Love letter to Barcelona.
Oh, our beloved Barcelona . And I say ours because I haven't met anyone who doesn't feel it is theirs after spending time in it, be it a few hours, a year or a lifetime. The cosmopolitan city, the one that welcomes everyone wherever they are from and speak the language they speak . The monumental city, the one to which they sang at the top of their lungs Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballe . Do you remember how it sounded at those 1992 Olympics?
The neighborhood Barcelona , the one sung by Peret, the master of the Catalan rumba . yes, our gypsy sorceress malabum, more beautiful than the sun . Because Barcelona sounds like sardana but also like Spanish guitar (and swing, especially on weekends). And the international, that always, the one that Gaudí and Modernism put on the map in the 19th century.
That of the peripheries. Yes, that's ours too. The one who speaks broken Catalan with pride and always says goodbye with a good-bye or good-bye. And also the one who prefers a *** t'estimo *** to a I love you. The one that resurfaces like a Phoenix Bird over and over again...
The Liceo, the Phoenix of La Rambla.
We've seen her cry too much these last few years , and agonize somewhat in solitude this 2020, when the tourists left and even their neighbors stayed at home having to contemplate all its beauty from their windows. In this Sant Jordi so atypical with roses on the balconies and closed bookstores . But she always, powerful, will shine brightly again.
We will return with more enthusiasm if possible to walk along the Rambla de la Flores , to see and listen to the music from the Liceo (another Ave Fénix), we will return for that cold beer at Leo Bar in Barceloneta, and we will dance and jump in a concert in the Apollo room Like never before, that's for sure! We will 'ravalear' any day, sooner rather than later, and we will end up in the Canete asking for one more round… And I can't wait to return to Gràcia! And eat sushi at Kibuka, which is almost as Barcelona-like as pà amb tomàquet.
Barceloneta, the sun always shines here!
And we will arrive walking to the sea, to Barceloneta, to cross it from end to end on a sunny day. And we will eat an arròs a banda or senyoret if possible, or some cargols a la llauna, or some bravas, because there is nothing else in Barcelona than some bravas and some cuttlefish.
And we will visit the Sagrada Familia, which is about time, right? And we will have a vermouth to the health of 2021 in the neighborhood of Sant Antoni , that we leave the brunch for London. With the Espinaler, that is never lacking, and the * sifó *, that either.
Farem una volta per Sants, what wonderful secret corners!, and we will pay a visit to the Born Market and we will see it in the distance, from Collserola, walking through its forests. Although it won't be long before we miss the asphalt, because we Barcelonans are like that. We love the city, going to the theater and museums. We take to the streets as soon as we hear main festival And we splurge love for the city on the rooftops, well to the terrat of all life.
Those who do not know Barcelona will tell you to go to the Bunkers del Carmel to see it at sunset, but everyone knows that where Barcelona is most beautiful at that time of day is precisely in a terrace with a good wine and forever friends.
The Barcelona of the writers who have made us dream of it.
And let me add something else: its illustrious writers and writers . The first to leave us those love letters to the city that have been able to turn any humble alley or square into an unforgettable story.
You're not from Barcelona if you haven't read** 'La Plaça del Diamant' by Merçé Rodoreda**, and you've accompanied little Daniel to the cemetery of forgotten books in** 'La Sombra del viento' by Carlos Ruíz Zafón** and all those colorful characters of Eduardo Mendoza in 'The city of prodigies' . Well, and you knew that story in which an alien landed at the Autonomous University with the body of Marta Sánchez.
You won't live the same city either if you haven't read 'Last afternoons with Teresa' by Juan Marsé or it will have penetrated you very deep reading Nothing by Carmen Laforet . And Santa Maria del Mar was never as beautiful as in the words of Ildefondo Falcones in 'The Cathedral of the Sea'.
Oh, and I forgot! We never liked Barcelona more than in the eyes of Pedro Almodóvar in 'Todo sobre mi madre'. How could I not win an Oscar with such scenarios?
Some have insisted on putting labels on it, that if Barcelona is bona si la bossa sona, Italian merchants said about it a century ago, but make no mistake, we are always going to stay with the one that says: Both if it sounds and if it doesn't, Barcelona is good.
Pretty you are...