Today, Joseph de Ca'th Lon, ClaireFontaine and The Grandma are in Décines-Charpieu, Lyon where this afternoon the Northern Star has an important match.
Claire has just arrived by train to join her friends. During the trip, she has been reading a new adventure of the most famous Gaul, Astérix and the Soothsayer.
Astérix and the Soothsayer, inFrench Le Devin, is the nineteenth volume of the Astérix comic book series, by René Goscinny (stories) and Albert Uderzo (illustrations). It was originally serialized in Pilote issues 652-673 in 1972.
In this story, Prolix the soothsayer claims that the village of the Gauls will become polluted by a divine curse. Astérix thinks that the man is a charlatan, and his fellow villagers are concerned about sacrilege.
With a more adult-theme which started with Astérix and the Roman Agent, the story revolves around the superstitions of the people at the time (Gauls and Romans alike) and of today, and parodies the general gullibility of humanity.
The story includes an illustration of the Roman and Gaulish pantheon of gods. In that illustration, Uderzo includes a drawing of his own country home, and a soothsayer's fantastical prediction of the future is illustrated by a photograph of La Défense, the modern district of skyscrapers outside Paris.
An Augur tells Caesar that as long as Brutus is near you...you will have nothing to fear, in the authors' reference to Caesar's murder by his hands.
Key Lessons From Astérix and the Soothsayer
-Skepticism over Superstition. The story teaches us to apply critical thinking rather than blindly believing charismatic charlatans who prey on fear and the desire to know the future.
-The Danger of Gullibility. Even sensible people can fall for scams when a fraudster tells them what they want to hear or plays effectively on their anxieties.
-Common Sense Defeats Fraud. Astérix demonstrates that calm logic and observational proof are far more powerful weapons against manipulation than panic or belief in curses.
-Unity and Resilience. The village overcomes outside infiltration and manipulation because community solidarity and collective action ultimately restore order.
Today, The Grandma is in Lyon (Liyon). She has come to see the Northern Star, who has a very special match tomorrow. She hasn't come alone; Joseph de Ca'th Lon is accompanying her. He lives 158 km from Lyon -an hour away by train. The Grandma lives 639 km away -an hour by plane. Such are the realities of modern transport and communication routes; they seem very modern to us, yet they are nothing more than the roads built by the Romans -routes that, centuries ago, already connected major cities like Genava (Gallia Narbonensis), Lugdunum (Gallia Lugdunensis), and Barcino (Tarraconensis).
It makes no difference how many times you visit Lyon, or -as is the case for The Grandma -whether you have had the chance to live there because your job took you there, no matter how often you visit the city, a trip to Fourvière is a must, for that is where it all began.
The Grandma has wondered what the life of a woman like her would have been like in the Fourvière of Lugdunum, and how many things have remained completely unchanged over the two thousand years of history of this beautiful city -now one of the most important in Europe. In fact, she has wanted to think about Lugdunum through the eyes of two women separated by almost two thousand years.
From Fourvière, she has closed her eyes and has begun to imagine...
She stands on the hill and looks down at the city. Her name is Julia. It is the second century AD, and nobody calls this place Lyon. The city beneath her is Lugdunum, one of the great cities of Roman Gaul.
Julia does not know that she is living in what future historians will call Antiquity. She does not know that archaeologists will one day uncover the stones beneath her feet, carefully catalogue fragments of pottery, reconstruct buildings and try to imagine people like her.
For Julia, this is simply home. And from the heights of Fourvière, her world seems enormous.
The first thing she notices is probably movement. Lugdunum is not silent. People walk along its streets. Carts carry goods. Merchants negotiate. Artisans work in their workshops. Officials discuss matters of administration. Travellers arrive from distant parts of the Empire. Down below flow the Saône and the Rhône.
Julia has seen boats carrying wine, oil, pottery and countless other goods. She has heard accents that do not sound like hers. Lugdunum lies at an extraordinary crossroads between the Mediterranean world and the northern territories of Gaul.
Rome may be far away, but Rome is everywhere. Its laws, its gods, its administration, its coins and its architecture have shaped the city. And yet Lugdunum is not simply Rome transplanted to Gaul. It has its own rhythm. Its own landscape. Its own people.
What might Julia's day be like? That would depend enormously on who Julia was. A wealthy Roman matron and an enslaved woman could inhabit the same city while experiencing two radically different worlds. Roman society was profoundly unequal, and women's lives were shaped by wealth, family status and legal position.
Let us imagine that Julia belongs to a reasonably prosperous household. She knows the shops and markets of the city. She buys food and household goods. She visits relatives and neighbours. She knows which streets become crowded at particular times of day. Perhaps she visits the baths. Roman baths are not merely places for washing. They are places where the city meets itself: people talk, exchange news and maintain social relationships. Water itself is one of Lugdunum's great achievements. Bringing sufficient water to a city built high above the rivers requires extraordinary engineering.
Julia does not need to understand the calculations behind an aqueduct. She only needs to turn towards a fountain and watch the water flow. Sometimes the most sophisticated technology becomes invisible precisely because it works.
And then there is entertainment. Not far from Julia stands the great theatre. Thousands of people can gather there to watch performances, particularly comedies and dances. Nearby, the smaller odeon welcomes music and public recitations. Imagine Julia among the audience. Imagine the conversations before the performance begins, the clothes, the laughter, the impatience of the spectators.
For a few hours, thousands of inhabitants of Lugdunum look towards the same stage.
Almost two thousand years later, people will gather on this very hill once again to watch performances. The actors will change. The language will change. The music will change. But people will still sit together beneath the Lyon sky waiting for a story to begin. Perhaps Julia would understand that perfectly.
Lugdunum is powerful. It is an administrative centre and an important mint produces coins here. Roads connect the city with the rest of Gaul and the Roman world. Materials and objects arrive from astonishing distances. Marble comes from different parts of the Mediterranean. Wine and food travel along commercial routes. Merchants follow the rivers. Julia may never travel to Egypt, Greece or Asia Minor. Yet pieces of those worlds can reach her city.
Lugdunum teaches her something every great city eventually learns: you do not need to travel everywhere for the world to arrive at your door.
Now another woman stands on Fourvière. Nearly two thousand years have passed. She does not call the city Lugdunum. She calls it Lyon.
The landscape before her would be almost incomprehensible to Julia. Bridges cross the rivers. Cars move through the streets. Trains arrive and depart. Electric lights illuminate the city at night. Buildings cover areas that Julia would have known as countryside. The modern woman can communicate instantly with someone thousands of kilometres away. She can travel in a few hours distances that would have required Julia days or weeks. She knows what lies beyond the horizon.
Julia could only imagine it. And yet...
The modern woman looks down from Fourvière and sees movement. People are going to work. Others are meeting friends. Someone is buying food. Someone is complaining about politics. Someone is falling in love. Someone is late. Someone is worried about money. Someone is watching a performance. Someone has just arrived in Lyon and hears a language they do not understand. Someone else has lived here all their life and cannot imagine calling anywhere else home.
Suddenly, Julia's world does not seem quite so distant.
If Julia could stand beside that modern woman, they would probably understand very little about each other's lives. Their ideas about religion, family, citizenship, freedom, medicine and the position of women would reveal an enormous distance between their societies.
Julia might consider some aspects of our world miraculous. We would consider others in hers profoundly unjust. But perhaps they would eventually stop looking at each other and turn towards the city. That might be the moment when they finally understood one another.
Because cities are not only buildings. They are habits. They are noises. They are journeys repeated every morning. They are markets and conversations, celebrations and arguments. They are strangers arriving and inhabitants staying. They are memories accumulated in the same streets.
Julia looks at Lugdunum. The modern woman looks at Lyon. Both see home.
Fourvière has watched the city change for more than two thousand years. Empires disappeared. Religions changed. Languages evolved. Buildings rose, vanished and rose again.
Lugdunum became Lyon.
But down below, between the Rhône and the Saône, human beings continued doing what human beings have always done. Living. Working. Meeting. Loving. Remembering. Perhaps that is what Fourvière really teaches us. Cities change enormously. Life changes with them.
And yet the essential reasons why we need cities -to meet, exchange, create, belong and remember- may have changed much less than we think.
Claire Fontaine and The Grandma share many interests -among them, a love of literature- and if there is one author they both consider pivotal, it is Fjodor Dostojevskij.
Claire is a linguistic prodigy and an accomplished polyglot; today, she has decided to reread Spelaren, the Swedish version of The Gambler.
Fyodor Dostoevsky's Spelaren is a novel about roulette, but gambling is only its most visible subject. Beneath the spinning wheel, the money won and lost, and the feverish calculations of its characters lies something much more disturbing: an exploration of desire, obsession, self-deception and the human attraction to risk.
Its protagonist, Alexei Ivanovich, does not simply want to win. He wants to experience the possibility of winning. That distinction is essential. For Alexei, gambling gradually ceases to be a rational attempt to obtain money. The roulette table becomes a psychological space where ordinary life disappears. For a few seconds, everything depends on a number, a colour, a movement of the wheel. Past and future become irrelevant. There is only expectation. And expectation itself becomes addictive.
One of the most fascinating aspects of Spelaren is Alexei's conviction that he can somehow understand the logic of chance. He observes patterns. He develops theories. He remembers previous results. He convinces himself that discipline, intuition or intelligence may allow him to dominate the roulette wheel. But roulette has no memory. The wheel does not know what happened before. This is one of the fundamental psychological traps of gambling: the human mind desperately searches for patterns even where none exist. Randomness is uncomfortable because it reminds us that some things cannot be predicted or controlled. Alexei therefore tries to transform chance into destiny. And destiny into something he believes he can master.
Paradoxically, the most dangerous moment for a gambler is not always defeat. Sometimes it is victory. A loss can create frustration, but a spectacular win creates something far more powerful: proof. Suddenly, the impossible has happened. The gambler can now tell himself: I knew it. And once chance has rewarded that belief, abandoning it becomes much more difficult.
Dostoevsky understood this mechanism with extraordinary psychological intuition. Alexei's victories do not liberate him from gambling. They bind him more closely to it. The money becomes secondary. What matters is the possibility of repeating the miracle.
There is also a remarkable parallel between Alexei's relationship with gambling and his relationship with Polina. Both are based on uncertainty. Both alternate hope and humiliation. Both offer the possibility of an extraordinary reward while constantly threatening rejection and loss. Alexei does not seem attracted to emotional stability. He is attracted to intensity. With Polina, as at the roulette table, certainty would almost destroy the fascination. He waits. He suffers. He hopes. He risks everything. And then he begins again.
Love and gambling become two versions of the same psychological mechanism: the obsessive pursuit of an uncertain reward.
There is an even darker possibility in Dostoevsky's novel. Perhaps Alexei does not only want to win. Perhaps part of him also wants to lose. There is something strangely liberating about catastrophe. If everything is lost, responsibility disappears with it. There are no longer decisions to make, plans to maintain or futures to protect. Destruction can become a form of escape. This is why Alexei's behaviour sometimes seems less like greed than self-sabotage. He repeatedly approaches the edge and then deliberately takes another step. The roulette table allows him to surrender responsibility while maintaining the illusion that he is exercising absolute freedom.
The psychological power of Spelaren becomes even greater when we remember that Dostoevsky himself knew the world he was describing. He had experienced the compulsive attraction of roulette and the cycle of hope, victory, loss and desperation. The novel therefore has an uncomfortable intimacy. Dostoevsky is not observing his gambler safely from outside. In some respects, he is looking into a mirror. Perhaps that is why the novel contains so little moral judgement. Alexei is neither simply condemned nor excused. Dostoevsky does something more interesting. He allows us to enter his reasoning. And once we are inside it, irrational behaviour begins to acquire its own terrible logic.
Spelaren was published in 1866, but psychologically it feels remarkably modern. Its world could easily be translated into today's casinos, betting apps, online games or financial speculation. Technology changes; the psychological mechanisms do not. The promise remains essentially the same: Perhaps the next one will change everything. And that may be the most disturbing idea in Dostoevsky's novel.
The gambler is not addicted merely to money. He is addicted to possibility. To the few seconds before the wheel stops. To the future before it becomes the present. To the eternal, irresistible thought that next time might be different.
The tragedy is that while the gambler waits for his life to change with the next turn of the wheel, life itself continues to pass. And the wheel keeps turning.
The Grandma is working hard this weekend, wrapping up the final training modules, grading the last exams, and entering the final marks.
Tomorrow, she will begin a well-deserved vacation that -all going well- will last until the start of next year, after the Christmas and Three Kings holidays.
It has been a year of intense work, as always, but everything comes to an end; now she will wrap up another year of training and devote herself to what she loves most: reading, building with LEGOs, birdwatching, diving, playing the guitar, and watching football matches back-to-back -especially those featuring her own team and the Northern Star, whom she will now be able to visit more often.
And if she finds a spare moment, she'll continue creating content for her blog.
So, now is the time to be free for a few months and share more moments with Joseph de Ca'th Lon, Claire Fontaine, and the rest of her family and friends, in fact, it is the most important thing to do: spend time with your beloved people.
Libre he de vivir Libre como el día en que nací Así he de vivir Hasta que me muera
Y mientras ese día llega Dame luz, dame candela Y hazme reír Que prenda la hoguera en que se quema Lo que no vale la pena Déjalo ir
Libre he de vivir Libre como el día en que nací Así he de vivir Hasta que me muera
Que sepas que ese lado más oscuro Del que tantas veces huyo Es parte de mí Y deja que se pierda en el murmullo Como el agua entre los juncos Déjalo ir
Libre he de vivir Libre como el día en que nací Así he de vivir Hasta que me muera
Learning does not only happen in a classroom. Throughout our working lives, we acquire knowledge, develop skills and learn how to perform professional tasks. We may learn them at work, through volunteering, with a scholarship or internship, or by attending courses that do not lead to an official qualification.
But what happens when you know how to do a job but you do not have an official certificate to prove it?
This is where Acredita't, the Professional Competence Accreditation Service in Catalunya, can help.
Acredita't is a public service that allows people to obtain official recognition of professional competences acquired through: work experience, volunteering or scholarships, or non-formal training.
The important idea is simple: You may already have professional competences even if you have never received an official qualification for them.
The accreditation process gives you the opportunity to demonstrate those competences and have them officially recognised.
The service is designed for people who have professional experience or non-formal training related to the competences they want to accredit.
There are different requirements depending on the professional competence level.
For Level 1 competences, applicants must generally be at least 18 years old.
-If accreditation is based on professional experience, volunteering or a scholarship, they must demonstrate at least 2 years of experience and 1,000 hours during the previous 15 years.
-If it is based on non-formal training, they normally need at least 200 hours of related training during the previous 10 years.
For Level 2 and Level 3 competences, applicants must generally be at least 20 years old.
-If accreditation is based on professional experience, volunteering or a scholarship, they must demonstrate at least 3 years of experience and 2,000 hours during the previous 15 years.
-If it is based on non-formal training, they normally need at least 300 hours of related training during the previous 10 years.
There are specific rules when the training associated with a particular competence is shorter than these general requirements.
The process is much easier to understand if we divide it into four stages.
1. Admission
First, the applicant provides information about their professional and training history and submits documents that can demonstrate their experience or training. The documentation is checked to determine whether the person meets the requirements to participate in the accreditation process.
2. Guidance and advice
Once admitted, the applicant receives professional guidance. An adviser helps identify which professional competences the person may have acquired and which evidence can be used to demonstrate them. This is an important part of the process because people are not always aware of everything they have learnt during their professional lives.
3. Assessment
The next step is to assess whether the applicant can actually demonstrate the professional competences. The evaluator analyses the documentation and evidence provided. If there is already sufficient evidence, the competence can be demonstrated through the documentation. If more evidence is necessary, the evaluator may use an interview, workplace observation or a practical simulation. And there is something important to remember: This is not a traditional exam. The objective is not to test what you have memorised. It is to demonstrate what you already know how to do as a result of your professional experience or previous learning.
4. Accreditation
If the competences are successfully demonstrated, the applicant receives an official certification recognising them.
Obtaining accreditation can be useful for several reasons. It can officially recognise skills that you may have been using professionally for years. It can strengthen your CV and make your professional experience more visible. But it can also become part of a larger educational pathway.
The accredited competences may allow you to validate part of a Professional Certificate or a Vocational Education and Training qualification (FP). After the accreditation process, you can also receive guidance about the training you may need to complete a qualification.
In other words, accreditation does not necessarily represent the end of your learning journey. Sometimes, it is the beginning of a new one.
We often associate education with schools, classrooms, textbooks and examinations. However, people learn in many different ways. We learn by working. We learn by solving problems. We learn by helping other people. We learn by repeating a task until we master it. We learn from colleagues, customers, mistakes and experience.
A person may have spent ten or twenty years developing professional skills without ever receiving a formal qualification recognising them.
Acredita't tries to build a bridge between these two worlds: what people have learnt throughout their lives and what the education and professional qualification system can officially recognise.
Because experience matters. Skills matter. And sometimes the only thing missing is a document that officially says: Yes, you know how to do this.
Today, The Grandma has received fantastic news from Joseph de Ca'th Lon, one of her closest friends. Last Wednesday, Joseph was able to watch a fascinating UWCL match live in his own city between Servette Football Club Genève and OL. It was a very emotional evening for Joseph, who got to see the Northern Star and enjoy her play in his Swiss hometown.
This time, Claire Fontaine and The Grandma could not join Joseph, but both were delighted for him -and for the Northern Star, whose team secured the victory in a highly entertaining match.
The evening was so full of excitement that, upon returning home, Joseph found it hard to fall asleep and decided to read another Astérix adventure, this time Astérix and the Laurel Wreath.
The UWCL is the most exciting competition in women's football, and just like Astérix in this new adventure where he seeks Caesar's laurels, the Northern Star has also begun the tournament with the aim of reaching the final and -this time-being crowned the winner. She deserves it, and Joseph, Claire, and The Grandma will all be following her very closely throughout the competition.
Astérix and the Laurel Wreath, inFrench Les Lauriers de César, is the eighteenth volume of the Astérix comic book series, by René Goscinny (stories) and Albert Uderzo (illustrations). It was originally serialized in the magazine Pilote, issues 621-642, in 1971 and translated into English in 1974.
The album is rich in cultural references, including allusions to famous sculptures like The Thinker and the Discobolus, and parodies of French television personalities.
Historical References
Caesar's campaign against the pirates, a key plot point, is based on a real-life incident from Caesar's youth.
-The phrase Delenda Carthago (Carthage must be destroyed) was famously used by the Roman senator Cato the Elder in every one of his speeches to the Senate, emphasizing the need for the complete destruction of the Carthaginian city-state.
-The original French version features a more cursive and difficult-to-read lettering style, adding a unique visual element to the album.
-Astérix and the Laurel Wreath is a testament to the enduring brilliance of Goscinny and Uderzo. It is a hilarious and thought-provoking adventure that continues to entertain readers with its witty dialogue, captivating artwork, and insightful commentary on Roman society.
-This is by far the most adult-oriented of all the Astérix stories.
-At Typhus's store, a male slave makes poses based on famous statues: Auguste Rodin's The Thinker, Apollon of Olympia, the Laocoon, and the Discobolus.
-The recipe for the hangover cure is: Cook an unplucked hen, carbolic soap, jam, black peppercorns, salt, kidney, figs, honey, black pudding, pomegranate seeds, egg and Spanish pepper.
-The Circus Maximus wrangler makes a cameo appearance in The Twelve Tasks of Astérix. He is the only one-shot background character to do so.
-The trainer standing next to the fatted lion in the arena is a caricature of Jean Richard, a French actor who ran a zoo and a circus outside Paris.
-Caesar's campaign against the pirates (here the ones Astérix and Obélix frequently encounter) was inspired by a real incident wherein a younger Caesar was captured by pirates who demanded a ransom for his return -and which he himself subsequently increased on the grounds that he was worth more. The ransom was paid and Caesar released; but he later captured and executed the pirates, as he himself had promised them during his captivity.
-In the original French version and some other translations, the speech given by the Circus Maximus tour guide is given in various dialects and in Fraktur script. This pun effect is somewhat lost in the original English version.
-This volume made an appearance in the Mr. Bean episode, Goodnight Mr. Bean.
Key Lessons From Astérix and the Laurel Wreath
-Pride causes trouble. Chief Vitalstatistix makes a foolish promise out of anger toward his smug, wealthy brother-in-law, showing how ego drives us into tough spots.
-Teamwork wins. Astérix and Obélix rely on each other's unique skills and the help of others to navigate the massive maze of Rome and solve their problems.
-Perseverance pays off. Facing an impossible task like getting Caesar's crown requires staying focused and not giving up when plans go wrong.
-Cleverness over force. Instead of just fighting their way through Caesar's palace, they use a smart swap with parsley to achieve their goal peacefully.
-Appreciate the simple things. The story mocks the empty value of snobbery and high-status symbols, reminding us that simple, honest life is best.
Leaving elDelta de l'Ebre is never easy, but knowing that on the way to Barcelona you'll make a morning stop in Tarragona to celebrate Santa Tecla with a spectacular castell event is always a great plan.
If you then continue toward the capital and stop in Sitges in the afternoon -where they are also celebrating Santa Tecla- to enjoy the local culture and a delicious botifarrada by the sea, the journey home becomes much more pleasant, especially since your own city will be decked out the very next day to celebrate its own Festa Major.
Every September, Barcelona celebrates La Mercè.
For a few days, the city changes its rhythm. Squares become stages, streets become meeting places, balconies become viewpoints and thousands of people leave their homes to take possession of the city once again.
There are concerts, exhibitions, performances and events of every imaginable kind. Barcelona is a cosmopolitan city, home to people who have arrived from almost every corner of the world, and its Festa Major naturally reflects this diversity. And yet, year after year, some of the greatest crowds still gather around something much older.
A giant walking down a street. A human tower rising above a square. The sound of a gralla. The beating of drums. A dragon breathing fire into the darkness.
Perhaps Joan Amades would not have been surprised. The great Catalan ethnologist devoted much of his life to collecting the customs, celebrations, songs, beliefs and traditions of ordinary people. His monumental Costumari Català understood popular culture not as something preserved behind glass, but as something alive: a collective language transmitted from one generation to another. La Mercè speaks that language extraordinarily well.
One of its most symbolic moments is the Toc d'Inici. The Festa Major begins not merely with words but with music, movement and ritual. The city's festive figures enter the scene and Barcelona seems to summon its own imaginary world into existence.
Giants and giantesses, dwarfs, beasts and traditional dancers are no longer decorative figures. For a few hours, they become inhabitants of the city. Then come the cercaviles. The giants advance slowly through streets that normally belong to buses, bicycles, taxis and hurried pedestrians. Children look upwards. Adults do too. There is something wonderfully subversive about a giant walking through a modern city. For a moment, everyday Barcelona disappears and another Barcelona emerges from underneath it.
And then there are the castellers. Few images can explain Catalan popular culture so powerfully. A castell exists only because many people agree to build it together. At its base, the pinya becomes an extraordinary human architecture of arms, shoulders and trust. Above it, floor after floor rises until the smallest casteller reaches the top and raises a hand. For a few seconds, the whole square seems to breathe as one. Strength alone cannot build a castell. It requires balance, courage, technique and, above all, confidence in others. Perhaps this is why the Diada Castellera attracts such enormous crowds during La Mercè. People are not simply watching a spectacle. They are watching a community construct something impossible and then carefully dismantle it again.
But Barcelona has another face during its Festa Major. When darkness falls, fire arrives. The Correfoc transforms the streets into a territory of sparks, drums, devils and fantastic beasts. Dragons and other creatures spit fire while the diables dance beneath showers of sparks. People do not merely watch. They run with them. Fire has accompanied Mediterranean celebrations for centuries. In the Correfoc, something ancient survives inside the contemporary city: our fascination with darkness, noise, danger, light and collective excitement. For a while, Barcelona ceases to look like the carefully ordered city of maps and avenues. It becomes elemental. Fire, smoke, drums and people.
Perhaps this is the most fascinating thing about La Mercè. Barcelona changes constantly. Languages change. Neighbourhoods change. People arrive and people leave. Buildings disappear and new ones rise. The city absorbs influences from everywhere because it has always been a Mediterranean port open to the world.
But when the Festa Major arrives, thousands of people still crowd into the streets to watch traditions whose roots reach far beyond their own lives. They wait for the giants. They follow the gralles. They look upwards when the castell begins to rise. They run beneath the sparks of the Correfoc. Modernity has not made these traditions irrelevant. Perhaps it has made them even more necessary. Because popular culture gives a city something that cannot be built with concrete or designed by an urban planner: a shared memory. And memory does not mean remaining trapped in the past. It means knowing where we come from while continuing to change.
Barcelona has traditionally been called the Cap i Casal de Catalunya. The expression is difficult to translate perfectly. It means much more than capital. Cap is the head; casal evokes the house, the home, the place where a community recognises itself. During La Mercè, the expression acquires a particularly beautiful meaning.
Barcelona is cosmopolitan, Mediterranean, contradictory, noisy, changing and extraordinarily diverse. But it is also the capital of Catalunya. And when the giants dance, when the gralles sound, when the castellers raise their towers and when the dragons fill the streets with fire, the city remembers it.
Perhaps Joan Amades would have walked among those crowds with his notebook in his pocket, observing everything. Perhaps he would have recognised many of the gestures. And perhaps he would have understood something that La Mercè continues to demonstrate every September: tradition survives not because we preserve it, but because we practise it. A tradition nobody performs eventually becomes history. A tradition that still fills the streets belongs to the present. And every September, during La Mercè, Barcelona does something wonderfully simple.
Perhaps this is why Joan Amades still feels so extraordinarily present during La Mercè. His work was never merely a catalogue of curious things that people used to do. By collecting giants and dances, songs and sayings, legends, beasts, customs and celebrations, he helped preserve the collective memory of a country.
In 2009, when Barcelona dedicated part of La Mercè to Amades on the fiftieth anniversary of his death, he was beautifully introduced almost as the character of a folk tale:
Once upon a time, there was a man who travelled throughout Catalonia asking people to tell him about their customs and traditions, so that he could write them down in a book and make sure that nobody would forget them.
And perhaps that is the best way to understand both Amades and La Mercè. Because traditions do not survive simply because somebody once wrote them down. They survive because somebody still carries the giant. Because somebody still plays the gralla. Because somebody still climbs onto another person's shoulders. Because somebody still dresses as a diable and lights the fire. And because thousands of people still come out into the streets to see them.
Barcelona changes. It has always changed. But beneath that constantly changing city there is another Barcelona made of gestures, sounds, memories and rituals passed from one generation to another.
Barcelona is the Cap i Casal. And every September, when the drums begin to beat, the giants start to dance and the first sparks illuminate the streets, that old Barcelona does not return from the past. It reminds us that it never left.
For during La Mercè, the enchanting magic of popular culture takes over the city, and each of us transforms for a day into whatever we wish to be -a devil, a casteller, a capgròs, or a queen -because this is Barcelona, the heart and soul of Catalunya.
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