Four thirty-something French tourists stretch out on the sand, shortly after sunrise, on Sant Miquel beach, in front of the Barceloneta neighborhood. "And my slippers? asks one of them, suddenly waking up, looking everywhere. Has anyone seen my slippers? His sleepy friends ignore him, stretching little by little.
"Damn, they stole my slippers while we were sleeping," the young man adds, raising his voice, getting a little angrier with each word. Will it be possible? They don't touch the helmets that are worth money, which were next door, and they take my shoes!? Are you missing something?" His three friends start to laugh.
“Let's see, they were Air, my sneakers –he continues, now completely pissed off–, that they are worth more than one hundred euros, that we slept on the damned beach to save us a night in a hotel and they steal my sneakers. A great idea to sleep on the beach! It would have been more convenient for me to find a hostel, whatever it was, at least I would have slippers, and don't laugh anymore, come on...!”.
One of the Frenchmen contains his laughter and details that they are from Paris, that they are used to traveling around Europe by motorcycle, that they are on their way to Lloret de Mar, that they suddenly decided that it would be a good idea to make a short stop in Barcelona, a day here and take a quick look at the city. “We thought that the best thing would be to sleep on the beach – he adds –, that for one night in the open nothing was going to happen to us”.
“No,” another of the Parisian bikers put in, “in Lloret de Mar we will not sleep on the beach. With one night in the open air we have more than enough”. “We will be there for a week. In Lloret de Mar we have a hotel reserved and everything. We thought that to spend a day in Barcelona it wasn't worth spending the money on a hotel, we can't spend that money on a good meal!”.
"Come on, let's go," bursts in the one with the stolen shoes, now wearing flip-flops. "Yes," say the others, "let's go have a coffee." The truth is that the price of hotel rooms in Barcelona is breaking all its records this summer. The rates of the previous two years were much cheaper. A good handful of tourists are making stops and inns during these weeks in a total low cost plan on the beaches of Barceloneta.
"We have a rented apartment, an Airbnb," explains another young Frenchman, also lying on the sand, also in front of Barceloneta, checking his mobile phone, while his friend snores wildly, with his nose pointing to the sky, with his backpack as a pillow. What happens is that things did not end up adding up to us. We arrived at night, because the ticket was cheaper that way, and we can't check in the apartment until the afternoon. So we decided to come and sleep on the beach for a few hours. Also, some friends are coming. We have stayed here with them. The truth is that we didn't know that so many people were sleeping here on the beach, it's all very atmospheric!”.
Yes, also in the surroundings, on the benches, in the corners, in the monument of the cubes, anywhere. People are waking up everywhere. Tents are erected everywhere. There are also many who left the nightclubs in the area at dawn and settled anywhere, and also a few clueless thieves, who hang around the drunks to see what they catch. In addition, others prefer to spend the night in the car, parked on the Paseo Marítim. At the height of the Hospital del Mar we found a couple of vehicles with French license plates full of twenty-somethings sleeping soundly, soundlessly, between suitcases.
“No, I've been here in Barcelona for a week or so,” says a young Englishman, still wrapped in a somewhat grimy sarong. In France the police are nastier. I came with some people, but they already left. I think I'm going to go too. I don't know when, but soon, to the south...". And meanwhile, little by little, people who salute the sun practicing yoga, others who throw themselves into the water on paddle surf boards, municipal sweepers who quickly clean up the place, transporters who supply barrels of beer to the beach bars, City Hall workers dedicated to caring for the homeless...
The English globetrotter also says that these days he lives mainly on alms, from what they give him in the streets of the center, especially around the McDonald's on La Rambla. "That's how you get to eat, to drink... It's that I kept my tent at the top of a tree," he adds, suddenly very indignant, "beside me, every morning, between the branches of the tree that is next door." next to the Kentucky Fried Chicken, and well, all good... but the other day a son of a bitch took it, my store, what for? That shop is worth nothing...".
It's been a few summers now that this tree on the promenade and its surroundings have been taken over by some people who usually spend the day drinking, and every now and then arguing. “Good people come here, but bad people also come, very bad people, do you understand? And in Almería I meet people, I have some colleagues, so... As soon as I get money for a bus ticket, I'm going to Almería”.
Abdel says that he's had enough, that he's been sleeping on the beach for two weeks now, that the humidity has already soaked into all his bones, that although it's hard to believe, here on the beach, adding up so many nights, you end up getting cold... His store campaign rises next to one of the towers of the lifeguards. “We are from Morocco. We come from Amsterdam to look for work, what happens is that shortly after arriving I broke my arm and so there is no way to work. In Italy we were also better than here”. The truth is that Abdel speaks three or four languages at the same time, and it is somewhat difficult for him to follow the thread of his explanations.
“Besides, I don't have papers, and without papers it's very difficult to work. They don't give me anything. Here on the beach, many people have spent the whole summer, and some have jobs! See all those tents next to the beach bar? –There are up to half a dozen–. Well, people live in those stores who sell sarongs and stuff on the beach, during the day, but I don't have money to buy sarongs and sell them”.
Abdel begins to dismantle his tent. His companions open their eyes, try to compose themselves in a very laborious way. “We pick up when we see the police, so we know we have to leave,” he says, pointing up the promenade. A couple of motorists from the Urban Police circulate slowly. So the zippers on the tents open from the inside. The faces that appear seem very fed up.
