Bittersweet Bisita to Barcelona

I went to Barcelona for you. More than to see the works of Gaudi, especially the Sagrada Familia, more than to try different kinds of tapas, churros and paella, more than to be where they said my family came from, the visit was for you.

I’ve been looking forward to that day where I could be with you there. It was supposed to be the defining moment, should I say, between us. I would have told you everything I should have five years ago but did not have the guts to. It would have been the moment I would reveal to you what my answers were should I have responded back that night when you first came to my home to visit. That day, that place, that moment would have been what would make me decide between you and them.

But that moment never came.

I arrived in the airport at night from my flight from Gdańsk, Poland. I booked an airport transfer that would take me to my hostel in the city center. While waiting for an hour, I looked around. The airport was almost empty. It was almost 10pm. From the café where I was waiting for my name to be called, I could see the meeting point from the arrival section. I could imagine you waiting there for my arrival, just like you did in Paris, where we would give each other des bises and then head to your car or a bus that would ultimately lead us to your apartment, a place you share with your brother. Do you remember you offered me to stay in your place? Mi casa es tu casa, as you said.

But instead, I am here, sitting alone, waiting for the driver to come pick me up and drop me off the hostel where I would be sharing a room with four other strangers.

I tried to call you hoping you would pick up. You did not. There was no point leaving you a text message because you wouldn’t read it anyway. I sent you an email a few days before leaving France but I doubt you even bothered reading that. Your voicemail is full that that did not even become an option.

You weren’t very good with keeping in touch. While you didn’t make any promises, you’ve always kept your word. Which is why I am just so disappointed because this time, you didn’t keep you word. Worse, you abandoned an old friend.

So I just gave up trying to reach you that night, hoping that in the next three days I was spending in Barcelona, I would receive a call from you asking me where you can meet me up.

The call or the message never came. So I proceeded with going around the city on my own, joining walking tours and eventually trying out that tourist trap that is the Barcelona City Bus Tour.

I went to see some of Gaudi’s work, walked my way up Park Güell, went inside Sagrada Familia, up to Camp Nou even if I couldn’t watch an FCB game live and then I found myself going to Barceloneta Beach.

I recognized the sand. It was the same sand, the same beach where you wrote down my name, took a picture of it and sent it to me a year ago. I was hoping to have that talk with you here. Now, I was just writing my own name on the sand, looking at people enjoying the sun and the sea breeze. I couldn’t stay longer, I had to keep on going to see other things. I had to move on.

Much like I have to from the disappointments I had from you.It doesn't seem to me that you have any more interests in staying in touch. So goodbye, old friend. Goodbye, stranger. It was really good while it lasted.