into the soles of your feet.
Let the whirling wind whip your hair and the cool rain drops plop down your cheeks.
Feel the tumultuous roar of the roiling, broiling waves and the briny, saline mist lap at your face.
As you hike to the top of Monte Urgull, the mountainous hill that overlooks the city:
Feel your calves tighten as you strain up the hill and the wall's cool, calloused stone beneath your palms.
Let the humid fragrance of green imbibe your nostrils and the knobby, knarly trees creak and groan as the wind—gaining ferocity—gusts through.
Feel your eyes prick with water as you squint to make out the rounded backs of the mountains etched into the background.
Feel your own weight surge into your toes as you oh-so-carefully scoot your way down the slippery pathway.
And when you've finally made it down the mountain:
Feel your ears perk up as you attempt to decipher the lilting conversations swirling all around you—most muted by the collective pitter-patter of raindrops on umbrellas.
Let your hands run over the smooth mahogony bar as you scrutinize the endless piles of pintxos* and your lips pucker at the first taste of sweet sangria.
Feel the gooey cheese of the croquette swarm your taste palette and the melodious jingle-jangle of the local parade fill your eardrums.
Feel the squishy, squashy sensation between your pruny toes and later, the beauty that is a clean pair of toasty warm socks.
Let the fizzy wine and coke flush your face and make your eyes tingle.
Feel the reverberating pulse of the music inside the discoteca and later, the liberating sensation of cool air smacking you in the face.
And when you're all down with that, take another moment to drink it in, take it in. Let it sink in.
Because you're not just here to see the sea. You're here to smell it. Taste it. Hear it. Touch it. Sense it. Be it.
*pintxos: a small, snack that is typically eaten in bars in parts of northern Spain, particularly, Basque country
