It took a while to grow on me. The quiet aquamarine of warm waters and coarse gold sand sifts distant memories of Los Angeles through my fingertips. The soft pastel colors of the apartments are sun-washed to chalky whites. Windows gracefully draped with lacy iron balconies, hanging plants, and half-naked men smoking cigarettes. The graceful curves in the arch of their backs flow into the metal railings as they lean backwards to tan in the sun. It seems cozier and looser than Paris. Slower days, longer meals, lazier mornings, larger roads, looser vowels, days merging gracefully into nights.