Barcelona Metropolis

When we sit down at the table, I can’t help but think that the man in front of me has interviewed both Nelson Mandela and Lionel Messi. It’s impressive. “The Messi interview was one of the worst of my life, a total waste of time. This coffee is better”, he says. We’re enjoying our coffee in the courtyard of a hotel in the Eixample neighbourhood, a beautiful spot that fuels his love for the city. “I adore Barcelona, it’s incredible. In terms of quality of life, Barcelona is by far the best city”, he explains. One of his favourite pastimes is strolling through the city, and he arrives at our meeting by doing just that. Not a minute early, not a minute late. When I mention his punctuality, he looks at me, puzzled. “Isn’t it normal to arrive on time?” It’s the British punctuality of a Spaniard who has become one of the best ambassadors for the capital of Catalonia.

Football and music.

In football, I don’t support any particular team anymore; I just enjoy watching teams that play well. As for music, I think it’s the highest form of art because it speaks directly to the heart. If you’ve never seen a Picasso before, it might or might not move you. But I think Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony can move anyone, anywhere in the world. It’s our great universal language.

Yes, it’s art for the masses. You’ll find far more people around the world who can talk knowledgeably about football than about politics. I remember just before the Brexit referendum, I was talking to a Labour MP, a very smart and well-prepared chap, and I remarked that we were asking the public to vote on an issue that barely one percent understood. He replied, “One percent? I don’t think even one percent of the MPs have a clue about this”. But if you held a referendum in England on who should be the 22 players in the national team, we’d have an informed debate.

Appreciating a painting or a book involves a different kind of mental process.

My goodness, there are so many. Maybe Don Juan by Lord Byron. It has everything: sentiment, satire, intense romance, politics, it’s all there. And it’s quite thick, so I could reread it on the island. Although for me, the best book ever written is Shakespeare’s King Lear.

By chance, like most important things in life.

Chance, to me, is the closest thing to a religion. I’m very aware of how decisive luck is in our lives.

For starters, the fact that my father and mother met was the result of an incredible series of coincidences.

In a bar in Chelsea, London. But that’s not the crux of it. My father was Scottish, fought in World War II in the Air Force, and his plane was shot down twice. He survived. My mother, who was Spanish, went to England to be with her older widowed sister, whose husband, also an aviator, died on his first mission. And then there’s the most obvious twist: they met in a bar. But many events had to unfold for them to be in that bar. Lives had to be lost for my mother to relocate to England and for me to exist today. Anyone who looks back on their life honestly must acknowledge how little they have steered its course.

My mother was very outgoing; she would strike up conversations with anyone in the supermarket or on the bus. As a child, I used to think, “Mum, please, this is so embarrassing.” My father was Scottish. When we came to Spain for holidays to visit some of our countless cousins, he couldn’t stand how no one seemed able to wait their turn to speak. That sums him up a bit. He was also an avid reader, very intelligent, and, in many ways, a frustrated writer. So, I’m one of those classic cases living the life my father might have wished for.

I was very young, just three years old, and lived there until I was ten. I was an Argentine kid, complete with the accent. In fact, my ridiculous effort to speak with a “th” sound is more about my lack of personality; if I were authentic, I’d speak with an Argentine accent.

I remember it as a thriving, lively city. It felt very different from Madrid. This isn’t a political analysis, of course; I’m talking about childhood impressions. But from the viewpoint of a six-year-old, Buenos Aires was full of light, while Madrid seemed dark. I lived there until I was ten, then we moved back to the UK.

It was incredibly painful, and it still affects me even now when I think about it. My mother was completely devastated, and as the only male in a very traditional Catholic family, I suddenly found myself as the head of the household. Overnight, a huge amount of responsibility fell on my shoulders. For example, I had to handle all the funeral arrangements. I remember the day clearly. It was raining. My mother didn’t come; she said it wasn’t customary for women to attend the funeral in Spain. I think she just couldn’t bring herself to go.

I went from being a child to an adult in an instant. It’s funny how, at the same time, this early loss made me much more independent almost immediately.

It gave me resilience and, I think, a confidence to take on new challenges. Perhaps if my father had still been alive, he would have steered me onto a more traditional path.

Yes, because suddenly we had much less money. I ended up working in factories, on construction sites, at petrol stations and even cleaning the house of some wealthy people. When I went to university, I spent my holidays working because my mother didn’t have much to give me. As soon as I finished my degree, I bought a one-way ticket to Buenos Aires. Partly out of nostalgia for the place of my childhood. I went with just a one-way ticket and no plans.

I had no idea what was going on there. I arrived to find Videla’s dictatorship, a terrible and sinister military regime. I started going out with an Argentine girl whose sister had disappeared. I became deeply politicised almost overnight. I had a visceral hatred for the military, and I still do. I’ve lived in many repressive places since, but nothing was darker or more reminiscent of the Nazis than Buenos Aires back then.

Earlier, we talked about coincidences. I’d never considered becoming a journalist; I was just there teaching English. But after two years, when I was thinking of moving on, I found out they were looking for someone at the Buenos Aires Herald, an English-language newspaper. I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted the job, but when I walked into the newsroom and saw a stunning blonde girl sitting to the left of the typewriter, I thought, “I’d like to meet her”. So, I made a concerted effort to get the position.

My boss used to take a different route home every day, and the previous editor had to leave due to threats. I had met the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo through my girlfriend and became something of a favourite among them. I was the only journalist talking to them and sharing their stories. It was my first major cause. The problem was that, after seven months, the Falklands War broke out. I started receiving threats and decided it was time to leave.

I think the real adventure began after Buenos Aires. When I returned to England, the war led to a surge in requests for my articles. It’s quite a coincidence – if General Galtieri hadn’t decided to invade the Falklands, who knows how my life might have turned out. Suddenly, I was getting calls from the BBC asking, “Mr Carlin, what do you think General Galtieri is thinking?” And honestly, I had no idea! But I started writing for major national publications and gained visibility. Eventually, I was offered a fantastic job as a producer at a major sports television channel. It was a small fortune.

Because something happened during the interview. My prospective boss said, “It’s a tough job, but don’t worry; when we’re done, we’ll hit the pub for a few pints”. And suddenly, I pictured myself being stuck in the routine of going out and getting drunk with the lads every night. The thought of that for the rest of my life didn’t sit well with me at all. That summer, while I was alone on a beach, I had the first and only epiphany of my life: I realised clearly that I didn’t want to work with those people in England and that I wanted to move to Mexico, a country I knew nothing about.

At the time, Central America was one of the hottest news regions in the world. By an incredible stroke of luck, The Times of London was looking for a freelancer to cover it. That was the real adventure – leaving behind a familiar place and a well-paid job to go and earn a pittance. I spent several years in El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua… and then moved to South Africa.

I asked him what his plan for reconciliation was and he gave a brilliant answer: “What we need to do is reconcile the aspirations of the black community with the fears of the white community.” It was the press conference the day after his release and ending apartheid felt like a dream. It’s akin to discussing peace between Palestine and Israel today.

Palestine is a different story. There’s a fundamental difference. In South Africa, religion wasn’t a factor on the table; everyone was Christian, though with various denominations. But when it comes to religion, you’re dealing with absolute truths that are, by their nature, irreconcilable. Netanyahu is now surrounded by Jewish fundamentalists, while on the Palestinian side, Hamas consists of Muslim fundamentalists. I get the sense that there’s more deep-seated hatred and a stronger desire for revenge in Palestine than there was in South Africa.

It was in 1987. I was a correspondent in Washington at the time, following my posting in South Africa. I was assigned to write a piece about Barcelona’s coach, Bobby Robson, for The Independent. The experience was fantastic; Robson gave me incredible access. On the third day, he took me to his house in Sitges. He introduced me to his friends, who are still my Catalan friends today. I decided then that I would live in Sitges one day, though I thought it would only be possible when I was a retired Brit.

I had to choose between two options. The Independent wanted me to become sports editor in London, following the article on Robson. At the same time, El País offered me a role as a foreign correspondent, covering major stories around the world. I opted for the more challenging one, the job that would push me further: El País. They told me I could live wherever I wanted – Washington, Madrid or even back in London. I decided to move to Barcelona, to Sitges. I came with my wife and our son was born here in 2000.

I had never lived by the sea before. I was keen to return to Europe as I felt it offered a better quality of life. I wanted to be close to my mother but not too near Madrid.

I absolutely love it; I’m almost fanatical about it. Having lived for over a year in nine or ten cities around the world, I can confidently say that, in terms of quality of life, Barcelona is by far the best. There’s no comparison. While it might not be as thrilling as Buenos Aires or Johannesburg were in their own ways, it’s easily the best city I’ve lived in for quality of life.

It’s right by the sea and I adore the city’s architecture. Even though I’m no expert, I can still appreciate its beauty. I like how the city is becoming more pedestrian-friendly. The food is really good, and I enjoy the markets. The climate is great too. I find the aesthetics here much more appealing than in Madrid. It’s not just the architecture, but the people too.

Here, beauty is often found in the details. Yes, there are some very extravagant things, like the Sagrada Família, but the overall aesthetic in Madrid always struck me as wedding-cake-like – both in how people dress and the buildings. Barcelona, on the other hand, is much more understated but also more elegant. What’s more, Madrid has a more American style, where wealth tends to be flaunted and ostentatious. In Barcelona, if you’re wealthy, you try to keep it understated. I appreciate that as well.

Madrid is the capital of the empire; it’s where the court, the officials and the government are based. Barcelona, on the other hand, is more focused on commerce and tradition.

I’m not an expert on these matters, but it seems to me that the level of outrage is far out of proportion to what’s actually happening. I know a lot of people who get really upset when Pedro Sánchez speaks. While I understand that people might disagree with him, he’s not like Putin, yet many react as if he were. The same kind of reaction seems to apply to Ada Colau. Having lived through Argentina’s military regime, my threshold for outrage is a bit higher.

In the midst of the procés [the Catalan independence process], an Argentine, watching the demonstrations and seeing people in prison, asked me, “What’s wrong with these people, are they bored?” Honestly, I think things are bloody brilliant in Spain, especially in Catalonia, and people just need a bit of drama in their lives. Politicians also need a purpose. Decisions are increasingly made in Brussels, and maybe they need to justify their salaries, which are likely better than what they’d earn in the private sector.

I can’t stand it. I hear it quite often. “Things are terrible in Barcelona”. Get some perspective, idiot. Go to the second major city in England, Germany or France, then come back and tell me things are bad here. In the history of humanity, few people have enjoyed more prosperity, privilege and a better quality of life than we do now in this part of the world.

Well, if you walk down Calle Jorge Juan in the Salamanca neighbourhood, yes, it’s full of repugnant Mexican oligarchs. Is it better in Vallecas than in L’Hospitalet? I doubt it. In the grand scheme of things, for me, Madrid can’t compete. And often, the complaints I hear are from older people who aren’t commenting on an objective reality but lamenting that they are no longer young.

Yes, but that’s a reality all over the world, not just in Barcelona. And they’re right; it’s harder to be young now, and in many cases, they have fewer economic opportunities than their parents. It’s also fascinating to note, as we see here, the divergence between genders. Young men tend to lean more towards the right, while young women lean towards the left.

I think there’s a crucial cultural factor at play. There’s been a major advancement for women, which is the biggest revolution I’ve witnessed in my lifetime – and it’s happened incredibly fast by historical standards. Then there’s the issue of homosexuality. When I was younger, jokes about gay people were common and went unchallenged. Now, same-sex marriage is completely normal. And on top of that, there’s the newer issue of transgender rights.

For the left, these changes are just part of everyday life and are presented as such. However, many people see them as being imposed upon them. They’re told that if they don’t accept these changes, they’re not just wrong but almost bad people. Personally, I’m thrilled with the progress we’ve made, but I think these factors help explain why we’re in the situation we’re in. And then there’s social media, which has made the environment more noisy and less rational. In this noisy climate, extreme right-wing populists find a more favourable environment for their style of politics.

Everything could change, though. The far right might come to power in France and other countries. But they’ll mess things up like everyone else, and eventually, there will be another shift.

The cause I’m most committed to and captivated by is Ukraine. We could also talk about Sudan, where some of the world’s worst atrocities are happening without anyone giving a damn. We should also consider what’s going on in Myanmar with the Rohingya, and of course, between Israel and Palestine and the horrors in Rafah. But I try not to let these issues consume me since there are enough people already focused on them. So, I’m choosing to concentrate on something that’s a bit less in the spotlight right now – Ukraine.

Love.

Well, love covers all aspects, so that can be included. Romantic love is at the top but love for family and children is just as important. Friendship also means a lot to me. Overall, love, in any form, is far more important to me than any career achievement, any book, interview or anything else.