A City in Flames

If you were to picture a scene of a city filled with burning intersections, screaming people, explosives flying at you, and deafening blasts sounding every few seconds from every possible direction, you might be tempted to think of a bloody revolution. But think again. The citizens of Barcelona and all the other Catalonian cities would very loudly protest your assumption. Welcome to the Festival of St. Joan, a Catalonian tradition that takes its roots from the celebration of the arrival of the summer solstice from paganism. And I wasn't joking about the burning intersections. Literally, many of the major ones throughout the city had 10 foot tall stacks of wood planks and old furniture sitting right in the middle, surrounded by feeble metal fence-like blockades the city placed in an attempt to keep its citzens from catching themselves on fire. Similarly to the Olympics, a runner carrying a lit torch runs through the city during the evening's celebrations and lights all the bonfires as he arrives at them. They then proceed to burn all night with what appeared to be no supervision other than the throngs of people surrounding them and throwing fireworks into the flames.

It was a very intense evening. We rode a bus completely packed with people down to the beach which was similarly filled with people. Everyone was shooting off their own fireworks every which way. You really needed to be aware of your surroundings to avoid having drunk people light firecrackers in your shoes  (which almost happened to Alex thanks to a crazy Chilean woman causing some serious mayhem behind us). I fondly remember one particular moment when I happened to notice a spark of light out of the corner of my eye only to realize it was an unopened Heineken can sitting just a few feet behind me with a firecracker of unknown strength burning down on top of it. I yelled and jumped forward spilling everything out of my pockets into the sand just as the can exploded and flew several more feet to the right, spitting beer foam and smoke everywhere and eliciting hoots and laughter from everyone who witnessed it.

Before all this ridiculousness, however, we had quite an enjoyable stay in Barcelona. Michael's and my friend Matt, a recent graduate of Columbia University, has been living in Barcelona for the past year teaching English. He graciously became our host for the city, spending time with us and taking us to some of the more hidden gems of the city almost the entire time we were there. Our first night, after failing to get into the best tapas bar in the city, he took us to a tiny, sketchy, hole-in-the-wall restaurant where you could get full entrees for between 0.65 and 5 Euros and where the waiter uncannily resembled Frankenstein in both appearance and manner. Later during our stay, he also took us to one of the oldest bars in the city where they serve a delicious Spanish Absinthe. This bar was amazing. Its interior looked as if it was pulled straight out of an old Western film, complete with dusty liquor bottles lining the ceiling trim and unmatching tiles with less-than-perfect fits lining the floor. This was the first time I had ever had Absinthe in a bar, and I didn't realize that the water bottles served with the drinks had holes punched in the top for easily squirting the water over the sugar cubes. The waiter was quick to correct my mistake when he saw me trying to slowly pour water over the sugar with the cap completely removed. Just a bit embarrassing!

On the cultural side of things, I'd say this was our (meaning Alex's and my) first real culture shock. All the other cities' cultures thus far, even Paris, have not proven challenging to understand or replicate. Even with both of our combined experience with the Spanish language from high school, which came in really handy (and was quite fun) for communicating with people, we were not prepared for the almost excruciating slow down of Spanish time; everything there is slower. As I'm sure most of you know, I tend to be a very fast-paced person who doesn't really like to slow down and smell the roses for too long; I enjoy slowness in great moderation and nothing more. This proved to be a problem for Alex and I as our stay in the city continued. The amount of time we had to wait for simple to-go food orders or the slowness with which people walked through the streets really began to weigh on us, and we decided that most likely neither of us could ever stay in that sort of environment for an extended period of time. Michael, of course, loved the environment and had to keep reminding us that "we are in Spain" and to "take it easy."

A final tidbit worth mentioning is the incredibly strong sense of culture and community Catalonians hold, especially when separating themselves from the Spanish. Catalonia, although technically contained within the borders of Spain, is considered an autonomous region complete with its own governing bodies, laws, and customs. We even saw a tactful bit of spray painted writing on a telephone booth near our hostel that read something akin to: "Tourist, you are in Catalonia, not Spain." Apparently some Catalonians get quite offended when tourists refer to them as Spainards.