People of Horta

There is a non touristic district in Barcelona.

I fell in love with this district, so favourable to wander in, as everywhere in this beautiful city.

For foreign people who live here only for a time, we have to live what I will call our Spanish period, as in a period of a painter’s life. After the early days of discovering the town, we need other things. We need more than to walk on the Rambla or in the Gothic district and to be astonished by the amazing Sagrada Familia.

Horta district, to the north of the city. Near the hills.

You never could take in Horta with a single look or walk. You must deserve Horta and its inhabitants too. They take time to adopt you. But when they do, you will feel better than at home.

When I stayed in Horta, after a short time in the Raval, another district that I loved to live and wander in, I immediately began to love the atmosphere of Horta. Far away from the noise and fury of the world.

To walk and stroll through Horta’s streets you need to have eyes in the sky.

It is a beautiful district only if you take your time. In this way, you will discover a lot of incredible private houses and buildings. Sometimes, in a banal street, you can chance upon a Gaudi style house or a 20’s building. Everywhere you find little terraces where it is so pleasant to take a break around tapas y copas. Of course, the true soul of this district are its inhabitants. I confess, I was seduced by the People of Horta - this could be a good title for a novel.

The People of Horta are the heartbeat of the district, its rhythm. You could tell me: but that is true everywhere. I am really not sure about this. I have wandered through many districts in the world, and I can affirm that Horta is different. My French friends told me recently: Lalie, you say this because you are in love with Barcelona. Of course I am. When I arrived last April, I fell in love at first sight. So I truly live a love story. Maybe, as some people say in France, love makes you blind. Not always. And it does not matter. For the moment me duele el corazón to be so far away from this city, this district and these people.

The People of Horta exist and this is the beautiful thing: they exist. They are here. They welcome you with a special generosity. There are Catalans, Argentines, Spaniards from everywhere, but they are here. So nicely present, chatty, generous, welcoming. Curious about everything, about you, and always ready for a chat that could never end.

It could seem banal, but no, it is not.

Two weeks ago, I was explained to one of the People of Horta, near the bar where I wrote my last novel, that I must go to Paris, again. Without joy, again. This is really a love story between Barcelona and me. So, you know, when you leave people you love, it is a pain. Precisely, at this moment, it caused me pain to speak about my departure. An inhabitant of Horta, a neighbour of my coffee table where I write, says me: come back quickly, chica, we are waiting for you. Hasta pronto!

Obviously, Horta is like this: a mixture of architectural and human beauty. And by this stormy epoch, the beauty is fundamental. Essential. Even for me, writer of thrillers who writes creepy stories each day. Beauty, Latin sensuality and generosity. A trifecta.

While I am writing these words, I am still in Paris for a couple of days, but my heart is always in Barcelona. I think a lot about the People of Horta especially. I think about the extraordinary energy of the city, even far away from the heart of the centre, from which we need to take a certain distance sometimes. I think about the Spanish language, ideal for talking, sensual and rich - and I love it more and more. I am thinking about my lake of Barcelona and its inhabitants. Maybe because I have always preferred the south to the north, the living streets of Barcelona like a huge human-urban body to the cold-stressed streets of Paris. On a wall, embroidered on a football flag in the Mutet bar, where sometimes I make a stop for writing a novel, I have noticed this: Te llevo en el alma y cada día te quiero mas.

It is like an invitation to remain in this city, in this district. Maybe also because when you have come from a foreign country, it warms your heart to know that, somewhere, someone is waiting for you.

Lalie Walker, writer

Paris, November 2016

Thanks to Thomas Helm for reading and correcting me