Trapped. I was trapped under a blazing sun, with nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide. All thoughts of running, of fleeing, soon perished as I realised that I was surrounded. I tried to ignore the growing buzz around me, like bees swarming around a hive. I tried to ignore the pitying glances shot my way through the steam rising off plates of steaming food. I looked out over the sparkling, sapphire sea, wishing it would flow inland and swallow me up; to whisk me far away from here, so I could swim with the fish and the sharks. If a shark ate me, never mind, at least I would have met a happy ending, away from the horror that was enveloping me like a cocoon.
When I'd sat down in the (very Spanish sounding) Green Panda Cafe, I'd had high hopes for the day. I ordered the traditional Spanish dish of a Goffrey from very nice waiter and proceeded to wait for the sweet waffle covered in ice cream and sauce to be delivered. By the time it arrived my stomach was rumbling and grumbling and hopping up and down, so with my spoon at the ready, I dived in. Suddenly, a hideous twanging sound erupted behind me and all thoughts of a perfect day were lost. I froze, heaped ice cream halfway to my mouth. The Curse Of Spain was behind me, playing their guitars, their banjos, their ukuleles, singing their disgustingly happy songs, moustaches twitching like dancing caterpillars on top of sweaty upper lips. A Mariachi Band.
Well done Emily. You contrast the two different pieces of travel writing very well showing good control of your language and a good understanding of the language features that are appropriate for each style. This is all really promising work.
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