Chapter 5 - Southern Europe - Barcelona

Barcelona is too big for my moods. I had expected to enjoy it here, as I had expected to enjoy Seville, a place that filled me with such sorrow that I left it immediately. Seville is a city created for departures I guess, all those voyages. Barcelona’s cathedral, weirdly Gothic, just seems empty. Gaudi’s overwhelming La Sagrada Familia is spooky and grotesque. In a previous life I’d be all over this, interested in when it was built, how many bricks it used, etc., etc.. At this point though, visiting it just fills in time between sleeping. To me Barcelona is a place that must sing in Summer, but now, in Autumn, it merely hums. Oh it’s beautiful all right. The air is brisk, soft and cold. Copses of trees rustle as burnished copper in the hazy light. The street lights’ metallic lace, like cobwebs in early morning strung across a gate with the drops of dew illuminating the delicate lines. I’ve gotten all sappy and poetic lately, trying to rhyme words for no reason. And here there are all the necessary distractions I could want. But Barcelona is too big for me. Autumn has come, it crept up behind me and now envelopes me, reminding me that time has passed, months have passed and I feel no less displaced. Somewhere in it I turned 25. A quarter of a century. I feel old.