The New York herald., 1922-07-23
By BLANCHE M'MANUs.

the hour around TO-
"How nice: you are just in
time for dinner" chorused my friends
who met me at the station.
This is Barcelona, the great Cat
alan capital of the reversed CLOCK
face. the city of the art of rambling
through every one of it's twenty-four
hours: weird city of futurist archi-
lecture and the inversion Of the con-
structor's building blocks; city OF
half a million souls and thousands
of shaggy brown goats, which also
ramble on the Ramblas, living car
riers of the local milk supply; the
CITY of three huge bull rings and
streets of dancing girls; the hub on
which turns the prosperity of the
Spanish peninsula; one of the worlds
richest metropolises: the most differ
emf and one of the most amusing
places on the globe, where daily life,
occupations and emotions are de-
lightfully topsy-turvy.
Here is place where the monotony
of work and three meals may be
varied and timed. as one wishes
without in the least interfering with
any one or mountaineering ones
self. One rambles and takes food
when the spirit moves. and as for
work it must here be done chiefly
by the mind process so far as my
having noted any circulating busi-
ness activities on normal lines.
Hotel Equals New York.
The Ramblas? saw them first at
the next morning My friends had
sent me to bed at 2-"early. they
said. for I must be tired after a
long journey and We breakfast
at TO-"
Nv hotel was as excellent, comfort
able and complete as anything in
New York Barcelona is half ultra
modern, one-fourth medieval Span
ish and the other fourth back in the
twilight of ages.
Being am early rising American,
one who used to think it sinful not
to have on a street dress by s, and
hearing mighty humming below
my window, l started out for little
turn before the Barcelona breakfast
and discovered many impedimenta to
leaving the hotel.
Half a dozen blind gypsy guitar
lists encireled the entrance at even
this early hour. They were strum-
ming and chanting weird Andalusian.
Malaguan, Sevillian and Castillian
melodies. The great. wide. tree-hned
boulevarded thoroughfare. the Ram
bla, was a mass of people critically
acclaiming the musicians as they
airnlessly followed in their wake.
The musicians. who had leader
with eyes which could see, imme-
diately surrounded me, at the same
time Justify playing and escorting
me down the street Nothing but
gift of money unloosed the band.
To Nowhere in Particular.
The entire central thoroughfare
was packed with vast, elastic, NOV
ing eoucourse of people of all ages.
sexes and conditions. None had the
least suggestion of being bound fo-
anywhere in particular. or expecting
to get there at any particular time.
Swallowed in the vortex / buffeted
the stream and was in turn budeted
like a cork in mill race. To the
native rambler no person is sacred:
no one is present but himself or her
self. Each steers a direct course re-
gardless of the others. Progression
is like that of ferryboat humping
into its slip. Not only does no one
apoiogize should he careen you sew
eraI points from your course but he
still remains oblivious to your very
existence.
In an hour 1 had covered perhaps
ten blocks out and back, reaching
al n a