Reflections on the night of Sant Joan.
According to the blog peliculasdelaguerracivil.blogspot.com/, there have been 28 films made about the Spanish Civil War since 1990. What I don´t understand is why it seems that every 24 of June, they sell so many noisemakers.
I have never, ever, heard any noise like the petardos of Barcelona. In all honesty. There is more of an explosion than just a noisemaker. It is like a small concussion bomb that sends old women and empty bottles flying with surprising animation. The use of this guerrilla tactic affects all levels of society in the greater area of Barcelona, small blackened circular stains litter buildings and sidewalks all over the city. During 3 days of the year, it sounds what I imaging Belgrade or Tel Aviv sound like when in war.
The city experiences a radical change: from very "straight-laced", correct and city-look-disinterested--to a loud, impulsive, and almost collegial. I refer to this last word, collegial, because as an American (read-Californian), with an artistically Andalusian accent, struggling with Catalán, there is a notable difficulty in finding a group of friends. Add, the oddity of my accent wearing off--and you have a very easy 30 seconds of conversation. I am learning to recognize the look of torpidity a good ten seconds before the habitual "Doncs bé..." and the heel turn to gyrate 90 degrees and find another source of information. Who thought that in Catalunya, there are people who don´t know castellano. "Vés a saber...!"
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