Finding Brotherhood in Barcelona
My arrival in Barcelona was turbulent. My grandma was sick at home, and I wasn’t even sure I should take this trip - but I needed some time to myself after months of sleepless nights caring for her, and now she was feeling a touch better, I took the window of opportunity for a break. I needed to feel free, to hear my inner voice again, to experience joy and novelty - and something deep inside me just told me to do it.
The key turned in a large wooden door just off the main thoroughfare Las Ramblas, a throng of eagle-eyed shoppers, sightseers, confused delivery men, and thirsty partiers in search of a drink. The first time climbing the 64 steps (yes I counted) to my nearly top floor apartment sent my heart jumping out of my body to escape, but by the end of the three weeks, my legs seemed to have become bionic.
As always, I was prepared to be alone - making peace with my solitude, and happy to find activities for one during my time in Barcelona. Part of the appeal of this city, apart from my love of the Gaudi architecture, the beach by the city (making me give it the nickname of Europe’s Miami) the Spanish culture of fiesta and siesta, the easily flowing and cheap Cava and beer, as well as the tapas … I could go on… But part of the appeal of this city is the inherent Queerness. It seems like all of Spain’s (and some of Germany’s and France’s) Queer population make Barcelona their home. There’s a huge Queer district, it’s not uncommon to see Queer partners holding hands in the street or showing public displays of affection - but the City also has a very bohemian past, acting as home for seminal Queer writers like Colm Toibin. I was ready to immerse myself completely in Queer life while spending my Summer in Barcelona.
Anyway, in that apartment with gothic shutters and Saltillo tiles, the last thing I expected to find was a deep friendship with a straight German guy. nevermind three of them. But after repeat invites to drinks and dinners, even cooking for me, and having conversations long after sunset on the roof terrace, unlikely friendships were formed. It’s a difficult gay tendency to want to stick to one’s own kind and give straight people (boys in particular) an unsavoury label - but hearing the hopes and dreams of these kind and empathetic young men rekindled my faith in straight young men, even healing some of my wounds of not trusting straight men after being relentlessly bullied by them when I was younger. But somewhere - the cycle of hatred (or avoidance in this case) has to stop somewhere - and out of it, I had some experiences that I hadn’t expected, but deeply changed me. Isn’t that what travel is all about?
Three weeks in Barcelona. It really has me stumped. Isn’t it funny how some trips just whiz by - you return home and can barely believe you were even there? But that month in Barcelona felt like a year: so much happened, I met some great people, and I feel somehow transformed by it all. But most of all - I can still hear the sound of hawkers strolling up and down the Rambla, the city’s sand getting caught in my converse, and that glorious Mediterranean Sun bathing everything in golden light.
