How I didn't feel in love with Barcelona at first sight

by Gordana Cobanovic (Serbia)

I didn't expect to find Spain

Belgrade welcomed me with open arms, happy to see me. The temperature outside was a pleasant 22 C. The sky was streaked with translucent, puffy clouds. I took a deep breath. The transition between dimensions shook my head. In one, I carelessly tapped Spanish streets in my flip-flop-flip-flops, in other I sat in a chair in front of a click-click-click computer. "What a return to reality, eh?" they asked me as soon as I landed. I didn't answer. For me, there were more realities, and I very well remembered that people were sitting in Barcelona in front of the computer and had to work (just they spoke Spanish). And I knew that at this very moment, some tourists were irreversibly falling in love with some dirty corner of Belgrade, which I may have never even looked at. This is what happened to me on the beach, where the offers were changing in less than 5 seconds: - Mohito, sangria, fresh, cool mojito, sangria, sangria… - Shal, pareooo… Shal, shal, pareooo - Masahe, masahe, massage - Serveca, bir! Serveca, cool beer! To understand this, you would have to (at least try) to rest on Barcelona's city beach. Pakistanis, Afro-Americans, and small Chinese ladies strolled along and across the beach, lurking at anyone who looked at them, even if uninterested, in the hope of selling something. They were terribly aggressive and there were a lot of them, but all of them had the same sales technique as if they had been studying together for a whole semester about selling products at Barceloneta. If you would ask them by any chance, how much was something, they would answer your question with a question (usually "where are you from"), and enter a conversation as much as possible, trying to talk to you so that you end up being uncomfortable buying nothing. It went on that bad that an unknown Chinese woman woke me up from the sweetest nap by massaging my leg without any warning. It obviously didn't bother her as much as it did me, and she continued to search for the victim after seeing that I'm not too thrilled that someone is squeezing my calf without any warning. When I first visited Barcelona, I didn't like it. To anyone I would say this to, my statement sounded like blasphemy, so they would quickly shush me “what are you talking about!”, turning their heads as that someone would hear me. I couldn't explain why I didn't like it exactly. Okay, I admit, I had high expectations. I was expecting Barcelona to swipe me off my feet, to be eager to absorb every part of it, but none of this happened at first glance. They filled my head so much about this place, and what stood before me was only a pale reflection of my fervent hopes. However, what the poor, ignorant tourist in me still didn't know, is that it is really strange how one perceives a city at first sight. Much of it just depends on what the city has absolutely nothing to do with - the season, the temperature, our mood, the construction work on the streets and even the shopkeepers and waiters. Outside my window, a beautiful, sunny, October morning was calling me, and Belgrade was still smiling. Instead of working, I was looking at the photos of La Rambla, Sagrada Familia, Font de Santa Anna and all the otherbeautiful things I saw. Despite that, I was thinking I'd rather listen to the "mojito, sangria, fresh cool mojito" right now. And my stomach was missing some other things. I missed riding the subway. I miss looking at people at the beach. I miss being in Barcelona. Because you can't see the city soul in touristic places. You have to feel it. And you can sure as hell miss it.