Productions

A friend of mine who lived in Bristol says that if there was a zombie apocalypse we Mediterranean people wouldn’t survive at all, those who would do would be the English southerners. Well, so Tarragona, we could say, is the Catalan Bristol.

These itinerary is an adaptation of a piece with the same name that refers and as the title says to walk thirty-four days following the estates of an old document found, estates of the inheritance of the first Catalan mayoress, Dolores Codina Arnau.

This is a land that slowly and sacredly undresses before us, and invokes gods and deaths. What paths are still to be travelled that memory has not worn out? What places are still to be named? It is better to climb the slope of the Portbou cemetery at night. It’s better if it’s a cold, moonless night.

A relaxed conversation on the terrace of a bar, the discovery that both Albert Jordana and I were and are village boys and that there are museums in our villages led us to ask ourselves the following question: How many people – both from other villages and from our own – know and visit our museums?

Take it easy, because it takes years of work to accomplish this route. This route starts from an indeterminate South, which is inevitably thought of as South from a place that is articulated as North or as Center in an act of imaginary verticality.

We start our route in the street Vilà i Vilà 99 at the famous Molino. A few know that the beginnings of this place date back from 1898, when the owner of a bar called “La pajarera” transferred the business to an Andalucian immigrant looking for fortune and he changed the name to “La pajarera catalana”.

I have hung a piñata next to my house. I order chronologically at the hallway the images of the building. I stand behind the mirrored glass door. In the hallway there is a faux leather sofa. I invite a volunteer to come by. We are all tenants. From the window I unhook a box. I change my car into a home. We cross the doorway playing hopscotch. An image of the staircase covers the front door. We walk blindfolded to the sea. The staircase has two skylights.

All inside the hole, from which water comes out, in which we bathe, from where we saw the mountain, in which we danced and looked at the sea, which appeared inside the hole, when we looked out, and that we did with seven shovels that we carried there, under the willow.