barcelona love

substance cannot be measured by size.
the narrow streets of barcelona have more substance than vast boulevards and avenues
this land is españa and catalán fused, beautiful and majestic,
everywhere markets thrive in alleys and local kids play futbol under clothes hanging from little balconies
the warmth makes me forget VISA's currency conversion fees
barcelona
I love it here.
substance cannot be measured by size.
the red bricks of barcelona's triumphant arc juxtaposed against palm trees and parks make my eyes marvel,
but not at first glance
this Arc de Triomf has substance beyond grandeur
its simple red stones are manipulated to create subtle beauty – one that Napoleon would have turned his back to and rightly so, because substance cannot be measured by size.
barcelona may not be a small city, but its magnificence lies in the little details like street performers on the side steps of an ancient cathedral dating back to roman rule, playing Portuguese tunes on classical guitar,
stroking the violin, and singing…
singing in a way that permeates my mind
completely
every note contains more substance than 20 faceless jersey streets,
the singer like the city is tapping along to an invisible beat,
and I can't help but feel that barcelona was my home in a previous existence…
it may be just an infatuation,
but something simply stands out about this city
perhaps it's the fact that antonio gaudí loved barcelona so much that he spent his life making it more beautiful and more vibrant than he found it
or maybe the phantom footsteps of young pablo picasso café-hopping between exhibitions of his first art
or maybe it is something else
like, perhaps I am just another silly tourist from the United States of Architectural Banality,
and this change of scenery blinds me to barcelona's dark side.
maybe, but I doubt it.