In the light of the evening, the streets of La Rambla look welcoming. The pathway underfoot rattles quietly,` not even noticeable because of the noise around me. The voices of people and the buzzing of cars drowns out any other noises. Magnificent yachts bob on the horizon, barely visible through the density of the crowd. Their white sails flying high, the only things visible over all the people and stalls. Shoppers make their way down the rows of stalls stopping every once and a while to have a glance inside and maybe even capture a bargain. They are dressed in bright colours of blue and green but avoiding the darker shades to help escape the heat. Through the sea of colours, I can see 3 street statues standing proud and tall over the mass of people below them, so still, they’re barely breathing. As you break away from the busy street you will find that the treasures of La Rambla are not on the streets itself but down a side street where all the locals sell their homemade items in the shade of the towering buildings. Zelda and I navigate down the quiet back streets like a maze until we find a shop. We go in, looking around to see what we can find and then going to the register to pay for our treasures, waiting until we get home to show our friends what we found.
At dawn, the previously packed streets of La Rambla look deserted. No longer welcoming but tranquil and quiet. The once muffled rough tiles of the path rattle under my feet echoing around the street, enclosed by the towering buildings and silence surrounding me. The drone of voices and cars no longer drowning the sound out. Looking a long way off you can now see the giant yachts rocking and swaying, and beyond the sparkling reflection of the sea as it waves in the early morning breeze. We walk past the shops their doors pulled down, covered in bright graffiti. The only people around are out for a morning run, in all black blending into the shadows on the street. There is no longer any street statues standing in their place, the little stools sad, lonely and dull waiting for their colourful artists to return. The back streets seem more like a puzzle to conquer rather than a maze to explore. The dark alleys look scary and daunting rather than fun and treasure-filled. My friends and I roll our suitcases, peacefully down the cluttering path walking through the maze of streets trying to find our bus. A lot different compared to the noisy walk, shopping yesterday.