The compatriots of the tribe, and more specifically those from Barcelona, have grown accustomed to complaining ---with all the reason in the world--- about the insufferable centralism with which the Kingdom where we have the misfortune to live tortures us. But ironically and hypocritically, Barcelonians exercise the same despotic arrogance towards what the pretentious call "el territori," a beautiful and very rich space that ---thanks to disastrous products like El Foraster from TV3--- we believe is solely overflowing with rural, uneducated people and fodder for folklore. This is written by yours truly, a true Barcelonian, one of the few who act as such today, for whom fleeing the city (with the healthy exception of the Empordà hermitage) is a highly traumatic and, ultimately, quite repulsive experience. But I feel honest empathy for the people from asfalt enllà, coiners of the term Barcelunya, with which one tends to refer to the narcissism that conceives the non-urban landscape as mere scenery.
All this comes to mind, as you can imagine, due to the recent alerts of strong winds this week, a practically COVID-like state of alarm that paralyzed the country for an entire day because of a minor storm that, basically, affected Barcelona and its contiguous municipalities. While the breeze in question lasted ---which, like any somewhat abrupt change in weather, caused minimal misfortunes and even one victim---, my friends from the Delta and the North flooded my mobile phone with messages that we could summarize with the phrase "you've got some nerve, ruining our day for this shitty little breeze." They are absolutely right, because leaving an entire country with public services and commerce in total lethargy, simply because Barcelonians are afraid of a pot falling on their heads, is an outrage difficult to understand. Yours truly is an obedient citizen, but also does not want to be treated like an ass.
Since the Valencia catastrophe (and that famous meal that former president Carlos Mazón extended too much... because of these things that Castilians have of tocar cuixa with the stew still embedded in their gums), most state politicians opt to lock us in our homes at the slightest climatic warning. I understand that our public officials go overboard, aware that the mere presence of a corpse, even if it's a reckless person who habitually parks in the Maresme ravines, will be imputed to them as if they were the cruel executioners of it. But I would say there is a margin between striving to take care of citizens and that insufferable paternalism that sends students home and closes businesses in places where a simple little swirl that tickles the trees occurs. In these situations, I stay home and am obedient, just in case, but I cannot help but feel dread at so much submission.
In the face of inclement weather, and no matter how much lockdown is imposed on everyone, providence will always cause fatal accidents. This has happened these days, where a contemporary of Bon Pastor died when the roof of the warehouse where she worked fell on her. It is also the case of the poor unfortunate who, due to the macabre lottery of existence, suffered the attack of a lamppost violated by the tramontana in the Prosperitat neighborhood and who, as I write this Punyalada, is still debating between staying on Earth or passing away. I am referring, then, to two enormous misfortunes for their protagonists and their respective families, but these contingencies (which happen every day due to even more arbitrary factors, of which we have no news) cannot stop an entire country. I am not saying this for the economy or because I am an apologist for unbridled capitalism. I am simply a stoic anarchist tired of being treated like a pawn.
If you'll allow me the frivolity, and even if you won't, I would say that all the bluster that the capital has suffered ---and the consequent governmental paranoia of locking us in our homes--- is nothing more than a revenge of the Virgin of La Mercè, a perfidious envious of the supporters of Santa Eulalia (glorious!) like myself. But we still have a few days left to celebrate our real patron saint and we will not allow the contingency of a storm nor the Ventorro syndrome to prevent us from enjoying ourselves. While awaiting this divine grace, we will pray that Barcelunya does not suffer any more tornadoes so that the rest of Catalans can spend the weekend without so much psychosis.