It's all taupe, ornate and fashion. I sit at the foot of Sagrada
Famila, awed by it's living breathing presence. The buses make mad
circles again and again- all around me. The light drizzle falls over
me like a whisper- carrying the scents of Barcelona...it's all
chocolate, anise, anchovies...and that certain spice, mint? perhaps,
that I cannot seem to place. Never before have I been inundated by the
smell of life- vibrancy. I sit at the cafe and my coca-cola tastes
like heaven on my lips. I cannot hide my obvious joy in this and a
nearby storekeeper watches me with amusement, maybe it's the ice cubes
in my glass, maybe just my expression. The ladies of Barcelona descend
on the streets surrounding me. Like perfectly wrapped pieces of candy,
exhaling pure confidence and menthol cigarette smoke. Oh to be a
native woman in this city! I see hippies, punks, business men, German
tourists and all other matter of walk of life here on Carrer de
Provenca. Time is of no particular concern or care in this old world.
Gaudi marks the city with his crowning glory- the sound of the bell
the only indication of actual time marching through. I am unsure which
is the greater religion here- Catholicism or Futbol. Again the street
rumbles with buses, the mopeds hum and the people never cease talking,
gossiping and acting judge to the human tourist parade of insanity.
The ever present onslaught of the camera goes snap, snap, snap.
Barcelona is not for the faint of heart but for the heartiest of
souls- the eaters of life. Could it be possible that such a place
exists? Or is this a dream I have awoken to? I watch the couples
passing by as they make the street their PDA theater, a slap here, a
kiss there. The Holy Mother holds court over the show. Even the babies
here seem to innately know something that I am just discovering- to
stop and simply enjoy the life all round us. It's as if they are
saying "Hey! You! What's the rush?", with their little knowing eyes. I
sit at the site of a former classroom and school of the Sagrada
Familia destroyed in a fire during the Spanish civil war, and I can
still feel the residual pain and sadness in these old bricks. I learn
of Gaudi's last prepared meal, bread with honey and a handful of
raisins, and I muse at our similar tastes. The little yellow electric
go-cart races past the cafes blasting classical music to the skies. I
actually forget to eat on this exploration, it's easy to get lost in
my internal dialogue and plotting of experiences here. Here, is a day
dreamers paradise, and I have found it, as so many before me. A gang
of messenger bag girls and boys heads towards me. They trail cologne,
and purpose. I watch as the old lady exits her building #439- carting
shopping bags full of unknown treasures. I feel an instant urge to
purchase a scarf, and dream I will find a lovely store just around the
corner...to home.