My Barcelona apartment is in a neighborhood full of noise and thieves. Behind my building’s brown iron security gate, there is a large palm tree and picturesque 12th century staircase curling up through a courtyard – an oasis in a maze of winding cobblestone streets.
El Born is in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona, and is generally thought to be the more elegant part of that historic district of the Catalan capital. The area buzzes with overflowing bars, champagnerias and tapas houses until 3am. Tourists flock to El Born to see the Picasso Museum on the famous Calle de Montcada, a crowded, narrow street lined with medieval stone mansions. Behind you there is always the ‘bring-bring’ of a bicycle bell, but luckily that is the only traffic; there are only pedestrian streets in this neighbourhood. The heart of El Born is marked by a stunning gothic church, the Santa Maria del Mar, which has outdoor bars and cafes at its feet. It serves as a meeting spot for Barcelonans and tourists alike.
When I moved here in 2005, an Italian friend who lived here told me that the part of El Born where I live is ‘dodgy’. I was surprised to hear a non-native English speaker use that word. I always thought it was a slang term used by Australians. Since then I looked up the word in the dictionary, and to my surprise I found it. The Oxford Dictionary defines it as:
- dishonest
- risky; dangerous
- not good or reliable.
I love the area where I live, but I have since come to realize that my Italian friend was completely right – it is all of the above.
You wander through the streets of El Born closer to the sea, lined with elegant chocolate stores, ice-cream parlors and high fashion. You walk up further through narrow alleys while the sweet smells of good cooking, dominated by garlic, take you 30 meters from my building. There, suddenly, you are faced with a myriad of sub-cultures. This is my street – Calle Carders. There are Pakistanis, Moroccans, Indians, Ecuadorians, Cubans, Dominican Republicans, Africans and likely any other nationality you can imagine at any given corner. Groups of people hang around, they watch – and then there are others who run along the streets and steel unsuspecting passersby’s handbags. The victims are always tourists, whether they be Japanese, Italian or Finnish; their handbag is the target.
I avoid taking a handbag when I can, and the times I do I will clutch it firmly under my arm. In general, however, I don’t feel threatened at all. They know my stride is one of a person that has walked down this street time and time again. They might call out “Pssst” or “Guapa” as I pass them – depending on who it is I might smile, or just ignore them.
I like the range of shops on my street – everything I need is within a moment’s reach. Opposite the entrance to my building is one of the best butchers in Barcelona, and they are open every night until 10pm. Impromptu barbeques on my roof terrace are never a problem. The ambience of my street is definitely a special experience, but when I need to get away from it all, and feel free to release the tight hold on my handbag, I close the security gate behind me and melt into the familiar and secluded world of my apartment.