The Noise Police
Back to the frenzy that is Barcelona in its normal state. I wake to the roar of engines and machines in our patio de manzana and go to the balcony to check. Oh great! They’ve come to clean off the obscene graffiti that appeared over the holidays in the playground below.
Later, mid morning, I leave the building. My first reaction: I want out. I want desert island. The city is once again totally clogged with traffic. On every street I walk along on my usual bank, shop and errand routes there is drilling and clanging, pavements and sections of road cordoned off, the air thick with dust, men heaving huge sections of pipe in and out of holes, sandblasting facades, welding metal in doorways in showers of sparks.
Obras are the one thing you MUST learn to live with in Spain – especially in crowded cities like Barcelona. Repairs, restoration, rehabilitation, construction, demolition – all go under the one word. Work.
Spain is one of the noisiest countries in the world. In theory, there are all sorts of rules and regulations about noise. However, as we discovered last spring, they do not apply to obras. That was when they demolished the car park down in the patio and were building the community garden or playground. My then flatmate was recovering from major surgery and chemotherapy and feeling like hell, and there was a generator or some such monstrously deafening machine right under his window. I called the Guardia Urbana to come and measure the decibels. They just had to be way above the permitted level. Two guardias came, stuck their heads out of the window, and said there was no point in measuring the decibels as the regulations did not apply to obras, which are by their very nature temporary. Even though, said the guardias with a rueful chuckle, obras can go on for years and years.
“So I just have to screw myself!” said my flatmate. Actually he said something way way more obscene, and in Spanish, but you get the idea.
“If they were a fixture, like a bar making noise every night, then you could report them. Or if the obras start before 8 am.”
Thank you, officer.
In fact the guardia were very helpful and as a personal favour went down and persuaded the obras guys to move the generator to the opposite end of the patio.
Anyway, come on, one day you’ll be doing your own obras. I have lived and worked through the renovation of almost every flat in my block – next door, upstairs, across the landing. I’ve also lived through the restoration of our facades, the cabling of my neighbourhood, the six-month long conversion of an apartment block round the corner into a hotel – they actually had a siren go off every day at 8 am calling the workers in. And then, finally – gloat- I did my own.
Tags: Barcelona, renovation, Spain, work
