HomagetoCataloniabyGeorgeOrwell
ANNA FUNDER
A
placeis always
ghostedbythe
authorsyou’veread
onit.Myfirsttime
inBarcelonawas
thesummerof2006,andGeorge
Orwellwaswithme.I walked
downthepavedcentreofthe
magnificentLasRamblasfrom
PlaçadeCatalunyatotheseaside.
InMay 1937 Orwellstrolled
underthesesameplanetrees,
pastthesamemetroentrance
andnewspaperkiosks.Then,
halfwayalong,theworldchanged
- suddenly,asit sometimesdoes.
“I heardseveralrifle-shots
behindme,”hewrote.“I turnedroundandsawsomeyouths,
withriflesintheirhandsandthered-and-blackhandkerchiefs
oftheAnarchistsroundtheirthroats...exchangingshotswith
someoneina talloctagonaltower...”Peoplerantotakecover
inthemetrobutOrwelldidn’t,becausehewantedtoseewhat
wouldhappen.It turnedouttobethebeginningoftheendof
theunifiedresistancetoFranco’sfascism,forwhichhe’dbeen
fightingintheAndalusiantrenchesformonths.
I reachedLaBoqueriamarketandadmiredthetechnicolour
pyramidsoffruit,andthegreathaunchesofjamónhanging
bytheirhoovesalongsidespikynecklacesofredchillies.
A stallholderwasfryingpinkbabyoctopusin
garlic.ThedayaftertheshootingOrwellhad
managedtoarmhimselfbutneededsustenance.
Asheapproached,themarketcameunder
“aheavycrashofrifle-fire”thatsentpeople
“flyingforthebackexits”.Heduckedin
anyway,downeda coffeeandbought“a
wedgeofgoat’s-milkcheesewhichI tucked
inbesidemybombs”.
I feltlikea coffee,too,andturnedtofind
one.Andthen,asif totestmyghostedgriponthepresent,a
mansaunteredpastme,starknaked.I blinked.Hewasdefinitely
real– thevendorsweregreetinghimcasuallybyname.Thisis
whywetravel,I thought.Notnecessarilytoseea nakedemperor
witha full-bodytan,butsimplytobethrilled,onyourwaytoget
coffee,bywhatthelocalsinanygivenplacetakeforgranted.
Sometimestheworldfeelslikeit turnsona dime,that
bizarreandunexpected,terrifyingandmagnificentrealities
canemerge,apparentlyoutofnowhere:a bullet,a nakedman,
a newregime.WhenOrwellarrivedinBarcelonainDecember
1936, the Anarchists were in control and “the revolution was
stillinfullswing”.Hefoundit “startlingandoverwhelming”.
Redflagsflewfromthebuildingsandeveryshopandcafé,
eventhebootblacksandtheprostituteshadbeencollectivised.
“Waitersandshop-walkerslookedyouinthefaceandtreated
youasanequal.”Tippingwasforbidden.“Itwasthefirst
time,”henoted,“thatI hadeverbeenina townwherethe
workingclasswasinthesaddle.”
I hadtheprivilegeofjoininga triponthe80thanniversary
oftheSpanishCivilWarwithOrwell’sson,RichardBlair,
andQuentinKopp,thesonofOrwell’scommandingofficer,
Georges Kopp.WewentupontotheroofoftheTeatrePoliorama
onLasRamblas.Duringthestreetfighting
ofMay1937,Orwellspentthreedayshere,
mainlyreadingPenguinpaperbacks– because
the“enemy”(anotherworker’sforce)had
agreedtowarnthembeforeshooting.
AsOrwell’ssonstartedreadinghisfather’s
descriptionofGeorgesKopp’scouragein
defusingthesituation– by“walking,unarmed,
uptomenwhowerefrightenedoutoftheirwits”- I watchedthequietprideonQuentinKopp’s
face.Below,thestreetlookedpeaceful,peoplewerestrolling,and
backpackersponderedpostcardsandwhirligigsat thekiosks.
Andthen,onlya fewmonthslater,LasRamblaswas
againfullofdemonstrators,thistimedemandingsecession,
a centuries-oldstruggle.AsI write,theirleadersarestillin
prisonorexile,at thesametimeasLaBoqueriais infull
swing,thekiosksaresellingLaVanguardia, andOrwell’s
ghoststrollsdownLasRamblas.Orducksforcover– cheese
andbombsinhispocket.
■AnnaFunderis theaward-winning authorof Stasilandand
All That I Am.➤
Then,halfway
alongLas
Ramblas,the
world changed- suddenly, asit
sometimes does.
GOURMET TRAVELLER 79