“All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me”

It’s funny how you spit a relatively deep thought without expecting others to notice it and someone surprises you a couple of days later.

Last Monday, when the barman told us they were closing in ten minutes, I told my friend that one of the flaws of life is how routine chases you as you grow up — or old — and you need to run from it and look for spontaneity. At the end of the night he proposed to meet again soon.

The origin of the name of the mountain.

On Wednesday evening, I was waiting at the agreed place and — while eating a hamburger — I realised he was carrying two motorbike helmets. That was a weird image since he hasn’t got a motorbike. He had hired one and had spent all day riding it. Having threatened him so he would respect my physical integrity, we went up the Tibidabo, a mountain behind Barcelona where I hadn’t been for nine years.

From the top we could admire the moon, the city lights, the far ships in the sea, the hotel W Barcelona — which is said to be designed to merge with its environment to be unnoticed — and the thick smog that covers the city. We could also enjoy the silence of the mountain, only disturbed by the distant murmur of the far and never-stopping traffic.

That was a pretty nice scene notwithstanding. We can just complain about feeling the cold wind at that altitude at thirty-five miles per hour, but it got warmer when we entered the smog bubble again.


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