The Twelfth Blog Of Trig - The Barcelona Diaries (Part 3 - 02/07/2011)

Okay, I'm catching slowly up with the present, day by day. It's the fourth of August now, and I am about to write up my notes from my third day in Barcelona, 32 days ago. I might have to do a brief summary of the course itself when I finally get around to it, otherwise I worry that my backlog will get worse and I'll spend the rest of my life writing about the past, which is just a horrible idea. So anyway, Saturday it is...

I woke up fairly early as always, a bit of the 'morning glory' keeping me face down and smiling for a while before I noticed the light in the room, and my mind ascended into reality. I opened my eyes slightly and then quickly shut them tight, pulled a sheet over my head, put my arm over the sheet blocking my eyes and went back to sleep. Very soon the sound of the birds outside had gotten the better of me and I was up.

I went downstairs and had some cereal and then a cup of tea, which I took up to the roof terrace with me to smoke a cigarette. Once I smoked I did a couple of exercises, couple of press-ups, then went downstairs to my room and surfed the net a while.

I heard Alan call my name and I answered. He asked if I fancied going out to grab some food and get a little orientation round the area. I gladly accepted and we left soon after, heading up to the local food market, then on to the local shopping centre. Now, I hate shopping centres. I walk into Brent Cross and a migraine appears and I want to break shop windows, but this was a nice place. Expensive, but nice.

We sat down at a sushi counter and Alan ordered two glasses of Cava. Very nice. We sat there and chatted, and, almost inevitably when you are talking to me, we got onto discussing the banking system and how corrupt and detrimental to society it is. I somehow got onto conspiracies of all kinds such as 9-11 and 7-7, telling him about all the evidence that points to conspiracy and my theories on it all. We talked of various issues in the world for some time, before we finished our glasses and left to get some food. We wandered the Barcelona streets for a while before stopping at a cafe. I had a very mediocre chicken and chips and then paid for lunch since Alan had bought me dinner the first night. Then we headed back to the house.

After we got back I decided I was going to go and see the 'Neucamp' Stadium a couple of miles away, and I set off with my map and not much else. I bought some beer on my way, thinking it would be nice to have a couple somewhere. It took me a while to get there, but it was one road all the way so no risk of getting lost...and I actually didn't.

I arrived at the Neucamp stadium and was a little disappointed. It is a hideous building of grey stone from the outside. Still, took a couple of pictures and carried on round to the far side of the stadium where I found some cool graffiti. I took a few pictures and then walked on to find a large concrete playing ground the size of a medium sized football field, with a number of Asian guys playing cricket and sitting around.  A high wall went around the perimeter of the playing ground, saturated with what from a distance seemed to be very nice graffiti. I wandered in as a group of them were leaving, saying 'ola' to one who seemed to want a stare battle with me, took a couple of photos, and left straight after, feeling slightly out of place.

Looking at my map I saw that I could walk down one main road and be a couple of blocks from where I was staying, and there was also a park on the way that I could check out, and maybe stop for a beer.

I set off, eyes all around me soaking up the noises of the city. As I approached the park I noticed a couple in wedding dress outside the park, looking like they had just been married. I knew I had seen something appropriate in my little Spanish book so I pulled it out and flicked through until I found the right page. "Felicitaciones!" I said with a smile as I passed them. "Gracias senor."

I walked into the park and wasn't too impressed. There was some nice fountains but the water in the pools was very dirty and the park looked un-maintained in general. It was nice, but could have been much nicer with a little work. I did not spend long in there.

As I approached Les Corts a little further down the road I recognised the shopping centre I had visited earlier with Alan. I knew my way home! I was deciding to go and have a beer or two on the balcony back home when I suddenly heard drums coming from the side roads. I had to stop and investigate and was fascinated to find children running down the road in fireproof demon costumes, with catherine wheels on sticks, stopping running when the wheels stopped spinning as they exploded above their heads. I later learned this is called 'Corre Foc' by the Catalan people, or 'fire running'. They were being led through the side-streets slowly by the drummers, cycling back to their group leader to have new fireworks attached to their sticks. I got my camera out and started filming. I had to avoid the white-hot sparks as they ran past, and as I was crouching filming one runner, his firework flew off, and without me noticing, landed next to me. It then exploded a couple of feet from my head, sending my head spinning and my ears ringing (see video at the top).

After an hour or more watching the show it finished, and everyone watching cheered and clapped. I did likewise and then left to make my way home. As I passed another road I heard more drumming, this time more accurate and professional sounding, so once again I followed my ears to the source and found another two groups of older, more experienced drummers hammering out great rhythms. There was a crowd surrounding them as they marched through the streets to their beats, with older, more adventurous fire-runners ahead of them. These guys did not shy away from the sparks and the fire, they attacked each other with it. They ran at each other with lances like 'Roman Candles', covering each other in sparks. After following them for twenty minutes or so we came to a busy square full of many more drummers, locals, a stage and a bar. I sat down to watch the party.

The drummers and fire-runners performed for a long while on-and-off, stopping at around 11pm (a guess), when a band started playing on the stage. I had already had a couple of my beers at this point, and I cracked open a few more and just sat on a bench watching the festivities around me.

A photographer documenting the party sat down next to me and spoke in Spanish. He looked about 55 at a guess. "Ingles", I said, pointing to myself. He acknowledged me but his silence told me that he did not speak any English. We both sat there checking out the scene in front of us silently, when I caught a whiff of rotten eggs. He tapped me on the shoulder and made a smoking motion while saying something I did not understand, pointing at the group of people sitting on the floor near us. I did not understand him, and motioned this to him. He made like he was injecting something into his arm and then the smoking motion again. I understood. He was telling me that the egg smell was heroin and that they were smoking it.

The party went on as I finished my beers, soaking up the atmosphere happily, smoking far too many cigarettes. I looked up at the clock tower above me and it was midnight! I had been following the fire-runners, drummers, and sitting watching the party for almost five hours! I was a little tired and decided it was time to leave. The photographer had left a while back so I left the party without a goodbye and vanished into the side streets. Within ten minutes I was in bed.

Saturday over. One more day until I start my CELTA course, and really, it would have been stupid not to make it a beach day.

This is "The Twelfth Blog Of Trig", signing off.