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Where I am from
#travel #solotravel #adventure #challenge #barcelona
If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will do.
Report this, report that, report everything. Visit a new city, a new country, a new place. Feel the spirit of every part of the Earth you find along the way. Tell everybody about the food you tried. Meet the locals – everywhere. Feel all the local customs and traditions. Experience a different life here and there. STOP!
All the above goes for me, if we consider the previous period of a year or so. Is there anything wrong with it all? No, but I forgot one main milestone, without which all is nothing. Feel the environment, relax, slow down and keep all your senses open – live in the present, learn what there is to be learnt! Much better. Slowing down helps us make some realizations and prepare ourselves for the present, not only the future. This has become a cliché, but in all the rush, we forget to live. And only living is where we can have sudden realizations of the world surrounding us. (Hashtag breathes in deeply.)
My today’s post is not about Barcelona – it’s about what Barcelona gave me. Lately, I’ve been traveling to meet new places, put them into perspective in my own head, and be somewhat of a tourist (or a citizen of the world). In all these visits, I’ve barely felt at home, for even a short period of time. Of course, some countries and cities did make me feel local and accepted (Jordan, Cyprus, France, for example), but in others, even I knew I will just be passing by. Apart from learning about the local culture, traditions and the spirit of these cities or countries, I didn’t do anything to make my life feel integrated into any of the local ones. Maybe I was not the right person for these places – or maybe they were not the right places for me!
My journey started off ridiculously. Day 1 – take off at 6 PM; reach Barcelona at 8.30; leave the airport by 9.15; reach the Airbnb around 10.30; grab some quick dinner, shower, and go to bed ASAP (by 12.30 the following morning). Day 2 – get up at 6 AM to be able to grab some breakfast and run to catch the bus to Andorra. Long story short – get back to Barcelona close to midnight. The first two days of the trip, I had no idea what Barcelona is like whatsoever. But, going to seek out food the first night, I realized something – I was already feeling at home!
There is some magic and uniqueness in certain places, where we feel much different, in comparison to the rest of the world. Some localities change the way how we perceive cities – from piles of architecture and history, across the local spirit and atmosphere, and finally to distinctive sets of feelings they give us – which, in the end, is what they truly are. In over 30 years of my being on this planet, I’d never felt this captivation with a specific city! (The actual word I was looking for was “enamoration” – turns out it doesn’t exist, so I’ll need to patent it.) So many people saying to be “bewitched” by a certain place, with me standing there, looking bluntly, and considering them not to be very bright. What it turned out to be was simply me not having found a place well worthy of falling in love with!
But how could I not fall in love with a place where I can speak at least 3 different languages in any given sentence, being comprehended all along?! One time, a waiter asked me something. My response was “Yes… Ja…” – and my brain was freezing completely, being rendered unable to think of the word in Spanish, that I use uncountable times every day. Or imagine me going into a drug store, asking “Do you have some pastillas para el throat”… What does that even mean? Who cares! The pharmacist understood me. Just like everyone else in the city did!
A friend of mine (about whom you’ll find out more soon, as we are starting a travel project together, for the rest of world’s population) was so fascinated with Barcelona, he wrote “The tale of the pink shirt” about it. Johnny, my good friend, here’s an homage to you, with a rough translation of a passage from the tale to English. Feel free to hate me if you’d worded a part of the translation better.
“The first strokes of Barcelona were founded exactly here, between the sandy gothic facades, painted with murals and towels. It was not difficult to give in to this city. And when we add that orange color of the Sun to the canvass (which you are always hoping for, when setting up a date), you simply sink into the flow of this city. Sometimes a shade of pink falls into it, but not enough to move me.
Barcelona is everywhere – is what we’ve been told already on the first night… As if Barcelona were a state of mind, and not a bag of sand spilt across the shore. And it was everywhere, we would always feel it, as if it were there.
…
You walk around, wandering, seeking, and finding yourself. You free yourself to go to other people, to provide you with energy. For the first time, I’m observing the buildings and the monuments differently. No one was following a direction here, people were experiencing, listening, and then creating. Therefore, the Sagrada, Guell, Montjuic (I’ll never be able to pronounce it) and all those Casas de Something, squares, museums, actually seem to belong exactly here.
…
Quick visits and photoshoots, to quasi see everything and get it off my checklist is not my cup of tea. It was more important to feel the spirit of the city, bedeck myself with the mindset of a local, and walk around the city unburdened. See, this is exactly what forced me into seeking out tickets to bring me back, and write this pathetic scribble, the very next day. Barcelona pulls you to be absolutely present and absolutely your own. Each attempt to act around only makes you ridiculous and estranged. There is something in that vibe, that urban meditation, after which you cannot think about it indifferently.
…
Why do I factually want the pink shirt – to attract the attention of others? Huh, that would be very stupid here… So, why did I buy it, in the end – I don’t know! (Where is the punchline bro, or, in Spanish, gilipolla?) There is no punchline! That’s not how things are done there. All that is up to you is to vibe and be led by the famous – Memento mori!”
Now, I’m not 100% sure if Johnny and I had the exact same experience, but I can guarantee we both felt “it” – we both felt Barcelona! There was indubitably an omnipresent atmosphere, vibe, spirit, call it whatever you want, enveloping the area, equally on the beach and in the subway, as well as any other part. It is something completely otherworldly and individual, not like anything I had felt before. Yes, the food was exquisite. Yes, the streets were amazing, each telling a story of its own. Yes, the people were minding their own business, in the most positive way possible. But above it all, there was this amazing veil, making everyone feel to be exactly what they truly are. Making everyone feel – at their very home!
And this brings me to a significant milestone in my life. Remember my sayings from some time ago? Where am I from? I don’t have a from, I have a to. Sure, I was born in Banjaluka, but I don’t feel to be a part of it (although I love the city immeasurably). Well, I’ll have you know, I just discovered my true “from”, two weeks ago. I AM FROM BARCELONA!
As someone who has, for the first time, not seen the light of day in this city, how can I claim to be a Barcelonian? Well, our “from” is traditionally the place – usually town or city, in which we left our biological birthparent’s body. When put into perspective in this way, does this definition not insult our intelligence? I can confirm it’s insulting mine! A “from” is not (more nicely worded) a place where we first saw the light of day. A “from” should speak of our mentality, feeling of heritage, and belonging (vibe, as Johnny would state it). My mentality is Barcelonian. My feeling of heritage is Barcelonian (an homage to Antoni Gaudi is coming up in the next post). My belonging, my vibe, and most of all, my HOME is Barcelonian. So, from now on, when people ask me where I am from, I will have a correct answer. Plus, I’ll be overly proud of it! (Although, I will still prefer the people to ask me where I am to.)
The froms and tos of moving around help me inhale a new dimension of travel, and successfully present it to the world. Travel is not about counting cities, countries, or museums/buildings (although that helps keep up a good record, and improves the memory). Travel is not about feeling jetlagged and tired. Travel is not about not noticing you’ve come down with a fever, because you’ve got four 12+ hour-days to walk and explore (I’m raising my hand now, this is two weeks ago). Travel is about breathing the atmosphere of a place and becoming one with it. And what if it doesn’t click? Who cares, you placed your best self in front of the best of a certain area. You exchanged the experience. If it does not click, move on to the next one. It will click eventually – like Barcelona and me.
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