- The Sagrada Familia is in the middle of nowhere.
- Look, but it's right here – and she shows him the map on her phone –. We're already halfway there. I'd go.
- But we have all day. I want to see the streets.
And finally they opt to head towards the Rambla. The scene is repeated with many other visitors who look for the keystone on Google Maps or who take a fleeting portrait of the cathedral, without getting close, thinking that they should already be on the Rambla or in Colón. After a while of observation, it is strangely common to see that visitors usually look at the Cathedral from afar, as if they are too lazy to get closer. Those who stop a little longer are the groups: now a man, from the vertex of the square, coming from Portal del Ángel, recalls the Roman legends about the roots of this historical space and the temple, built on the foundations of the Paleo-Christian and Roman basilicas; now a friendly guide insists on making her followers-students jump on the Cathedral stairs when she takes a photo of them, after having emphasized that it is Gothic in style and was completed in the mid-15th century. They are not the only onesperformancesthat are seen in the square. The tenants who never fail are the entertainers looking to earn a small salary. On one side, next to the Brossian letters of Barcino and at the foot of the Roman walls, two guitarists offer a peaceful musical thread. But now these letters are somewhat masked by the large pots at the entrance (security measures?), which are also used to prop up one's backside. On the other side, far from thenew ageof the guitars, a trio invites to dance: piano, sax and banjo play a lively jazz that pushes more than one passerby to take three steps. Between the two musical points, the other small businesses that are pulling through move: a lady dressed in a kind of paper rose dress tries to take photos and take photos of tourists with her bouquet. Another, with her face painted white, like a mime, also tries to get some money by the same method. This girl changes her face overnight when she realizes that tourists don't pay any attention to her. I found her painting her face in front of a shop window, on Boters street, entering the square. While she was painting, some workers were erasing some white lines from the glass. The mime and the workers were dressed in white. It seemed to me that the image wanted to tell me something. Among the musicians, the mime and the one with the bouquet of roses, the driver of a pedicab watches from afar, well sprawled, sending his messages for someone to bite, like a mantra. Sprawled enough to know that sooner or later someone will take the bait. And there is also the man who makes bubbles and the one who sells sticks ofselfie. I wonder if there is anything more depressing than taking a picture alone, with a kilometer-long stick ofselfie, like a girl who forces a bright smile. Eaten by boredom, the lord of the sticks rests by the stairs. It's January and a weekday, and only around one in the afternoon does a small queue form to enter the cathedral. Perhaps because no fuss is organized to point out the tourist attraction to focus on, some erratic gesture occurs: a woman photographs the building of the Diocesan Museum, to the left of the Cathedral, where it says that "the Gaudí route starts here." But there are those who stop and it is open: next to the buildings facing the Cathedral temple, sitting on the row of benches, tourists rest or eat their sandwich, an old man reads the newspaper, two more grandparents –with cap and cane– recount old war stories... And they notice a man who, full of love, lifts his wife from her wheelchair, squeezes her hands so she poses for the photo taken by their daughter. There are also those who survey their own life possibilities. Near the Diocesan Museum, a couple of teenagers detail their future plans:- The key is to eat less quantity and more at once. Sometimes I eat at four and have dinner at seven. If I ate better, I'd get a damn good body. Even girls have told me –the interlocutor nods. And he proclaims:
- And smoking, honestly, also influences.
- Yeah, that's just it... –the other hesitates.
- You know what happens to me? The more I smoke, the hungrier I get. If I just finished eating and smoke a cigarette, afterwards I know I'll still eat more.
He affirms everything as if shouting "eureka!" and immediately lights another cigarette parsimoniously.
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