At first sight Barcelonians don't exhibit any physical peculiarity that differentiates them from other biped, rational mammals around them. If we analyze their behavior, however, it is possible to see some widespread habits that come close to constituting something similar to a remote character form. Many of the city's visitors, for instance, are surprised by our feeble interest in the sea. Yet the sea is still not part of our daily lives, despite 1992's urban transformation, clearing mile-long stretches of beaches. Indeed this does not mean we don't like the sea, nor that we don't make use of it. As soon as summer arrives, we cram on to the sand and, on Sundays, we love to stroll along that designer promenade, watching how the sun rays beam onto the gigantic metallic fish under the Ars Hotel. Mentally, however, we haven't yet managed to change our stance. Traditionally we were always told we lived our lives looking inward, turning our backs to the sea. Now we pretend to preserve this tradition, if not through deeds at least through discourse. It's true: It seems as if we couldn't give a darn about the sea. And precisely because of it, we appreciate the arrival of visitors here and there, who force us to overcome our laziness and acknowledge the fact that Barcelona has its sea, with fishermen with rolled up pants, beautiful skaters, intrepid windsurfers, couples yielding to passion in cars by the seaside and paellas in restaurants of questionable taste.
MÁS INFORMACIÓN
Sometimes it seems as if the city's port tradition paid no attention to fishing while doing so to every port's complementary activities: smuggling, prostitution, drug trafficking, quarters full of alleyways putting the five senses to test. Smell, to recognize the various odors wafting out of the different ventilation fans. Touch, to keep your wallet always out of thieves' reach. Sight, to succumb to the beauty of an alleyway draped with patches of sheets hanging out to dry. Hearing, to cover the sound highway of radios and switched-on televisions and conversations in a blend of languages and spirits. Taste, to try the confusing, chaotic and always delicious variety of gastronomic products on offer here.
Because one of the main things visitors must know is that Barcelona has two faces. The first one Picasso's and Dali's face, modernist, monumental, with an intuitive sense of marketing, exploiting the geniality of those Barcelonians, by adoption rather than birth, who made the city great. This is the city's politically correct hook, in the same way as Playboy magazine's articles are a cover-up to enjoy the anatomic displays without any guilty feelings. Once the formality of the conventional tourist visit is taken care of, with its Gaudí, Miró, Tàpies and its Roman walls, the show of that other Barcelona begins. A city of waiters and congresses, of partial and full services, of endless late nights, a consumerist and raving city. This would be the basis of Barcelonians character, if it indeed were to exist. We are kind ma non troppo because we know that to extend too much trust to visitors results in you paying for drinks and sleeping on the sofa. We are polite ma non troppo because excessive politeness generates trust and we are by nature distrustful and can't afford to lower our defenses. We seem tolerant, but when it comes down to it we are simply indifferent, which is more practical. We are friendly ma non troppo, traditionally we have all been told only Andalusians can be friendly and Barcelona is one of the cities with the largest number of Andalusians in the world. So all of us non-Andalusians try to hide our possible friendliness, just to keep ourselves from being accused of intruding by those carrying the burden of genetic friendliness. We are discrete ma non troppo because, while we love meddling in others' affairs, we hate it when others meddle in ours. We are obliging, yes, and we accept any barbarity dictated by our authorities, without budging so long as we are allowed to complain and criticize them as much as we want to, whenever we want to. In the first instance, because we like to think that complaining serves no purpose, which is one of our strongest arguments for not demanding what we think is fair. And if we don't do so, it is not because we are cowardly, but because we dislike being manipulated, be it through our interpretation of our presence along party lines or sullying our name in incidents manipulated by groups of diverse creeds.
Whoever visits our city during these Euro-summit days will leave with the wrong impression. The people they will see about in the streets, working and stoically withstanding these days of mobilization, are only a minority representation of the essence of Barcelona. The others, those who can only use one indicated lane of the road when driving, who as pedestrians invade zebra crossings endangering wider circulation, those masters of illegal parking, all of those are parapeted in their houses waiting for the storm to abate. During the Olympic Games, many of Barcelona's residents, fed up with hearing of official recommendations and extraordinary measures, packed their bags and left on vacation or went to their houses outside the city. Those of us who stayed behind back then suddenly realized the city was a wonderful place, with little traffic, good hotels, without great agglomerations and full of great, unforgettable moments. We never said so out loud because it wasn't a welcome thought but deep down we all suspected Barcelona was at its best when its natives are a minority.
* Este artículo apareció en la edición impresa del Viernes, 15 de marzo de 2002