At home in Barcelona

Our apartment is at Calle Joaquin Costa 56, in El Raval district. There are 50 stairs up to our studio flat on the second (but really third) floor, fortunately there is an elevator, so on those days when encumbered by bottles of cheap wine and Cava, food from the market or when we just can't face the staircase after walking ten miles we can simply take the lift.

There are many reasons we felt immediately at home here. On our arrival, almost three weeks ago now , Meghna and Lori , our excellent friends from Vancouver, had already been in the apartment for two nights. They had it stocked up with snacks and beer and coffee. Meghna had made the acquaintance of her "peeps" as she called them, the mostly Pakistanis and other South Asians who run the many small food stores and restaurants all up and down our street. She had no need for Spanish since they communicated in Urdu or English. Spanish and possibly Catalan are added to the many languages the average immigrant to Barcelona speaks. Meghna and Lori knew where things were, where to shop, had scoped out the best, cheap, street eats and had the metro figured out. It was like visiting friends who have moved to a new town. We were very glad to spend our first week in their company, since we are missing our friends very much, and someone finally (Meghna) to take some excellent pictures of Yvonne and I together. More about our visit with Meghna and Lori in the next blog episode: "Touring with Meghna and Lori".

Inside our new digs, we have a super comfortable, well organized space which felt very familiar since it is all furnished and equipped by IKEA. Even the art on the wall looks like small canvases I have seen on the IKEA shelves. Does IKEA mean feeling at home like McDonald's means, (well what does it mean?) in the global economy.

Our balcony overlooks Calle de Valldonzella, right below us on the corner is The Betty Ford, a very cute bar (happy hour 10-midnight) and just across from us is Manchester another teeny bar. On the warm nights, in the first few weeks we were here, the whole street became the smoking section /bar extension and so from midnight to four it was like sleeping at an all night party where you are invisible. Later about 4:30 comes the sounds of BCNeta! trucks. (Barcelona Ciutat Neta), Barcelona Clean City.

A Small Aside: You cannot walk out the door or go anywhere without seeing the white BCNeta! vehicles, operated by energy efficient means. There are the regular garbage trucks that pick up from the numerous garbage and recycling bins at least once a day. There are the little trucks with the big rotating, brussels ,brush bottoms that scrub the streets. There are the small trucks that are accompanied by street sweepers with medieval looking brooms sweeping up debris. Finally the power washer trucks. Yvonne and I were almost eliminated by a power washer hosing down the streets of Barcelonetta the other afternoon. There is literally an army of city workers making sure that Barcelona is all neat, clean and tidy. I really admire their commitment to clean.

Now back to our story: Once the BCNeta! trucks have passed there is a glorious one or maybe two hours of silence, perhaps a couple walking by in quiet conversation, a dog barking , the sound of rolling luggage, someone catching an early morning plane? Then the workers to work and children to school and the echoing of tons of metal shutters rolling up letting daylight into apartments and opening shops and bakeries and restaurants. It is time to get up to the sound of a street vendors shouting "Helio" announcing gas canisters re-filling. BUT My all time favorite sound happens later in the day, about 7PM, when a young man un-self-consciously passes by the balcony clapping out a flamenco rhythm all the way down the street, on his way home from music school I imagine, the rhythm echoes excellently against the old stone buildings and sometimes people come out on their balconies and join him clapping out the particular rhythm.

It was great to arrive somewhere and finally be able to speak the language. To make myself understood, ask for what I wanted, eavesdrop efficiently and generally have some nuance in my language life... Ahh but this was not to be. In Catalonia they speak Catalan. The signs are in Catalan, the writing on the wall is Catalan, it is the first language on the lips of passers by and apparently of some seven million speakers in this neighbourhood as well as the official government language. Its use was banned by the fascist Franco dictatorship (1939-1975) but Catalan has seen an amazing resurgence since Franco's death, both by recovering works from the past and by stimulating the creation of new works. Many shadows of Quebec.

All ready to communicate, I am sometimes stymied by a complete mis-understanding of this sometimes Spanish words- sometimes French words- sometimes Italian words- Catalan language which when spoken I don't understand at all. No, it is not Dutch or Turkish or Greek or Italian but we are in Spain and I still don't completely understand which has been making me feel quite at home and really takes the pressure off the get up to speed on Spanish motivation. I don't understand? Why they must be speaking Catalan, since I speak Spanish, don't I......??????

I have been so happy to eat curry and falafel's and shwarmas, the flavors I have been missing and are now available, very economically ,right outside my door. Yvonne has been cooking Catalan recipes and is so inspired by the restaurants and the available food. We live in-between two fantastic food markets.We shop for food (and clothes too) at the Mercat de San Antoni housed in temporary tents while the old market building from 1888 grand exhibition is under -restoration ( The market stall owners tell me it may be under renovations for ten years, though the authorities tell us five. The famous Boqueria Market , just off La Ramble, is where we go to snack on fried cod pieces, and other delicious snacks. We now have our favorite stall owners who are happy to talk about the various products, engage in some translation, recommend and let us taste the best cheeses, sausages olives etc.

Barcelona is so beautiful, so modern and styli, everything seems new, while at the same time old and elegant. The golden age in this city was in the 1300 for god's sake. The buildings are beautiful. The sculpture is beautiful, the respect for art and books and culture, the wide boulevards the modernist lampposts the fantastic public transit, the shoes and museums the designs, everything is accessible or in the process of being made accessible. The population is multicultural and people from all over the world seem to have landed here. Like New York, it seems to be a city of its own making not part of any country, but unto its own, and playing by its own rules.

Now the rainy season has begun in earnest and we could be in Vancouver....

And these are some reasons why I feel so at home in Barcelona.