Never in my life could I have imagined how much it was possible to miss a place, or rather a feeling, as much as I miss Barcelona. Right now. My Barcelona. The phrase above is well known to anyone who has enjoyed a day at the beach in BCN. The hard working, sweaty men in their dirty T-shirts, running around la playa with their plastic bags filled with (more or less) cold beverages, shouting out in their monotonous voices what they can offer of refreshments. I miss them. I even miss the group of Asian women trying very hard to give you a massage. Looking back I wish I had accepted, just to have tried it, and also to support them; people with that level of persistency should be rewarded.
I miss the smell of salty ocean mixed with exhaust. I miss the sand beneath my feet. I miss the architecture, I miss Las Ramblas, and the parks. I miss being scared of the transvestic prostitutes in the parks. I miss the surprisingly simple metro system. I miss stumbling across great artists on a random corner doing their thing. I miss eating tapas, I miss how proud I felt having eaten squid the first time. I miss the fountain show at Plaza Catalunya, the incredible week that is the festival La Mercé, salsa-dancing, the market, the Lidl-store on my block, Milka chocolate and shots on fire. I miss staying out dancing till 6am. and going to school at 9am. I miss the building shaped like a giant blue penis. But most of all, and this is what has got me all nostalgic and depressed and is the reason why I've eaten two liters of ice cream tonight; I miss the people. Thank God I'll be seeing some of them again soon.
I was lucky to spend three months in this wonderful city. It's been five months since I came home, and to this day, everytime I hear Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballe sing Barcelona, I weep like a baby.
