There are certain markers in the city that show the progress of time throughout the year. The change in temperature and the length of days are obvious ones. A more subtle one is the nationality and type of tourist. The low season extends from the second week of January to the third week of January. After that, the influx of visitors begins anew, gradually picking up steam. First come the perpetually vacationing French, then the Italians. Soon they are followed by British who arrive to turn a glowing pink in the unfamiliar sun and get drunk by 5. Summer brings crowds of Americans.
This year, with work,
Les Fat Jones and 2 Skinnee J's, I was too busy to really pay attention, and was caught by surprise when the streets were suddenly hot and crowded. As I cycle to work, I now need to bring a change of shirt. By the time I reach my destination, the one I wear on my bike looks like I fell into a swimming pool. (Too sexy? Too sexy!)
And this weekend brings a particular brand of tourist: the hipster festival-goer.
Yellow wristbands abound as people from around the continent flock to Barcelona to see Primavera Sound, a Pitchfork and Vice approved musical extravaganza.
Meanwhile, the country continues to fall apart. Sales are down, unemployment is up and the banks are in serious trouble, as is the currency they stock. Said visitors were greeted at the airport today by a literal mess.
The cleaning staff is on strike, not only refusing to clean, but actively dumping trash throughout the terminals.
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| Black Lips |
At least there is some awesome fiddling going on as the place burns.
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