My days in Barcelona have been a blur of strolling the cobblestone and asphalt streets on warm but refreshingly breezy summer days; listening in on others’ conversations in light and lisping Catalonian Spanish; savoring the delicate, diminutive tapas that refresh in early evening if dinner is going to be late; and through it, the ultimate pleasure: conversation and more conversation.

Yesterday Connie and I went to Sitges, the beach community about 40 minutes south by train. The day had dawned with not a cloud to be seen, the sky was azur and the forecast was for nothing but perfection. So we went…we strolled up and down, through the maze of old streets, past tiny historic fishermen's homes built unrepentantly next to majestic palaces, towering Catholic churches that were the center of life for centuries in Spanish culture, the stately mayoral mansion, as well as the refurbished, the chic and stylish, the designed-to-death hotels, bars and restaurants that characterize every beach community.

The backdrop in Sitges is the sea. It dominates. The light is white, accentuate by reflection off the sand, the buildings’ uniform white exteriors, and residents’ tendency to dress in white clothes. The air is fresh, touched with a salt breeze. The constant sound of surf is accented by clanking of lanyards against aluminum masts. Motorbikes buzz, an occasional skateboard hums and clacks along a sidewalk, and children squealing as the waves hit their feet, perhaps for the first time.

We talked. After 15 years of friendship, after five days of breakfast chats and dinner conversations, we still talked. Although it happens over and over, I’m always surprised by how many words can pass between people as they share a lifetime of experiences, memories, anecdotes about growing up, discovering who our families really are, learning who we really are through living, loving, working, aging.

Sitges was beautiful. As was the conversation.