the night of st joan

Last night the streets of Barcelona were filled with smoke. In every direction there were fireworks and firecrackers of every kind. Children were allowed to stay out until all hours of the night playing with fire whilst there adults just sat calmly by, not even blinking. Old drunken men sang Catalán songs, heads and bottles hanging out of the window as they watched the kids set off more rockets. I heard more than one ambulance last night.

I arrived to my flat at about midnight, just in time to take off to the beach with my flatmate and her mates. The trains were packed. We went to one of the further beaches (PobleNou)and nearly lost one another in the smoke. It was easy to do. If you moved more than a few meters away, your friends became ghosts in the night.

As I walked along the streets, I couldn't help but imagine Barcelona in the Civil War. It must of been like that...the smoke, the gunshots in the distance and sometimes too close. Even the drunken men singing into the night- why not?

This morning at half past 7am as I made my solitary way home (the flatmate and her mates were still going), I saw a Barcelona not yet gone to bed. All the young people in yesterday's clothing and the old people sitting on the benches to make commentaries on the passing youths. A couple of old men engaged me in conversation, but were nice enough to let me be on my way and they told me where to find the metro.

This afternoon as I got up at lunchtime, I saw a Barcelona that looked a little hungover. The streets hadn't been cleaned and there were the remains of firecrackers, spray-string, bottles and trash everywhere. All the shops and most of the bars were closed.

que vida