Barcelona

There’s an American guy eating fried noodles at the end of my bed. He happily admits being too drunk to climb the ladder that leads to his bed above mine. Everything in Barcelona feels like madness. There’s this libertine, artistic atmosphere. It’s the mixture of very different people, deep in the night, peeling off their limitations, and their sun-burned skin. It’s the banker gone wild on his acoustic guitar – so happy he was making money he could actually see!

I was only there for a weekend, and when I went out on the streets with my new friends, I took a good look at them. There was a Spanish guy with Dumbo ears, an American with an Burberry-collared, orange t-shirt (the combination fascinated me), The Canadian carrying his trumpet & saxophone, the other Canadian carrying the cannabis-absinth bottle, the older girl from Portugal and me.

I wish I had told the guy with the Dumbo ears the story of the little Chinese boy who got saved by his flappy ears when he almost fell off the balcony. His ears got stuck behind the railing and saved his life.  The Canadian offered me a sip from his bottle, but I refused. What is it with some tourists and their dying need to drench their bodies into the worst possible alcohol? Too bad it often led to hilarious conversations, so to all the drunks out there: I shall not judge..


Someone turned left and rang at a crackled door. It was night, but still early for Barcelona. We went up the staircase, up to the 7th floor. It smelled of cat piss and rotten wood, and the European stairs cracked under our weight. I could see the Americans and Canadians were excited – all of this was “so Europe“..

We fell into a student apartment, with old couches and little tables, bottles in the corner and the smell of micro wave pizza. Nobody seemed to bother about cleanliness, none of them were thinking: ‘I could never live here’ or ‘look at those stains’,… We all knew this was a place where people were roaming freely, without the fear of staining the carpet, of breaking lamps, of… This house maybe smelled somewhat, but it was convivial and homey. You could feel there were people walking in and out all night and day, and the spirit of randomness made it intoxicating. The Canadians got drunk and I laughed.

I took a good look at the company and felt happy. I was nowhere with nobody. Nobody cared about your life, your education, your income. All that mattered was who you were right there in that moment, and how happy you were with being lost. I have learned it to be a good memory and a good lesson. Whenever I get caught up in dark thinking or stress, I think of that moment, where tomorrow is far away, where only the moment counts, and where everything is young, wild and free.

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