It is Sant Medir. Until fifty minutes ago, I had never heard of this holiday/celebration. My knowledge of this holiday began tonight when my evening study session was interrupted by the sound of drums, reverberating through the narrow streets of Gracia. I ventured onto my balcony and into the pouring rain to find a small drum corps eagerly marching up and down Mila i Fontanals—one of the few through streets in this old community. After a few minutes on my balcony, in my underwear, in the rain, I lost interest in the enthusiastic procession which was occurring on the street below me, and I returned into my dry apartment.
As soon as I entered my apartment, I noticed my phone was blinking, indicating that a message awaited me. Upon a brief scan of my phone messages, it became evident that I wasn’t the only person intrigued by this celebration occurring on my street; the other expats in my neighborhood had noticed this strange happening and had begun to hypothesize via messenger why some crazys would be out marching in the rain. The consensus was that we were just witnessing another idiosyncrasy of our barrio, but fortunately, I received word—over Facebook—about the Sant Medir celebrations. Who knew?
I don’t have anything deep to say tonight except for Happy Sant Medir…whatever that means.