Armed with two 60 cm long green pillows, Bambi and myself walked through the tourist crowded streets of Barcelona. Fifteen minutes later feathers soared serenely in a “setting-sun”-atmosphere filled with battle cries, laughter and the numb sound of pillows-in-movement hitting their mark. Around us hundreds of people armed to the teeth with bedroom items, battled it out in a “dog-eat-dog” and “every man for himself”-scenario.

Despite a moment or two in fear of a mild concussion, it was mindblowingly liberating to be hitting nameless strangers who, like us, decided that getting smashed with other people’s drooled-on bed stuff, sounded like a good idea. In this situation of “encouraged violence” I found myself somewhat masochisticly regretful that the raging-thunder had already morphed into the more peaceful waiting-out-the-rain. Although, while a waste of outlet,  I am a firm believer that the more you fight, the more you lose. Now, paradoxically, I simply await my inner pacifist to execute a coup d’état. Still, every cloud has a silver lining and in moments like this a rainbow can be glimpsed at the horizon.

Now days later, to the soundtrack of Cigarettes After Sex, I am squeezed onto Bambi and Pandabear‘s balcony. Described, it can only be called “a Spanish French-balcony“, and for some reason the tiny alley-street below me, hit rush hour. Groups of old ladies, young trendy couples, a plenitude of bald heads and the sound of motorbikes both distracts and dictate my writing. I am in Barcelona for business (working together with an old friend whose sweet politeness makes me feel like a brute) but undeniably, with Barcelona pleasure always accompany.