Barcelon-ahhhh

29 Jan

Catalonia, Spain

My heart laughs. And with it, every inch of this city to which I am now attached for life.

Life.

Everything is living here, so much so that one must watch where he walks, as even the Ramblas themselves animate underfood with children, beggars, pigeons.

The buildings smile and wink, all happy gargoyles and fantasmic whimsy.

Beauty.

Beauty glows from every old woman to every lover, smoking a cigarette. It is not so much that the physical is beautiful, which it is, but moreso that the city as a life force pulses and plays with such a happy gait as to mimic a fairytale princess, having just been kissed and waking.

Colors.

Fascist and Socialist drab have been splashed, Splashed! by a wild vat of paint by a mad artist, gold and red, blue and green.

Movement.

It is the movement of beings within a city that so defines it, and here, everything moves. The long passagiatta after lunch becomes a joyful parade of cars, bikes, scooters, animals. The Gaudis rotate and flip.

Passion

Love embraces all here. Two walk, helmet in one hand, cigarette in the other, somehow still embracing, still kissing eachother´s necks, backs.

Warmth. All smiles. The little girl as she cries with gless, running through the coven of pigeons in the plaza. The bowtied barista at the art nouveaux cafe, smiling as he brings me a real frothy capuccino, underneat pictures of Maria Callas and Grecian sprites.

Whimsy

My heart laughs. And with it, the city.

Salud!

This is how a city was meant, the grand exhibition of all my lessons, all my books.

****

I am not the only one writing here... a quick glance reveals another, scribbling thoughts onto a page.

Elderly drinking beer, clink clank of plates as the bar man whistles. Fast spoken Catalan. Both familiar and strange to hear.

This port city embodies it all - Paris, Rome, and the place of dreams that lies between.