Rendezvous of Souls: The Intimacies of Barcelona

by Ruth Perez (Philippines)

I didn't expect to find Spain

The first time I read Rainer Maria Rilke’s Spanish Dancer, out of sheer coincidence, was in 2015 in a tiny condominium unit in Manila that I shared with my best friend. It was part of an old nondescript literature book, the owner I no longer remember who. This poem gave me emotions close to falling in love— I kept pacing back and forth, trying to crack and repeat in my head the imageries that bore such intensity it made sleeping that night a bit hostile. I kept making deficient steps, like a blueprint was being etched in my brain, while I turned to another corner because our room lacked enough space, the dancers and their moves would not be accommodated in our room, I thought, but in my mind their performance was in motion. This short literary work added a layer to my interest in the Spanish way of living. Last August 2019 while in Barcelona, my friends (the same roommate and her significant other) got us tickets to Palacio del Flamenco for an 8:20 PM show. Just after we took our seats, waiters came right in, placing spreads of fried prawns, salmon with lime zest, etc. on our table, along with glasses of Sangria. I have to say, Spanish cuisine is one of the most satisfying in the world. A thin slice of Serrano/Iberico ham and an equally slim slice of manchego cheese, or a plate of paella negra partnered with a local drink like Cava would always feel like Christmas morning. After what seemed to be three rounds of gustatory experience, the lights dimmed and the curtains were slowly pulled to the side. The dancers started flicking their wrists, clapping their hands, jostling their elbows and shoulders, fluttering their feet in rhythm with the empathic music. Could this scene be the poem itself, I asked myself because it felt like the metaphorical fire Rilke talks about in his poem. Like flames, these dancers rose and fell all at once, occupying space and sprawling sideways as stretched as the eyes can see. They moved fast and then slow and then in rapid succession, individually and as a group. The stomping of their shoes against the wooden stage felt like the beating in my chest, strong and close. Right in front of me was the poem I admired for so long and that night, when the imageries trapped in my head got translated to life, it was indeed like falling in love. Prior to visiting Barcelona, I only wanted to experience its gastronomy culture and I never thought I would consider Barcelona an intimate city. People walked at their own pace. There was no pressure. It offered an array of activities and landmarks, Montserrat for one. Rain hammered on the bus on our way to the Serrated Mountain. At some point we stopped and were told that the bus ride will not push through because of rocks rappelling from the mountains down to the road. We took the train then. Thick fog emanated from the mountainside as our ride elevated. My soul felt renewed seeing the trees and the low sky, feeling the chilly air in Montserrat, and seeing the people take picture, smile, and move unbuckled. We visited the singular La Sagrada Família. My eyes could not believe the glorious structure that was equally divine on the exterior and the interior. The journey to Park Guell that towers over Barcelona quite a walk but was worth it nonetheless. My friends and I were just at the right time when the sun touched the Mediterranean Sea as it went deep down the horizon. The alleys prompted my curiosity. They add different flavors to the intimacy of the city by way of enigma and jubilance, as if every corner is a rendezvous. The weather was rather playful. There was a heat wave in Europe when we traveled to Spain—fairly cold in the morning and evening, scorching hot at noon. Perhaps the intimacy that the city made me feel rooted from the above-mentioned Rilke poem and since the travel to Spain, I have been invigorated about life in general. I guess that is what a great place does to the soul.