La Mercè, Part One: Giants, Dragons and Goldfrapp.

As I happened to mention last time, I managed to turn up in Barcelona during the month of a great big street festival: La Mercè. Events are wide-ranging and dispersed throughout the city. In the park, there are human pyramids, and in every square, a stage. To say nothing of the free museums day, light shows, street performers, parades, dancing and general abundance of fire wherever possible. There are also, of course, plenty of crowds to get in your way. And through these crowds great leaders of our time do march, holding aloft the sacred tools of worship at any festival: beer. One might think this a difficult task, bound to annoy mostly everyone by the incessant shuffling required to let these people through, or by the raised six-pack swinging into one's head. But these merchants take a different view, and who are we to argue?

The opening procession rather sets the tone. (The tone being one of Pagan ritual sacrifice.) It seems to work as follows: there are giants, and animals which are merely large; they all march into the square; each one takes it in turn to dance around, usually with something aflame; finally, they all march out again. Much of the experience seems purposefully designed to rot the minds of small children. I mean, check out the beast below.

And he's not the only one.

Whilst all of this is going on, there are several concerts across the city, of which all, or so it appears, are free. The following night saw Goldfrapp make a stop-over in Barcelona, to play at The Forum. Now I'm sure not all of you reading this will know who Goldfrapp are, but they are a pretty big deal. And I got to see them, for free. Not only that, but we turned up a mere twenty minutes before the show began yet were nonetheless able to get right to the front of the stage. To the side, but leaning against the barrier. I don't know if that's indicative of the lackadaisical Spanish attitude to life or as a result of the sheer volume of things to do at the festival, but that's never the way of things back home. Would that it were.

Sadly the music experience has not since hit such highs, nor will it do, in all likelihood. After Goldfrapp there appeared an act by the name of Luke Abbot. English-sounding name, bad Euro-rap. Strange combination, and sadly not an enjoyable one.

There's been another day of the festival since, in which I took part in the Correfoc, or Fire Run, for which I posted the warning in my previous entry. It's going to require its own blog post later this week, but I will say this: I am alive, and unscathed. But for a while it was touch-and-go.