The Wisdom of Parrots

AN AVIAN ENCOUNTER

• DESCRIPTION

  Here’s to a city of effortless charm, a coastal gem blessed with an agreeable climate and beautiful beaches. But before you get lost in that glass of vermut, look around – there’s more to the Catalan capital than sun, sea and sand. We’ve ventured beyond the tourist-beaten tracks of Barri Gòtic and explored every nook, from Sant Andreu to Poble-sec. We’ve found independent retailers and grand fashion labels that abound with dynamic designs, as well as old-world tapas bars and innovative new spots bringing a modern touch to Catalan cuisine. And don’t worry, we haven’t eschewed the beach and bottle entirely – there’s always time for those in this city.

• PUBLISHED BY

  Monocle & Gestalten.

• Find it

  Monocle Website

I woke up with the first rays of light filtering into my new home. Two days earlier I had moved to Barcelona, where I intended to spend at least a year, a 12-month sabbatical from my life in London. So here I was, in the center of El Born, on a narrow street just like the ones I had dreamed of while reading the novels of Carlos Ruiz Zafón: small hallways with close-knit cobblestones, home to speakeasies and shops selling spices in bulk. Impatient to unravel and document all the mysteries of my new city, I raced out onto the street with my camera.

However, just as I lined up my first shot, a loud noise took me by surprise. I had never heard anything like it: a cloud of parrots singing thunderously all at once, as though in dialogue with one another, oblivious to the morning silence of a city still soundly asleep. I instinctively followed them, eager to know what they were saying, where they had come from and where they were headed. I crossed Passeig de Picasso without looking, narrowly avoiding a taxi, my eyes firmly fixed on the sky.

“I’ve been always bond of birds, perhaps because they symbolise the total liberty that I’ve long sought myself.”

I’ve been always bond of birds, perhaps because they symbolise the total liberty that I’ve long sought myself. Until that point I had done everything that was expected of me: I studied business, secured a good job and got married. Everything was fine until a long-suppressed desire to escape had driven me to take a break.

Finally the birds stopped flying; they arrived at what appeared to be some sort of abandoned greenhouse, slap bang in the centre of Parc de la Ciutadella, full of junk and plants that snaked around shards of broken glass. I must have looked completely bewildered because an old man approached me and asked whether I was alright. I told him I was fine, all the while keeping my eyes on the ceiling. Reading my thoughts he started telling me about the birds.

The monk parakeet, he said, is a species of parrot originally from Argentina that lives in the palm trees and rooftop of Barcelona. An estimated 5,000 live across the city. He remembered vividly how the petite parrots, following the discovery of the first nest in 1975, spread across Barcelona. “No one knows how this species arrived in our city”, he said. “They may have been pets that were set free or perhaps they arrived by ship and, enticed by the warm climate and exotic parks, decided to stay.”

I retrieved my camera and started taking pictures. Their beaks and plumage were varied but unanimously beautiful, bathed in neverending shades of green, yellow and blue. On returning home I was able to think of the little else; the image of parrots had stuck fast in my mind. I remembered what my mother used to say to me: “Your head is always in the clouds. One of these days you’ll fly away.” Maybe the birds were some sort of sign.

I scoured the internet and learned that the monk parakeet, though the most numerous, is not the only species of parrot in Barcelona. Another six had been discovered: Nanday, rose-ringed, blue-headed, mitred, red-masked and Senegal. They all live here in harmony, feeding on a colourful feast of dates, hackberries, eucalyptus leaves and cypress berries.

A year later I revisited the greenhouse. My sabbatical was over and it was time to make a decision: should I return to London? The parrots had doubled in number; clearly they had decided that Barcelona wasn’t a bad place to build a nest. And I realised that I din’t want to renounce the wings that this city had given me either. Never had I been happier.

I didn’t go back to London; I quit my job for good and bid farewell to my wife, whom I certainly didn’t deserve. Every year I return to the greenhouse, sit down and watch the parrots, remembering how they taught me that you don’t really need wings to take flight.