I don’t know how to start this story. Except that it has to do with that song,
I met up with a good friend of mine today, on a random midweek day off. It was awesome. Beach time and good conversations. Joy of life which is what I feel again often lately, as summer is approaching, The freaking awesome realization that you are happy happy just to be alive, in a place that against all odds feels like home.
Last week I was in Copenhagen all week. On Friday before catching the plane we went to Christiania. Of course that’s one of those places you could say is partly ruined by the commercialization, which is the opposite of the whole idea and foundation of that place. But it wasn’t like that. There was a dude with a tractor. And a dude carrying bricks. And sunflowers. And the little flowers of which the petals turn into a blowable fluff, and you are immediately thrown back to your childhood.
Lately there has been some stressful stuff. But I loved that Friday morning in Christiania. One of those rare moments that you feel chill. I didn’t want to leave that.
Afterwards of course the panic arose as I had to get to the airport, along with colleagues that were there. Their flight was 45 minutes later than mine however. We exited the freetown and entered EU again. Looked for taxis. There were none. A dude walked up to us saying he is sort of an uber driver. We agreed on a fixed rate of a reasonable price for the trip to get our luggage at the station plus after to the airport. I sat on the front seat and started asking him things.
First he was feeling awkward I guess but after realizing he shouldn’t really be that way about a crazy blonde being direct, he started answering and telling me his story. And he put the best Iranian pop on, we could not stop dancing.
By far the best ever panic taxi ride to the airport I ever got.
I made it on time for my flight and even bought some legos.
I arrived in Barcelona some hours later. I again had to use taxi services, for the umpteenth time of that day. There was a massive traffic jam between the airport and my home.
The dude was a very, how to put it, masculine, muscular, big Catalan dude. While in traffic, he started getting bored and playing music from his mobile. It was only love songs. Shakira old school and other tear jerkers.
I sat in traffic in his taxi for at least an hour. He appreciated that I regognized the less well known songs of Shakira. Then there was radio, and again this song Despacito.
I swear to you, I have never heard a song more often in these random occasions than this one. It’s insane.
This lovely evening, I took a taxi to go home and wanted to drop off my friend on the way. Turned out it was further than I had thought, and sort of in the upper outskirts of the city. After we dropped her off, we were driving through these hills and I swear to you I could have been in South America. I felt lost and I saw again this thing. Smack, in my face, there it was. You are such a lucky bastard Maaret.
There I was, on the way home, looking at the Barcelona shady neighbourhoods, which reminded me of so many other places, wanting to hit myself on my face for forgetting this stuff.
Today there was a dude on the metro who was telling a story about not having a job and how hard his life is. I saw this older Catalan dude opening his wallet and giving him some change. I did too, I handed him a 2 euro coin, and he was looking at me with such a thankful expression.
After some nervous time in the taxi in the outskirts of Barcelona, we started approaching my hometown. Then the song which has been haunting me and probably everyone else who ever hears radio, was again. Despacito. I asked the taxi driver to turn the volume up. He was looking at me with such surprise. How can I know this song? Does it mean I speak his language? Whats going on? He looked confused. He turned up the volume anyway. And I mispronounced all the lyrics of course but I remembered them more or less. As did that CPH taxi driver. Or those dudes at Amsterdam airport. Or the awesome Colombian dude we met a few weeks ago in Formentera. Or the taxi driver that brought me to Amsterdam airport, who was asking me what those lyrics meant. Or, the silly blonde in Denmark who asked the Iranian dude to turn up the volume of the best Iranian pop there ever existed.