I moved back to Barcelona two weeks ago after being away all the summer. Here’s what I think about my new flat.
I think I never gave much detail about last year’s flat. It was behind El Molino, next to the Apolo club, twenty minutes walking from the centre. It was quite big; it had a terrace and a wonderful living kitchen you already know. The room was small, however, it was enough to sleep and keep my clothes in it. And although I was sharing with three other guys, they were older than thirty, had their own lives and we hardly ever met. I could say I had a delightful flat in the centre just for me.
Two weeks ago I had to rush to Barcelona. I chose the most acceptable flat I saw and moved there without further searching. It’s on a seventh floor next to Plaça de Sants, too far from everywhere on foot. It’s small, with a tiny laundry room, but a decent kitchen. The living room is a cube with a table, television and a sofa where you can often find a couple watching loud gossip programmes and reality shows. They are nice, though.
Last year, with grown ups, everyone went their own way and we briefly chatted if we ever met in the evening. This year, with youngsters, we have cleaning schedules and basic food lists. I’m old enough to think about becoming independent without hearing gossip programmes’ fights in my living room or having referendums every time we run out of vinegar. Although it’s not a bad flat when in need, I’m not celebrating Boxing Day here.