It’s September, yet peak holiday season in Barcelona is far from over. Sunlight is faded but the warmth of summer lingers on. The only sign that another season is approaching is in the subtle darkening of the leaves, and those now fallen that curl and crunch under foot.
I’m standing on a narrow balcony that hugs the corner of a centuries-old building in the old town. A light breeze ripples Catalunian flags that hang, some torn, from windows and lifts a sweet scent from the confectionery shops below. This – somehow not unpleasantly – combines with the faint smell of motorbike fumes, as their exhausts erupt through the narrow streets of the Old City. The yellow, cream, and orange paintwork lining its buildings cracks, as exotic plants nest around them.
La Parc d’Catalunya is a large, green space intersected with wide, sandy pathways. It is well maintained with bold, abstract sculptures and flowering hedges. The air is humid as green parakeets and songbirds scratch at the earth and each other. I notice a densely packed circle of pigeons pecking a patch of seeds in the near distance. They perform a Mexican Wave as a muddy Labrador chases between them, from one end to the other.
Walking down to the harbour, I stumble upon a rooftop bar decorated with awning white parasols, a curved white bar laden with a comprehensive selection of each spirit, cheap plastic stools, and a narrow chrome and glass surface along the edge of the roof. Trapped in a previous decade, it offers views of a renovated harbour with yachts, motorboats, and cruise ships to the nouveau riche clientelle.
The venue contains a small number of Wicca sofas, presented in a row that is inset adjacent to the balcony opening. Each set of sofas and chairs is divided by a wall of large leafed plants ambitiously climbing to separate one noisy dwelling of jewellery laden tourists from another.
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I start my next day at the Santa Maria cathedral located in the Old City. It’s a magnificent building with more than a dozen octagonal pillars that branch into a series of arches. Between each of these is a set of stain glass windows, some depicting tessellating patterns, others featuring flowers or docile, saintly figures.
As I walk on the bridge that leads to an entertainment complex, I notice several street traders standing behind small blankets, each laid out with an assortment of souvenirs, some selling large handbags and rucksacks. I notice how, at this end of the harbour, there are Asian salesmen, and at the other there are African.
Curious as to why there is this division, I ask one seller who tells me that there are only three different nationalities here: Pakistani, Senegalese and Bangladeshi. He suggested that there was a deliberate division between them, pointing past the other boats gently rocking in the moonlit harbour: “Only Senegalese work over there”. I ask why, but he doesn’t give a straight answer.
Suddenly, he starts stacking the fridge magnets I was browsing as his entire line of salesmen pick up their stalls and hasten down the other side of the bridge. The police have arrived.
What follows is a very efficient operation: each row of stalls has their own sentinel on the lookout for flashing blue lights. In anticipation of this escape routine, some sellers have attached a cord to each corner of their blanket which is tied together in the middle. With one gesture, a seller can bundle up his goods and ensure that he or she is out of sight in seconds.
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Today is the 11th September 2014 and the 300th anniversary of the siege of Barcelona. Catalonians have gathered across central Barcelona to celebrate their distinctive culture and demand independence from Spain. I learn that there are about two million people taking part in today’s parade, with most of the activity stretching across Avenida Diagonal, a main road that intersects the city.
Before I reach the parade, I walk towards the Arc de Triomf, in front of which a group of Catalunians perform a traditional dance. Further along, there is live folk music playing next to shopping and game stalls. These activities are overcome by a distant eruption of motorbike engines rippling through the plaza. They rally together, press their horns, and proceed to circle the plaza repeatedly.
Walking through the celebration along Avenida Diagonal is like experiencing a snapshot of modern Catalunian culture. I’m amazed at the connection between the old and the new, as a cross-generational mass of people come together in a show of vibrant cultural nationalism.
In the middle of the parade, I see young children and adolescents alongside adults and pensioners brought together by this celebration and acknowledgement of their collective identity.
Symbolic of this intergenerational gathering are the Castells erected in the parade. These human towers consist of an adult base pushing towards the centre whilst younger adults assume positions nearer the top. The tower is complete when a child, typically younger than the age of ten, climbs to its peak to great applause. As I look down the warmly sunlit Avenida Diagonal, I see a number of Castells standing simultaneously, creating a contour amid the sea of yellow and red t-shirts, worn to resemble the Catalunian flag.
Even as an outsider, I am easily drawn into the atmosphere of unity, however temporary it might be. With all the smiles, the music, and the chanting – ‘i – inda – indapendencia!’ – I can’t contain the grin on my face.
© Copyright by Leo Garbutt 2016. All Rights Reserved.
Leo Garbutt 