Barcelona, 15 Nov. 2012.
There is no duplicate of my life though it feels like that when I enter Barcelona, a city I have history with and the capital of these independence loving Catalunians, red and yellow striped flags bungling from countless balconies betraying the strong sense of We Are capable Of Our Own Destiny, fuck you Franco in the Land Of Ago and the same message to the present ruler called Rajoy...though he might not be El Caudillo, wellcome he ain´t here in this anarchistic city as is evident by all the rubbish left over from yesterday´s Vaga General...
Barcelona, a long time favorite urban metropole for me and dating back to my interrail years...I can feel the adreline rushing through my veins, the loniness that has plagued me so much during my cycle days and the solidary campfire nights in the spanish Campo, having come over me like ominous clouds pregnant with the promise of heavy Thai monsoon rain, fall away like they never existed...
streets full with people, Indians, Pakisani and phillipino imigres, illegal africans with a dull but dark skin complection pushing shopping trolleys full with Basura, hopefully worth something for the daily Pan, all of it familiar and a giving me a strong sense of Deja Vu, the feeling of duplication all over me...
My spirits lift all the way to high heaven and beyond while I enter the historic Barrio of Barri Gotic where I plan to take up lodgings in a small Hostal, dormitory style though I can affort to splash out and take my private room, still nostalgia and my ever present fascination with the abombination demand for cheap accomodation in a Hostal where everything is possible, whether it be a school class of rowdy French teenagers on a three day Barcelona excursion or drunk English hooligans on a stag party kicking people out of their beds upon returning drunk like skunks late at night, just for the heck of it...
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