Non sei fregato veramente finché hai da parte una buona storia e qualcuno a cui raccontarla (A.Baricco – Novecento)
We arrive in Barcelona after 15 hours on a night train from La Coruña. The thought that in 24 hours I’ll be in Italy again, after a month travelling, makes me a little bit sad. With my traveling companion, we leave the huge backpacks which accompany us in the safes of bus station, to immerse ourselves in the sultry heat of the half of august.
The day pass slowly but nicely. We see parks and monuments, I try to enjoy this last day, but the mind continuously wanders in the past days, in this month so different from all the others still now lived. I find myself again in a city full of Italians who make me a little ashame. I saw Barcelona only fleetingly, as a child in a family travel, under the rain. Giacomo knows it better and he guides me.
A pub which seems a enchanted forest, a fresh fruit smoothie in the chaotic market, mimes and jugglers on the rambla which brings us to the port. We search for the famous Park Güell, but before to find it, we find ourselves in an other little park where people is canoeing into a swimming pool. Some classic turistic picture with Gaudì works, before to come back to the city center, upsets by the heat and the tiredness.
We eat our last dinner in real tramp style, with a roast chicken from the supermarket eaten on a bench. Then, we search for the place where we know that there will take place a Couchsurfing meeting: the ideal thing for spending the night in a cheap way, for waiting the bus that goes to the airport at the sunrise. The people we meet tonight don’t seem the best, so we need a little bit to acclimate. Then somebody propose to move where it seems to be a party. We reach a square full of people, we are a heterogeneous group of a lot of nationalities: we are the only Italians, besides a girl from Milan who’s a little bit sour and, even if not so beautiful, she thinks to be miss Universe. A French boy knows some ways of saying in Italian and he uses them to kidding her.
A little closed alley hosts a concert. Avalanches of people pile up to dance in the hot lane. We exit from the crowd and we find 3 jugglers. One of them is a girl who’s dancing into a big ring, writhing as if she’s made of gum. She’s hyptnotic.
I speak with Giacomo while we’re crossing the city in the darkness of the night. We talk about the last days, about these two weeks together, about the people we knew and who maybe we’ll never see again, about the places we saw and in which we hope to return together, maybe bringing future girls with us. There are so much experiences I’m bringing home in my backpack. So much are the faces and landscape I hope to find again, but much more are the roads I still have to walk. I thik about all these things, giving a last look back and then lifting the eyes to the dawning sky, when I climb the aircraft steps.
READ HERE THE STEP N°1: Munich (Germany)
READ HERE THE STEP N°2: Bayreuth (Germany)
READ HERE THE STEP N°3: Bruxelles (Belgium)
READ HERE THE STEP N°4: Bruges (Belgium)
READ HERE THE STEP N°5: Antwerp (Belgium)
READ HERE THE STEP N°6: Delft (Netherlands)
READ HERE THE STEP N°7: Rotterdam (Netherlands)
READ HERE THE STEP N°8: Amsterdam (Netherlands)
READ HERE THE STEP N°9: Luxembourg (Luxembourg)
READ HERE THE STEP N°10: Marseille (France)
READ HERE THE STEP N°11: San Sebastian (Spain)
READ HERE THE STEP N°12: Guernica, Bermeo, Mundaka, San Juan de Gaztelugatxe (Spain)
READ HERE THE STEP N°13: Bilbao (Spain)
READ HERE THE STEP N°14: Lisbon (Portugal)
READ HERE THE STEP N°15: Ericeira, Obidos, Figueira da Foz, Coimbra (Portugal)
READ HERE THE STEP N°16: Porto (Portugal)
READ HERE THE STEP N°17: La Coruña (Spain)