Finding Relief in Barcelona on New Year’s Eve

Time plays tricks on us all

Fireworks in Barcelona, photo taken by author. My first photo of the year.

It must be here somewhere

Except it isn’t. Not in the endless tunnels of Barcelona’s Plaça Espanya Metro station, and not in the massive square above, either.

That’s not to say there aren’t other things down here.

There are crowds, every train shedding more passengers the way tarantulas shed leg hairs when you piss them off. There are pickpockets and thieves, like everywhere in Barcelona, watching the endless streams of tourists with dark eyes, looking for the next unprotected purse or pocket. There are cafés and stores buried underground, most of them shuttered with that blank, forlorn look businesses have after the sun sets.

It’s brighter underground than it is up above. And in some subterranean hallway ringed by empty shops, a young man plays an Einaudi tune on the public piano.

But there’s no time for that.

Scour the shadowless halls all you want. You won’t find what you’re looking for.

This is not one of those needs you can ignore.

So you return to the world, riding an escalator clotted with people back up onto a dark street. The huge traffic island is closed to cars now, movable steel barricades…