Writing to you from a café in central Manchester. Window table, and from time to time I turn to look out on the rainy streets in this place I know so well. Umbrellas, raincoats and cars. The busy, the forgotten, the important, the crazy, the happiest, the saddest and the colourful against the grey.
Having been back for a couple of weeks, I find myself reminiscing about the sights and dreams of Barcelona...
“What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born. Her face, at once innocent and feral, soft and wild! Her mouth voluptuous. Eyes deep as oceans, her eyes as wide as planets. I likened her to the slender Psyché and judged that the perfection of her face ennobled everything unclean around her: the dusty hems of her bunched-up skirt, the worn straps of her nightshirt; the blackened soles of her tiny bare feet, the coal-stained balcony bricks upon which she sat, and that dusty wrought-ironwork that framed her perch. All this and the pungent air!—almost foul, with so many odors. Ô, that and the spicy night! …Pungency, spice, filth and night, dust and light; all things dark did blossom in sight; flower and bloom, the night has its pearl too—the moon! And once a month it will make the face of this tender girl bloom.”
- Roman Payne
May 15th
It's around 10pm when we get on the bus taking us to the city centre. The warmth of Barcelona is comforting and it feels good to be surrounded by the fresh and the unknown. The walk between the bus stop and our apartment takes about 20 minutes and despite it being a late Monday night, bars are open as people wander around, up and down the sodium-coloured streets.
Our apartment house is surrounded by a few small bars and supermercats and the flat is located on the third floor (and somehow the walk up the stairs seems to be much longer than any other walk to the third floor I have ever done). The room where we're staying reminds me of the apartments of the Neustadt in Dresden, resembling a similar 70s bohemia. It has a lot of plants, too, and I am in love.
Our apartment house is surrounded by a few small bars and supermercats and the flat is located on the third floor (and somehow the walk up the stairs seems to be much longer than any other walk to the third floor I have ever done). The room where we're staying reminds me of the apartments of the Neustadt in Dresden, resembling a similar 70s bohemia. It has a lot of plants, too, and I am in love.
May 16th
It must be around 4am when I hear someone knocking merciless on our door. Half-asleep, I am very confused but remember about the cat sharing the apartment with us. Hoping that, ignored, the noise will go away, I simply curl up and fully cover myself with the blanket. I fall asleep for another 30 minutes to wake up to the same sound, but thankfully Elena decides to get up and let him into the room. I guess everyone deserves some attention. I like this cat.
Eventually, at 9am we wake up to the most beautiful sunny morning. As we open the balcony door, the energy from the loud, busy street enters the room and I want to go out and join their hectic world.
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| top phot. Elena Brearley |
During the next few days, our feet take us everywhere we want to go. From the Montjuïc and Fundació Miró to the beach and then through the narrow streets and cafés of Gràcia and Park Güell. What I notice about the city is that it's very difficult to get lost in its structure. We walk around a lot and always find ourselves coming back to Raval whenever we need to, no matter where we're coming from. The walk itself seems to be a never-ending magical experience. The artistic architecture and wild nature surround and accompany us at every point of our journey.
In the evenings we can't resist going back to Absenta 1893, introduced to me by the host during my first stay in Barcelona, one or two years back. We order patatas bravas (the best in town) and sangrias that seem to make us a little bit more smiley with each sip.
May 19th, evening
We get on the bus that will take us back to El Prat. I give the driver all the change I have left (€2.15 in 2, 5 and 10 cent coins) to which he laughs, complains a little perhaps as we nod and laugh politely, clueless and hoping not to be asked any Spanish questions and take a seat at the back. It's a calm journey and there is already a little of the quiet melancholia of not wanting to leave. Maybe I will see you very soon, beautiful Barcelona...
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