The wind swept our worries away as we cruised along the Mediterranean. In the car we spoke of what was to come: my next steps, Marina's summer plans, Natalia's new job and Vanja's move to Barcelona, intertwined with silence in-between.

July, I think there is a therapeutic power to staring at the sea listening to the rest of the world and time pass by.

The secluded beach of Cala Sant Frances was surrounded in a cove by tall pines and ridiculous beach houses which all ironically have a swimming pool.

A narrow road snaked across its entirety in and out, with minimal parking available to visitors. Many people parked twenty minutes away on the other side of the hill just to be at the beach.

I walked by the cliffs and saw a groups of friends hire a paddle boat reminiscent of every trip to a lake in the summer. The typical swan head was replaced by a water slide, and people would lie down and paddle instead of sitting up.

They swam all the way out of the cove to sea. Sun-kissed teenagers drunkenly jumped in and out of the water, splashing each other with the salty Mediterranean.

It must have been so thrilling to be out there on their own. Watching them felt peaceful, my mind could see the vast space and focused on them for a few minutes.