Barcelona, 5am. The early cyclist rides up Marine towards the bridge that bears the same name. More cars are seen Urban or Mossos Guard. And it is that, right at the beginning of the bridge, at the confluence with Almogàvers and the Meridianadozens of young people crowd the stations bus or the L-1 to return home. Here one cannot tell you about the noise, but you have seen tears, you have seen laughter and, above all, you have seen long queues in front of the churrería. The oasis of the hungry night owl after a party in the ‘Gulf triangle’ of Poblenou that has exhausted reserves. Others look for an escape on the other side of the Marina, at the station llacuna of the L-4. Image of defeat after the big party.
The young people who leave the ‘gulf triangle’ go to the bus, to the L-1 or to queue at the churrería
We continue by Marina. On the right, the remains of what has persistently been the great camping area for homeless people in Barcelona. One has seen container and car fires, camping gas explosions. There are few neighbors there who can complain.
The cyclist crosses Grand Via and then take Diputació. The atmosphere changes radically. The Eixample is asleep in that area. A young woman casts a furtive glance before crossing the threshold of her stairway door. Fear? Quite possibly. The 24 hour supermarket gives off a blinding light. Energy waste in the ‘paqui’. To the right and left, the homeless they take advantage of the precarious shelter of the portal to sleep. It’s summer, you don’t need much more. But not everyone is homeless. Drunk tourists sleep it off taking advantage of the same parapet.
As we approach Balmes, little by little, the revelry grows. It’s closing time Sand. They understand? On both sides of the street, noisy groups of young people rush an impossible drink. Or they sing Or laugh. Or wait for a nice taxi. A couple invades the bike lane to kiss without considering the risks. It is love and therefore blind. On the other side of Balmes, the walls of the diocesan seminary watch and remain silent. pandas of cloudy-eyed vultures flutter through the area before reaching Enrique Granados. Some lost soul in one of the 11 noise axes of Barcelona.
Rosalia’s look
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after crossing Tarragona, Consell de Cent ‘resurrects’ before the attentive gaze of the brick wall decorated with the enormous face of Rosalía in Creu Coberta. The atmosphere at the beginning of the working day and the ‘currelas’ looking for the subway in Hostafrancs. And, there, the crossing with Creu Coberta, one of the axes that are closed to pedestrians on weekends, and one of the most dangerous intersections in Barcelona even religiously respecting the rules of the road. Cars are coming from all sides. And at full speed.
Barcelona. A few minutes past 5 am. The city wakes up or goes to sleep. But nowhere is it written that those hours do not play the guy on the asphalt.