I'm not one to complain about the weather... much.
As a Canadian transplant here in Barcelona, where snow is so completely rare that a freak flurry will shut down the entire city, I've wandered about through this winter with a sort of smug toughness when met with complaints about the cold. I've mocked other expat friends from the UK when they shiver over coffee and bikinis, moaning loudly about the chill in their bones while we still lounge on street side terraces. In such instances I laud my thick Canadian blood and urge them to "man up." I believe the term "Nancy" has been thrown about a few times, as well.
Sadly though, I can feel that Canadian weather resistance abandoning me. It's four degrees here today -- and lovely, sunny blue sky notwithstanding -- it feels bloody brutal. My feet are like ice blocks, I shiver on the terrace, and I'm moaning about the "cold" at an alarmingly increased rate.
I'm becoming the damned Nancy.
On Irony and Tardy Prophecies
In the old city, exploring the Gótic barrio's intricate labyrinth of narrow, ancient streets will eventually lead you to Plaça de George Orwell. This little square with a fairly lofty name acts as a central hub in and around which drunken revellers -- locals, expats, and tourists alike -- swarm like locusts through the barrio's vast network of bars and nightclubs. It is named for the legendary author not so much due to his herculean literary stature, as for his escapades during the Spanish Civil War.
Orwell fought for the Republicans during the war against Franco's nationalists as a member of the International Brigades, which also included nearly two thousand Canadians breaking their own nation's laws in doing so; something not taught in schools back home, sadly. The author chronicled his time, and his perspective on the anarcho-syndicalist's brief liberation of Barcelona in the memoir Homage to Catalonia.
Named for him in 1996, the square is a great spot to meet and mingle; to people watch over a few mediana's before either abandoning the barrio to the hordes descending upon it to drink, dance, and hopefully find a warm body for the night, or joining them yourself in search of similar amusements.
Like much of the old city, the square has seen its share of seedier elements over the years. This is part of the neighbourhood's charm, but for a tourist lacking in common sense, or suffering from a high blood alcohol content, this can sometimes lead to a stolen wallet or mobile phone. Pickpockets are an issue here in Barcelona, primarily if you make yourself an easy mark for them.
With this in mind, in 2002 the Ajuntament de Barcelona leapt into the annuls of achievements in obvious irony when they made the area a "zona vigilada" and installed a security camera that now keeps watch over a square named after the author of 1984, in which we are given a chilling glimpse into a world where everyone is monitored as a possible dissenter; where each citizen is considered a suspect. You almost have to admire the twisted sense of humour of the Ajuntament employee that suggested the square as a prime spot for constant surveillance, though I may be giving them too much credit. The sad reality is that the choice most likely went straight over their heads.
When I saw the above photo, it reminded me that, while he was a bit off on the date, in writing 1984, Orwell has become more prophet than doom-saying novelist. Our cities are so rife with video surveillance, watching and recording everything we do outside of our own homes, that we no longer give the constant monitoring a second thought, even as the likes of Google, Facebook, and smartphone providers make the prospect of our private lives being documented increasingly likely. We have bought into the ludicrous notion that if we aren't doing anything wrong, we have nothing to fear from such invasions of privacy.
This strange trust that surveillance of the public will only be used in the service of catching criminals allows acts like the 2012 NDAA to come into law with only a half hearted resistance. We don't seem to realise these measures make us all suspects. We are all possible terrorists, potential dissidents, and likely criminals.
The camera in Orwell's square is an ugly little reminder that, to those in control, we are the enemy.
Photo Via Poumista
