Homage to Catalonia

II came here to write my novel, high up in the hills above Banyoles. Now my writing retreat is over and my journey home begins, but I can't leave so quickly, there is something about Catalonia that holds me. So I'm staying in Girona. I've passed through here three times before but never had the chance to properly explore. Girona to me was a Ryanair Airport, and a concrete bus station. The one time I did arrive a day early, I stayed in an identikit, corporate hotel. Not this time. I'm staying in an apartment courtesy of Airbnb in a old apartment block that smells faintly of incense sticks as you struggle up the stairs with your suitcase - no lift! I've left the new city behind and walked across the Pont de les Peixateries into the old city, with it's dark narrow streets were few cars go, and the Catalan flag hangs from the balconies overhead. I love it. This old city is not a museum, it is living and breathing. The old houses and tenements are still lived in. The shops may not sell the same goods as in times past but they are still trading. I'm sitting in a cafe near the cathedral - it wasn't open this afternoon, because there was a wedding being held; a wedding for ordinary people, not some overblown celebrity. I watched as the guests wandered down the steps to go to the reception. Old and young, fashionable and frumpy, over dressed and under dressed. It was magical because it was real. There has been a cathedral here since the 11th century. The Romans came here in 76 B.C. (Or B.C.E if you prefer).  I really arrived here today, and I have to leave on Tuesday, but part of me will stay here for ever.