The days turn into nights. My journey is coming to an end. I’m still learning Spanish, but if my classes weren’t from two to six in the afternoon every day, life in Barcelona would be a lot smaller. David has organised tickets for a concert. I don’t like nasty lawyers chasing pictures. That’s why I’m christening the band of the day Kaisermeister.
In a tapas bar right on the Rambla, we eat for 20 minutes, attentively looked after by two gay waiters. The hot service comes at a hefty price. On to the concert. The beer vendors are stacked in three tiers in front of the hall. The service is fine, but we have wine. Inside, good people in rabbit skins are waiting.
The hall is just outside Barcelona, holds around 2000 people and is really full. The opening act goes by the name of Dananana and then something else. No joke. And the first four syllables are correct. Two drummers, two singers and lots of Dadaist noise à la Sonic Youth on LSD irritate the audience. The feet hanging from the ballustrades desperately search for a rhythm.
Then the Kaisermeister finally play. Fine light, fine bass, fine auditorium. The Barcelonians know how to have fun. From the first song onwards, the crowd boils. Beer flows over me, but that doesn’t matter. I’m drenched in sweat anyway. As soon as the concert is over, the security people sweep the masses off the pavement in front of the hall with wide barriers. It almost feels German.
We continue into the city with Birigt. It’s so nice that my journey ends just as it was at its best: good people (in rabbit fur) show us good places. We eat at these places. We drink at these places. We talk at these places. Long nights make the last short days shine in bright light. My ears are ringing.
Oh my god I can’t believe it
I’ve never been this close to home.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.