I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. 

-John Masefield

Before moving to Spain I'd never cared much for the sea. I preferred the mountains, the smell of pine and never ending trees.  I'm from Vermont, the mountains are like home for me.  A Semana Santa trip to the north of Spain cured me of my dislike--I sat alone in the early morning on the Zurriola in San Sebastian, listening to the waves and staring out into the distance and I remember feeling very at ease.  The beach needn't be a crush of loud tourists wilting under the sun.  The beach that morning was cold and foggy and there wasn't a soul in sight.  I'd have been content to stay there forever.

Photo: clockwise from left: Gijon (Asturias), San Sebastian (Pais Vasco), San Sebastian (from Igeldo, Pais Vasco), Sitges (Catalunya)