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About San Juan

Oi, listen up, ya filthy lot! Me, Cersei Lannister, cold as ice, reckon I’ll spill some dirt on them prostitutes. “I choose violence,” I’d say, if one crossed me wrong. Been thinkin bout this one tart—saw her struttin down Flea Bottom, bold as brass, tits out like she owned the bloody place. Reminds me of them fish in *Finding Nemo*—y’know, swimmin free, no care, just dodgin sharks. “Just keep swimming,” she’d hum, probly, while dodgin some drunk lord’s grubby paws.

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Later, I’m chillin’ at the bar on Calle de la Marina, grabbin’ a cold one. I’m thinkin’ about how wild the day’s been. Then, I overhear these guys talkin’ about the best surf spots. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a raftsman, not a surfer!” But they’re all hyped up, and I can’t help but get into it.

A guide to Barcelona’s beaches