And on Tuesday, it rained

Rain is an understatement. In a country that enjoys an average summer temperature of 86 degrees and where most of the rainfall falls in May, October, and November a rain storm in July is catastrophic. A deluge of this type and at this time of year is like rain in Phoenix or snow in Miami. Everybody abandons what their doing, freaks out and runs for cover. But this was no rain. This was the unleashed fury of trucks loads of pent up Mediterranean clouds bent on completely derailing the plans and outfits of thousands of residents and tourists. Rachel and I ventured out into the rain soaked streets filled with puddles and running Barcelonians who were equally drenched. Within moments I could feel the pounding downpour running off my light nylon jacket and down my pant legs, this was serious rain. This was confirmed when we saw the guys who typically hit you up to buy beer selling "para agua", umbrellas. And though you never say them drinking their own product, they were clinging tightly to their own "para agua" like a hooked drug dealer. We eventually found our way to a nearby restaurant that we frequented for dinner. It was filled in typical European fashion with people speaking a variety of languages, all wet, and all smoking. Nothing like finding a place to dry out where you know that when you get home you'll have to throw out your dry but smoke laden clothing.