Looking Up

We tend to focus our senses on what surrounds us in a relatively flat plane. The people on the walkways, the shadows of closed doors in alleyways, the colour that hangs precariously from one brick or stone to the next, and the next place we put our feet. We’re designed to consider what is in front of us in a broad arc of effect, but we rarely give credence or consideration to what is above.

Most of the time, we understand that “above us” will be either the towering edifices of humanity’s creation or Nature’s canvas, the sky. It’ll be raining or dry, sunny or cloudy, and if a wind comes passing through, so much the better. It’s a basic existence we live, charmed only by the present and only in the immediacy of our circumstances.

However, the above realm is as fascinating and delightful as it is where we tread. From clothing hanging off of balconies to the glorious colours of tiles and stucco to the finely wrought iron shaped in forms of leaves, branches, flowers, and others, what lies above us tells stories far more interesting than the stolen conversation and looks from below.

I love looking at the world around me through a lens that doesn’t constrain itself to the horizontal spread so readily captured and understood. There’s a particular mystery to standing in the middle of a narrow alleyway and attempting to line up the sky between two buildings, knowing that should your lines be disrupted, the story somehow becomes…less than what it could be. Simultaneously, you’re aware that you’re the awkward tourist, looking at the ether through a tiny box of metal and sand and perhaps causing unintended traffic. But when you get that shot, that precise balance of sky and stucco, humanity and inanimate object, you’ll rejoice for all the awkwardness and travail.

You see it here, hanging in the in-between space. Something far enough above your eyeline that you’d not necessarily consider its presence. But hanging in space, between the firmament below and the sky above, there is a moment, framed for the space of a second’s eternity, just for you.

These are the little inclusions in travel that make everything worth it. In the narrow spaces where one is more prone to just get through it and on to the next via or calle or carrer, you find the stories and heartbeat of a city, a people, and their provenance.

Barcelona is full of these little inclusions, the paths less taken by those who aren’t seeking them out. Emma and I found the smaller, less apparent ones for every broad pathway. We wove our way through back alleys with detritus and through slightly less narrow ones near churches and town squares. We rubbed shoulders with people who’ve lived there for decades and those whose time is measured in months. We saw the ancient stones of Barcelona’s centuries-old heritage and the modern scribbles of a society agitating for social change and freedom. These paths told stories as dichotomous as humanity, and within them lay the richness of a vibrant people and culture.

We’re only scratching the surface of this beautiful city and its people. We tread these stone corridors as if dipping our toes into a new stream, a discovered oasis amid a desert of the good things humanity can do for each other. Perhaps in considering what is lying around us from different perspectives than usual, we’re hoping to find anything that carries an undercurrent of perseverance and hope. I’d suggest that we all could benefit from looking up a bit more, perhaps considering that what we take for granted isn’t always the whole story.

May it ever be so.