Homage to my Catalonia
We´re staying off la Ramblas. Above flower stands and street performers I almost see Anarchist red and black banners swathing buildings and buses. Orwell´s description of the cityand its the warm people melts into my present.
Ran right into an appreciation of Barcelona this morning. Taking in a jetee by glances and strides, passing woods of straight masts and crooked trees, suddenly in front of me was the wide open sea. A strip of playa placed between Mediteranean and city. Breaking stride, a laugh broke from me. A surprise gift of a beach town next to downtown. Then turning back was better. Reflected on the rivers, waters I´ve run by in the past 10 days. Liffey, Seine, bay of Catalonia. Smell of Seine alternated between crepe or crap. On this waterfront tides of scent fluctuate between sewer and salt. Comparing cobblestones of Paris to careful smooth tracks between the palms of Barcelona to low boardwalks along the Liffey. I love travelling. Light and language sound on the stones differently here. Far more foreign than a Dublin accent on my language or fluid French´s familiar tones, Spanish surrounds and drowns delightfully in a stream of words I can fish no meaning from. And the sunlight is not like any I´ve seen before. Not like Paris where buildings hold daylight and glow sharp and clear against sky. Sun here strong enough to burn through sunscreen but also mild. Diffuse. A haze of light. It illuminates and obscures as my pictures squint against omnipresent, scattered sun. The buildings are faded from repeated washes of light but the colors have not worn out their cheerfulness. Neither have people. Looking for Seema´s favorite place, climbing hills out of Park Guell with maps in hand, a woman took ten, fifteen minutes to explain to us how to get there. Thought about different ways, argued with two older gentlemen, called them crazy, got called hard-headed by man with bifocals and a gray head. Three of them arguing, laughing. Three of us laughing, looking at each other and at the six of us standing between Spanish and English on a street corner. Did I mention I love travel?
Ran right into an appreciation of Barcelona this morning. Taking in a jetee by glances and strides, passing woods of straight masts and crooked trees, suddenly in front of me was the wide open sea. A strip of playa placed between Mediteranean and city. Breaking stride, a laugh broke from me. A surprise gift of a beach town next to downtown. Then turning back was better. Reflected on the rivers, waters I´ve run by in the past 10 days. Liffey, Seine, bay of Catalonia. Smell of Seine alternated between crepe or crap. On this waterfront tides of scent fluctuate between sewer and salt. Comparing cobblestones of Paris to careful smooth tracks between the palms of Barcelona to low boardwalks along the Liffey. I love travelling. Light and language sound on the stones differently here. Far more foreign than a Dublin accent on my language or fluid French´s familiar tones, Spanish surrounds and drowns delightfully in a stream of words I can fish no meaning from. And the sunlight is not like any I´ve seen before. Not like Paris where buildings hold daylight and glow sharp and clear against sky. Sun here strong enough to burn through sunscreen but also mild. Diffuse. A haze of light. It illuminates and obscures as my pictures squint against omnipresent, scattered sun. The buildings are faded from repeated washes of light but the colors have not worn out their cheerfulness. Neither have people. Looking for Seema´s favorite place, climbing hills out of Park Guell with maps in hand, a woman took ten, fifteen minutes to explain to us how to get there. Thought about different ways, argued with two older gentlemen, called them crazy, got called hard-headed by man with bifocals and a gray head. Three of them arguing, laughing. Three of us laughing, looking at each other and at the six of us standing between Spanish and English on a street corner. Did I mention I love travel?
