[08001] A dysfunction of the system?

Imagine a city of roughly 1.8 million inhabitants, among which more than 400.000 are immigrants. Imagine that the city is positioned somewhere in the middle between three continents, belonging to Europe, facing Africa and having "family" links with South America and the Arab states. Then imagine of a city being at the verge of what may still be considered "avant-guard" while at the same time being tolerant to the traditional heritage of its immigrants and, evenmore, willing to incorporate them into a "mestizo" culture, that is a cultural mixture of all of the above. This is Barcelona.

And, at least for me, Barcelona is Raval, the neighbourhood of the immigrants which is situated west of la Rambla between the Barrí Gotic and Poble Sec. A micrography of our world, with its beautiful rennovated flats of modern painters, right next door to a two bedroom flat which may be shared by a dozen of iraquis. Streets full of colours, odours and tastes from as far as Pakistan and Argentina, syrian restaurants, greek bars, dutch jazz clubs, irish pubs and peruvian barber shops. Everything in walking distance from each other, the good-looking side of "globalization". Zip code: 08001.

No wonder, the most interesting band I 've seen up to now, comes from the Raval. And no wonder it's called 08001. More a collective than a band, comprising twenty-three people from 15 different countries. Their music, a fusion of folk world music with trip-hop, hip-hop, heavy base chords, funky outbursts and melodic vocal sessions is all someone can ask for. The musicians´ inspiring performance blends with the vocalists (more than 8 that keep coming on and off the stage throughout the whole set) and with well-placed samples and video projections.

In times where multi-cultural appeal is confined in extremely expensive, trendy restaurants, when the need to get in touch with a different culture is usually satisfied with an organized trip that locks you up in a 5-star hotel in Habana or Thailand, a walk in the streets of Raval may bring you to the other side of the moon, where life is still real, people work ordinary jobs and do not dress up for tourists. And what better soundtrack for this stroll than 08001?

How I won the Six Nations' (on my first try!)

The event seemed to be a not-miss! France was playing England in what was inarguably the most decisive matchup of the Six Nations' Cup in rugby, my french colleagues were going to watch the game live somewhere close to the Sagrada Familia and this is how I decided to make my debut in yet another team sport loud-screaming-while-watching-and-drinking extravaganza.

I had only finished reading Nick Horby's "Fever Pitch" which had influenced me significantly in considering my forgotten extreme reactions of fandom an irreparable loss I had to compensate for. So I got on the metro and headed to Sagrada Familia to discover what rugby really is. The environment - an irish pub named "Michael Collins", whose owner did not even let the english national anthem to be heard from the TV- and my company -Arnaud, probably wisely masking his excitement and Sylvain making no such effort whatsoever- left me with no options about which side to support. The English were the favourites anyway, so France was the obvious choice.

[a strange game]
I experienced my first try, while ordering a first couple of pints, had to wait for the second until well in the second half and was pleased to understand the circumstances under which the third, definitive one came, a little before the end of the game. A steal and a short run towards the final line, under the cheers of french-irish-(greek?) enthusiasm.
Rugby, however, is a strange game. You understand there is a perfectly devised strategy behind the coordinated moves of so many players, but you find it somehow difficult to appreciate it in its fullness. On the other hand, my lack of experience could in no case allow me to distinguish between an awful mistake of a defender from a brilliant improvization on behalf of the attacker. In all, I felt a bit lost although we won a record win of all times.

[too late]
However, I think it is too late for me to hook up with a new game. This happens only once in a lifetime, twice maybe to the less loyal ones, and always during childhood. I enjoyed watching the match, loved the atmosphere, tried to share as much of the joy of my colleagues, but in the end, I only discovered I belonged elsewhere. That was when, a short after the game had ended, the pub owner switched channel and an Arsenal-Liverpool match came up. Five minutes of a boring, passing game just before halftime were enough to make me understand that some things are already chosen for you and all you can do is accept them without asking too many questions.