Back in Barça

Breakfast on the terrace: cafe, biscuits, pa amb tomaquet, queso, fresh peaches.

I.
Rain is falling in Barcelona. Thunder and some lightening too.  On Thursday, I followed a new friend through the hot, humid, cloudy city to a bike-church-type project at a casa okupa called Can Vies. I met this young Lithuanian kid when he landed accidentally at the BiciPop taller that I was doing at Gilad’s co*op.  This guy has been in the city for a handful of months and doesn’t speak much Spanish or Catalan, but he’s learned the DIY/okupa scene by heart. He is a quirky tour guide and roaming the city with him is a fun way to pass the time: always by bicycle, and usually involving a circuit of dumpsters that might contain things that should not have been thrown out. “You know that in Europe 40% of the food is thrown away?!” he declares in a thick former Soviet Republic accent. And I believe it.

The Lithuanian philosophizing while leaning against a tree in Plaza Madrid.

We were speeding down Gran Vía on Friday night, beater bikes making funny noises. He skids to a stop and picks up a six-pack of full bottles of soda that had been sitting near the trash. “Look at this!” he exclaims and straps them onto his bike rack. I led the way up to Montjuïc to sit on the steps of the Museum of Catalan Art and look down on the city. He drinks soda and makes bad jokes about Americans. I chuckle. There is really nothing better to do.

II.
I am staying with Anna for a few days. She lives right in the middle of the Barri Gotic and it’s bonita to be surrounded by all the commotion. Surrounded by, but not a part of. Anna is from Sicily and she lives on the top floor of a building near Plaza Madrid. There is a terrace where we sit often, for breakfast, to enjoy the sun of the afternoon, and to listen to the chaos of the Rambla in the evening. We have passed the days talking and drinking coffee slowly, over meals of (perfectly cooked) pasta and fresh vegetables. I’ve done some errands in preparation for my tour, and when Anna comes home after work we go window shopping and look for the cheapest places to buy food at the market. Anna is ten times more expressive than the Catalans, and so they respond to her with affectionate, knowing laughs or with “tranquila, cariña, no te asustes.” I smile, proud to have a friend who is so courageous and passionate about the price of lemons.

Today it is sunny and it is Sunday. We slept in, but not too late, so that when we went down to look for a cafe, there still weren’t too many tourists. We wound through the old stone streets away from la Rambla, passing the closed shops and still empty cafes. We walked past numerous bakeries before we found a very good one and we bought three pastries, but this place did not have coffee, so we moved on. On the Plaza Rei, we sat at some tables outside and ordered café con leche and orange juice. After we had been served, we pulled the croissant xocolat and the thing that Anna had ordered out of the bags and ate them dipped in coffee. We were the only customers, but tourists seeped into the plaza and out of the doors of the adjacent museum. We sat there for a long time, until the sun had moved and was shinning in my eyes. I moved my chair and Anna smoked a cigarette and then we got up and walked on.

In the plaza in front of the cathedral there was a band playing traditional Catalan music and some old people dancing in circles, many of them wearing espadrilles. No one looked like they were enjoying themselves, but they continued dancing and they kept the rhythm and the strong form of the dance as through it were an important thing to do. They looked proud, solemn. There was a faire of antiques also, but the sun was hot and we walked back to the apartment.

~ by Elaina on July 8, 2009.