From this place I call now “my parents house” to the train that goes to the center of Barcelona, there’s a path, surrounded by trees, silence and old stones, beautiful modernist houses and stories. These I build myself, with years of stepping the same road, whether for going to college, university, pubs, football matches, dates, to the beach, at any time of the day or night. I actually don’t remember walking this road toward some sad event, only great memories that all began on this same road.
Today, this road is not just a road anymore; it’ll never be.
This road has become a bucket of good memories, a spiritual museum of my greatest moments in Barcelona.
For me the most fascinating museum in town.