Chapter 4: Explosive Catalan Street JamboreeI arrive late to my apartment, a good distance from where the tourists have stomped the city into submission. I enter my key into the alley door, and a rumbling stirs from behind me, maybe a few hundred meters back. I stand alert, keys dangling from the lock, and I drift slowly to the end of the alley to peer. My careful walk is interrupted by a series of bangs and cracks that startle the inner workings of my brain.
At first, I assume rabbles of young Catalans are behind this raucous, but there's something synchronized about this disruption--It's drums. From beneath the cracks of fireworks, there's a fierce and steady beat that only bass drums provide. Immediately, I discern the acute snaps of snares, as well. It's a street parade, but it's not coming from one direction.
The noise begins to surround me, and my head swivels to find the source. I snatch my keys from the door and set off down the cobble stoned alley in an indeterminate direction. I'm perplexed as there's no sign of people down any street. I'm in a residential neighborhood, and it's fiercely loud. Why is no one noticing this?
Smoke seeps around a poorly lit corner. First, lurking through the cobble stones, and then up, dispersing amid the surrounding buildings. I pick up the pace, and self-determined, I put my head down slightly, hands in my pockets, and encounter the smoke. I turn the corner, a flash disorients me, and I pull my head to the side, against some centuries-old facade. I desire to move away, but can't, as I've found the mob.
I feverishly gain my senses, only to realize, I'm being funneled by the mob in one collectively understood direction. The mind-splitting blasts of the fireworks fades from attention, and I notice we're arriving in the village square--dark, cafe-lined, and governed physically by the Catholic church.
There are multiple drum teams, and they battle each other, with quickening paces, tribal choreography, and primal screams. I find a corner to lean in. Amid the drum teams are cloaked men, masked, and with horns like demons. These are the men responsible for the cracks that first peaked my attention. They run wild, acting as though just escaping their subterranean hell. They wield primitive pitchforks, and attached, are spiraling firecrackers that dazzle the mind. From my lean, I find myself sitting, consuming this sumptuous feast for the sense.
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Alright, so I take some of my feelings from yesterday back. Other than the Gaudi architecture, I found some aspects of Barcelona I like very much. However, I find that there is a great amount of division between tourist Barcelona and the local Barcelona. And the tourists treat this city like Vegas East.
La Rambla, the main tourist drag, full of shops, restaurants, and clubs, is ridiculous. I mean, if you enjoy dodging peddlers, two-bit thieves, and douche-bags, then by all means. But I don't get it. It was 3am, and there were thousands upon thousands of people on this street. Generally, though, Barcelonans operate at a later time frame. They live normally--just push the frame back four hours.
But the Gothic quarter, little tapas bars, and liveliness of the people are great. Also, It was hard to tell who was actually a native of this city. Inhabitants spanned the whole skin color spectrum. This is a strange city--gritty, gleamed over by tourism, dangerous, exclusive, sumptuous, and lively all at the same time. Not my favorite, but I don't regret coming.
READING: The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
LISTENING:
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