No matter how many times I travel to the ancient city of Barcelona, Spain, I always find myself immersed in a magical and amazing story. My mind wonders uncontrollably, and influenced by the fascinating architecture, it takes me back in time. I am the protagonist of my own fictional adventure.
The “barrio”, or neighborhood as we would call it, is a labyrinth of narrow streets, each one different than the next, each one offering a new original architecture causing amazement to the eyes of the hungry travelers that curiously roam through them. I imagine that seen from high above, we look like little lost ants. I keep walking. And I keep taking pictures, lots of them, always from the ground up. It is so much more interesting to look up than ahead. A myriad of small balconies align themselves up and down the thousands of antique buildings that form the old neighborhood. Some of them are beautifully decorated with multicolored flowers sprinkled here and there. And some of them just lie there, nude, with their long, open windows welcoming the fresh breeze of the city’s late summer wind.
To me, they are just like silent, old witnesses of the present day and past centuries. I wonder what they have seen.