Festa mejor de Sants

We've had to endure the fair in Sants for the two previous years and this year was to be no exception. Having arrived from the Ampurdan, an hour and a half drive away we then spent the next 45 minutes looking for somewhere to park - we found a place, with the idea of moving it later. As well as many streets being closed to traffic the area was having cable TV installed and many places were barriered off for the works. Fantastic!

Once parked we made our way through the crowds with about half our luggage, an assortment of sports bags and plastic carrier bags. We listened to the people, the woman crying out the bingo numbers and the music playing at high volume. At home we could listen to rock at the back of the apartment and salsa at the front and the heat meant leaving all windows open. At around one in the morning we finished dinner at which point the salsa became drowned out by a noisy electric guitar, cranked up to full volume playing three dissonant chords. A crashing of drums followed the guitar, wildly out of time and then came to a grinding halt. The guitar started again followed by the drums, still completely out of time. I looked from the balcony to see the source of this irritation, but the fullness of the trees blocked my view. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. We decided to move the car.

As we emerged onto the street the source of this cacophony made itself apparent with a brightly-coloured mohican haircut clad only in leather trousers and boots danced to the chords Still the same notes. Still the same drums. By the time we returned from moving the car, which only had to be reversed into the now empty space behind, this irritation had disappeared somewhere into the night and once three o'clock arrived and the people dispersed we were able to sleep.

On Saturday, after a day at the beach following some arrangements for that evening and a phone call to Restaurant Carmen to ensure she was open during the madness, again we hadn't been able to park. Tonight the easy option was to remove one of the barriers erected by the cable TV company which lay parallel to the curb at a distance of one car width and slot our car in. Once parked, showered and changed we made our way out into the night and to Carmen's, who seemed to be feeding the entire street. Tables and chairs lay outside, benches with stacks of pinchos, botifaras, chorizos and other wonders, within. She asked the young waiter, almost certainly her son, about the table she had asked him to keep for us. "Is it ten o'clock already?" came his flustered response, but in no time brought out a couple of small wooden tables, four chairs and the tapas menu and all was well. We sat there in the middle of the street overhung with blue streamers giving the impression of being in a huge tent. Amongst the passers by I noticed a mohican walk by and watched the doorway to the restaurant as Carmen calmly observed the goings on and smoked a cigarette.

After our more than ample meal, wine and sangria, we moved halfway down the road to where a band on a stage (you see why it is cut off to cars?) bashed out a variety of songs, from the big song of the summer in Spain to rock and salsa. We danced until we needed a beer to go on at which point we went to a corner of an intersecting street decorated with a two storey model of the Leaning Tower of Piza. Other streets were decorated with a witch, a mushroom and other giant decorations.

We drank beer, we danced in the street again, we drank more beer. After saying goodnight to our friends at about three o'clock we returned home through the crowds and the bars and the bingo caller. We sat for a while with a night-cap, waiting for the noise to die down a little and went to bed feeling happily exhausted.

The next morning the street decorations were being dismantled. On a pillar by the road was one of the decorations, but not until we got closer did we see it was the witches head.

Parking that evening was easy.