One of these days, the city of Barcelona will be but an entry in my
memoirs. A mere peppercorn in the mill of my life as a whole, but what a
glorious little peppercorn it is! Packed with punch, bite and heat. I
shall sit in my rocking chair, cast my gaze over the misty English hills
and remember a time when I was all over Barcelona. I
shan’t remember things exactly as they were, rather, I will compose a
golden day drawn from all my favourite elements so very perfect that I
will almost believe that it was true and tell anyone who will listen
that once, I lived like a queen.
As I cast my withered brains back, I will see myself, young and ripe,
pulling myself from a heavy slumber, tossing on my glad rags and
throwing open the giant green doors to my Raval flat and emerging into
the glorious sunshine.
I will trot past the merry drunks at the
fountain, ignore their chipper cries of ‘RUBIAAAA’ and, turning the
corner, I will see my pal Marcos putting out a little stool and
preparing me the city’s best cortado at Satan’s Coffee Corner (c/ Peu de la Creu, 22).
We will sit for a time and talk about small pleasures in life before
some other stray will join us and add another thread to the spinning web
of conversation.
Soon I will become hungry, lick the last of the foam
from my cup, detangle myself and head to the Boqueria market for a fresh
juice and samosa while also making a fleeting visit to the fishy faces,
who always inspire me to write a ‘tail’ or two. I will say “Where did
you come from little gamba?” and he will look at me with sad, black
eyes.
Papaya and coconut juice in hand, I will meander through the damp
streets of the old Jewish quarter, seeing stories of an old and brave folk, that
was treated most wickedly, reflected in the stone and I will take a
moment to pause and respect the many lives that were lost there.
Stopping a while to gawp at the windows of La Basilica Galleria (c/ Sant Sever, 7),
I will muster up the monedas to buy myself the darling cat brooch with
the ruby eyes and then sail along my merry way to my favourite place of
all. The Encants Flea Market (Glòries metro)
will be unusually full of vintage cola cao tins and children’s books
brimming with bright-eyed illustrations of woodland creatures and I will
be in my element, filling my boots and boisterously bartering.
Such intense work will require a return to my flat, past the slumberous
crack addicts who will call out to congratulate me on my flea finds.
“Que mapa, guapa!”. Cat-napping for no more than twenty minutes, I will
then generously slice myself some fresh tomato with spring onion, add
some slippery anchovies and I will watch as evening creeps in.
A quick shower and touch of makeup later and I will free myself of my
hermitary and head up to Poble Sec where I will meet with a small posse
of pals in the bustling Quimet y Quimet (c/ Poeta Cabanyes, 25).
We will munch on montaditos piled high with smoked salmon and drizzled
with truffled honey before making our way to C/ Parlament, where
charming haunt Vinito (c/ Parlament de Catalunya, 27) awaits
us and we shall guzzle our way through glass upon glass of Vermut
Negro, birthed mellifluously from the barrel. It is highly likely we’ll
end up with plates of Queso de Zamora and Lomo Iberico, because that’s
just what we do. We’re beasts like that.
Suitably sauced, we will giddily gallivant in the direction of Albert Adria’s 41 Degrees (Avinguda del Paral·lel, 164)
for sweet basil cocktails. Propping up the bar, my mind will propel me
sixty years into the future and I will wave joyously to my rocking-chair
self before turning to my pals and impishly insisting that we jump the
fence into Montjuïc’s Olympic Swimming Pool. A taxi ride later we will
be throwing off our clothes and diving in, the cool water and panoramic
city view will render us stupefied and together we will marvel at the
power of our youth and the beauty of Barcelona