Monday, July 12

The night on Las Ramblas

The night of the world cup was the kind of experience that I truly lack the right words to fully describe.
A city wide explosion of celebration so loud and enthralling that even those of us new to the game were caught up in it and on that day I was the biggest football fan in the world. The world rolled with emotions, with screaming and crying. From one end of the city to the other bodies rolled and rocked and danced in waves of humanity. For you could not see the city streets for the bodies that celebrated on La Rambla that night, from the northern edge of the city the street party danced all the way to the sea.

The people milled and laughed and talked, then you would hear a crackle and fireworks would explode  into the center of a group. The crowd leapt back, laughing, the trickster gods were in full swing that night and no one seemed to mind. Dance circles formed and dissolved like waves. Circles of a hundred people, all strangers, laughing and enjoying what life had to offer. Then the dance party would meld back into the sea of people and we would wander further down the street and the cycle would begin again.

Every statue had people hanging from it waving Spanish flags. The sheer joy in the night, to think of it even now I could cry from the remembrance of the happiness that night.
Party on LasRamblas

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