The last Itháki (la última Ítaca) Here I will post my stories of my journeys from all around the world and Venezuela of course one of the most beautiful Country's of all

The life in Barcelona is so colorful, but in summer is even more colorful. You can see all the couples walking, people from all over the world taking the city tours, even the same Barcelonese discovering their city with the excitement of the adventure and what it has to offer every day.

But my story is not about the touristic view of Barcelona, and the common people that live there. My story focus in that mysterious, exotic, subversive and eternal city that is Barcelona.

It all begin one Saturday night, I was heading back of losing my self-thru the bars of the streets of Barrio Gótico and the Ramblas. I always take the same road to home, that was through the zone of Barcino, where it all begins, the first roman establishment in 10th A.C.

So I was walking through the cathedral, when suddenly I heard a saxophone melody, so I started to hear with attention where this melody came from, and I started to follow the sound of this music, while I was getting closer and closer, a new sound was adding, creating a beautiful sound of flamenco music, I could hear the strings of the Spanish guitar, with the compass of the flamenco box and the voice of a male gypsy singing with the passion of the flamenco music that he was interpreting. And so there I was entering in a parallel universe in the fields where Barcelona was created and by the protections of the Cathedral of Saint Eulalia in an Alley full of Gypsy, feeling involved with all that passion and excitement of the moment.
I make my move, and join the group, nobody bothers of my presence, nobody looked surprise: I just was part of that group and the moment I discovered them. So they welcomed me with a beer and suddenly I was enjoying all of those moments. Girls dancing, people talking, laughing, it was like a VIP party with a bunch of strangers from all Spain. Then I realize that i wasn´t the only foreigner in the group, they were, americans, japanese, mexicans. And all of them where part of the same feeling.
So I spend all that night dancing, and talking with the gypsys of Barcelona. When the day light started to rise, the people stared to leave, one by one. The sound of the music softly died, the guitar player moves to another corner with the saxophone player waiting to started playing, to gather money for the next party, the singer disappeared long time ago without even notice. And so the ally was again a lonely place stuck in the middle of the creations of the City and the house of their Saint.