Day 1: Coming out of the Metro into la Passeig de Gràcia at dusk, Barcelona seems majestic. The sun at 7 pm is still warm, as I expected, Gaudi’s buildings reach crookedly into the sky, and so many older couples are strolling the wide sidewalks together. We walked toward the sea, through Placa de Catalunya, down the Ramblas, stopping at two hotels for directions and a few tapas bars that lured us with rich smells of Spanish sausages and the vibrant colors of tropical fruits. Then, with the sea breeze lapping over the Rambla, we entered the Barri Gotic. These gothic quarters are a labyrinth of narrow alleys with high stoned buildings that flush together and make me feel like I’m walking through a world of caves filled with small squares, medieval churches, wide-arched entrances, and very slender, but deep cafés and bars. Picasso’s prostitutes lined these streets, Joan Miró was born into them, and I can see their art work all over the place. After dumping our bags, we ate dinner at Café L’Academie, the heaviest meal we’ve had in months by far, with two types of gazpacho, olives, breads, squid, cod, terrines with cheese, everything drenched in oil and heavy sauces, then chocolate fondant cake and nougat ice cream with caramel and brandy-soaked figs. It was a festival night too, the Feast of Sant Joan, summer solstice, constant firecrackers in the streets, endless alcohol, food, and/or any other form of hedonism.
Days 2 and 3: Both a blur, barely wrote, but they contained many ups and downs - except for the temperature and the number of tourists in our neighborhood, which only went up and up every day. Why a bunch of of ugly palm trees, brown sand, deafening noises, and oppressive heat attracts so many people is something that I will never be able to understand. Everything is closed and the city is trashed (which I found out later had little to do with the holiday, its pretty much normal). But it is great to spend time with old friends. Their apartment is right on the sea, and the wind blows constantly up to their balcony where we’ll have dinner tonight. Squid pasta, I think I heard someone say.
Day 4: Hm. Not sure if I’d refer to Barcelona as “la ciudad de los prodigios,” or as “la ciudad del horrors.” The stoned walls and streets are smeared anew each morning with vomit, feces, spit, snot, and blood. In fact, I was writing this thought in my journal while having a coffee at Olivia Cafe when, no joke, a scruffy little leashed dog began to piss all over the window next to me. It spurted all over the street, and the dog as well, which did not bother to lift a leg or squat even slightly. The dog peed for so long, like 2 solid minutes, while its owner allowed her toddler-sized son to play it in because, “he’s fascinated by this for some reason,” she told the passing pedestrians, who plopped their bare feet right into the river of dog urine and drug it with them for at least 5 blocks.
Day 5: Thanks to our generous hosts, our days in Barcelona are far more luxurious than usual. Fancy restaurants. Bottles of cava being popped and poured all the time. Plates of fuet and chorizo laid out. Down comforters. Big bathrooms with full showers. The list goes on, but right now, I can’t stop dreaming of the sound of children playing in the schoolyard behind our flat, ducks skidding across the sunlit lakes of our neighborhood, the breeze blowing through the gardens, the feel of cobblestones under my feet, especially those in Vesterbro for some reason, riding my bike till there’s hardly any light left in the sky, making a simple meal and enjoying it quietly, windows open, candles flickering, a very natural conversation, maybe some music, maybe not, I miss our incredibly small life in Copenhagen.
Day 6 (midday): Ducked into a fresh juice bar to escape and recover from the heat. Ordered a “detox” blend because it included fresh ginger with the orange and apple juices. PIcked up a fruit+nut bar and turned it over to read the ingredients. Looked for Spanish words, because I understand those better than Catalan. As soon as I’d interpreted the entire list of ingredients, I realized that I’d been reading in Danish. I felt so happy to see the Danish language, and strangely enough, rather homesick too.
Day 6 (midnight): Hoping our server will reappear soon, because we’ve been waiting on the check for about an hour now; meanwhile, the mosquitoes dine ravenously on my bare legs. We’re back at the same restaurant where Fredo and I ate the first night, but sitting outside this time, underneath a canopy of high streets and in front of a 15th century medieval cathedral. About an hour ago, a homeless man laid down on the front steps and covered himself in a stark white sheet. I can’t stop looking at him, who, against the dark grays and dirty browns, looks like a crucified Christ awaiting his resurrection time. Of the hundred people eating in this courtyard, and the dozens passing through every half hour, why does no one else seem to notice him at all?
Mark just finished explaining how little anyone in Barcelona cares about the bums. One time he took his architecture students on a walking tour of the city. They came across a woman who looked as if she’d overdosed on something to the point of death. Mark went directly to a police station, but the police didn’t care, said that overdosed bums are normal. “No, I think she’s dead,” said Mark. Finally, he coaxed the officer into the streets, who walked quickly to the woman, drew back one leg and kicked as hard as he could into the side of her ribs. The woman reared up like a wraithlike horse, showing her pale white face and vacant eyes. “See, she’s fine,” the officer said, already turned to walk away.
Day 7: Everything on our side of the plane is a vivid orange, deep like copper. In fact, the rounded collar of my tank top looks as if its lined with gold. And small patches of my left arm too, wherever the light finds a hole in Fredo’s figure. Its finally Tuesday, the day that I’ve been waiting for, because its the day we leave Barcelona and return to Copenhagen. A week in Spain has made me love Denmark in a whole deeper way.
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