An Evening in Barcelona

I wake up from my post-journey doze at 8pm and, feeling fully refreshed, I get ready to do some evening wandering. I step onto Las Ramblas. It is buzzing. Touristy - yes; fabulous - yes; alive - very much so. 

It's a warm night and I meander my way down side streets and along alleyways in the Gothic quarter. Shops are open, bars and restaurants are humming. Everywhere is well lit. I feel safe and deliriously happy to be surrounded by European culture, languages, accents, cheerfulness, style, freedom. I'm in Spain, pinch me. No one has a mask on.

Las Ramblas por la noche (at night)

There are plenty of homeless people about, but this is unavoidable in any large city anywhere - although most of them don't have the solid police presence that is on display in central Barcelona. I've already noted that there is a police station about 100m from my hotel with plenty of cops keeping a check on things in the locale.

I find a small bar called My Bar, off a large and stylish square - the Placa de Reial with its restaurants and well-heeled people dining al fresco. My Bar is more incognito and seems like a good place for a solo drink to get into the swing of things.

When I spot a woman lying in the fetal position on a human-sized dog-style bed against a graffitied garage door opposite My Bar, I wonder if maybe this is not such a good place after all. She is moaning and writhing in plain view of everyone who passes. Some people stop and stare, some recoil in shock, others are oblivious and don't even notice her. She is gaunt, just skin and bone. I've no idea how old she might be, I can't see her face. She has a mop of dark black hair and a white slip dress. She is barefoot and no doubt drugged up. She's like a ghost girl. 

I enter My Bar and order a Peroni (5.90 Euro, standard). I sit at a bar with a view of Ghostgirl and make some trip notes. I order a glass of rose (4 Euro). It is 11pm and the place is filling up.

A nice cold beer - and Ghostgirl

Ghostgirl is now being given a can of coke by another homeless guy wearing a yellow vest and staggering around drunkenly munching on a sandwich. I guess they're looking after each other. The bar is heaving, people are coming in droves - solos, couples, family groups, friends. There's a big screen, a well stocked bar, indoor/outdoor seating, music (they're playing Talking Heads). They do food; I am not hungry. 

The place is almost full to capacity now. To create more space for newcomers, I shift and join another solo drinker - Aibol from Almaty, Kazakhstan. Aibol - sounds like "eyeball" and means "shining moon"!! Tells me he's a classical pianist who now works in crude oil - there's much more money to be made! Okay. Yeah right. 

Ghostgirl is lying quietly scratching her thick black locks. She is flopped on her back in an "I'm badly hungover, leave me alone" pose. From afar, she looks like Sleeping Beauty; the reality is anything but. Most people avoid her. I want to help her, but there is nothing I can do. 

I find out more about Kazakhstan, and Aibol learns more about NZ and after a pleasant first evening on European soil, I return to my little room at Hostal Benidorm - alone, although Aibol may have had other ideas!!! It is well after midnight; the streets feel safe and the nightclubs are cranking up. 

OBSERVATION OF THE DAY:
After just a few hours, I am loving being in this cosmopolitan Catalan city again. It is indeed, as Lambros says, a "complete" city - and it sits firmly in my book of favourites.