Inspired Ink: My Romance with Absinthe

Ah yes. It was my first night in Barcelona on my very first grand solo adventure across Europe. I wasn’t looking for love, but it found me anyway in the most unlikely of places. A little bar from the late 1800s where Picasso and friends used to sit and muse over life, women, and art. You know, the important things. The walls were covered with shelfs of spirits and liquors from that time period, and had not been touched since. Gobs of thick gray dust clung to the bottles like heavy paint against Picasso’s portraits. Each bottle told a story whose secrets would never be revealed. At least not to me, and not tonight.

I’m sitting in Bar Marsella, the only absinthe bar in Barcelona. I’m at a tiny round wooden table with small wooden chairs. Before me is what looks like a mini wine glass. In my hand, a small fork and a sugar cube. My local friend and tour guide for the night shows me how to properly drink this concoction. For those who know little about absinthe, it is a spirit made from anise, wormwood, fennel, and other herbs. It has been called "la fee vert” or “the green fairy”- rumor is the wormwood in the alcohol makes you hallucinate.

I’m not sure what to expect as I balance my fork above the glass of clear liquid. I feel like I’m about to perform a magic trick or a science experiment. I watch my friend as he places the sugar cube on top of his fork. I follow his lead. The small water bottles we were given with our drinks were not intended for consumption from the bottle. Instead, there’s a small hole pierced through the top of the lid. We begin to pour, or rather, squirt the water over the sugar cube which melts and drips into the alcohol below. The absinthe turns into a milky cloud and settles into a neon yellow. Now I’m sure I’m back in chemistry and that chances are, I should not be drinking my science experiment. However the explorer in me is burning with curiosity. And let’s face it, I’ll try almost anything twice.

I look into my friend’s eyes. “Salud” (cheers). Down the hatch! An explosion of flavor, mostly licorice, hits my tongue and a fire ignites my throat. I cough. Holy shit that’s strong! My friend laughs. Minutes turn to an hour and our conversation progresses from the politics of Barcelona (Catalonia vs Spain), life, love, loss, until we’ve ordered another round and have made friends with the tables nearest us. I stare at the peeling paint of the walls and envision myself sitting at a table with Pablo Picasso himself as he doodles on a napkin. I imagine all the greats that have passed through these old wooden doors. The poets, the lovers, the weary travelers, the artists, the drunkards. All the cigars that were smoked, the stolen kisses, the under the table deals, the boisterous and raucous laughter and flirtations. I’m overcome with emotion and inspiration and immediately take out a pen and my journal (which you will never see me without on an adventure such as tonight). I write down ideas for scenes and scripts and envision the shots in my head of what kind of movie I could direct within these walls.

The energy surging through me is making me restless so we finish our absinthe and go. We wander the streets as we passionately discuss what it means to live, to love. The stars twinkle above us like a dear friend's eyes in on our little secret. Hopping into a cab we giggle like children. Our cab driver turns into another character in this surreal dream, he tells stories about constellations and the beauty of love (all in Castellano Spanish) and the romantic in me is melting into a puddle as we approach the ocean.

I leap from the car in front of Carpe Diem (a dance club) and dance the next hour away for not a moment is to be wasted. My friend laughs at my enthusiasm as we head to the patio on the sand. I take one look at the full moon reflecting on the ocean’s surface and it’s clear there’s only one thing left to do. I throw my wallet and phone to my now bewildered friend and race across the sand in my blue dress, kicking my sandals off. I can’t reach the water’s edge fast enough!

Splash! No hesitation, I’m beneath the water fully clothed. Silence beneath the waves, a stillness for a moment… and when I come up for air, the moon appears to me even brighter than before. I smile. The kind of smile I know I won’t forget for as long as I live. I have fallen head over heels in love. And her name is Barcelona.

Carpe Diem. Seize the day.

"Ernest Hemingway, Charles Baudelaire, Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Amedeo Modigliani, Picasso, Vincent van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, Aleister Crowley, Erik Satie, and Alfred Jarry were all known absinthe drinkers” Wikipedia

I don’t recommend absinthe for everyone, in fact most people hate it! And it wasn’t the absinthe that made me so free, though it helped I’m sure. It was the new experience with wonderful people in my favorite city in the world. I’ve since been back to Bar Marsella many times and have gotten to know the owners quite well. So if you find yourself in Barcelona, don’t leave without stopping in. Tell them Maiara sent you ;-)