Drifting back into the shadows Cristobal watched the man as he rose from his chair in the old, run-down café. Watched as the man’s aged, bony hands pushed away the coffee mug and pulled himself onto his feet. Observed him perch his battered tumbler hat onto his balding head, pull a worn black suit jacket over his tattered shirt and make his way outside.

Cristobal was for some reason drawn to this old man, this old pauper. He thought he recognised him perhaps. There was something familiar in the heavily bearded face. The face was wrinkled badly now, but Cristobal was sure he’d lain eyes on the man’s face before.

The man looked up and down the street on leaving the café, drawing his jacket in closer to himself. Then he moved off down the old cobbled street, walking slowly and with some difficulty. He was badly affected by arthritis, every step he made seemed to cause him a pain. Despite his obvious difficulties he still wore an expression of defiance, accepting his old age and the inevitable pain that accompanied it. Cristobal, curious at where this man was heading, followed on behind, staying a few paces behind so as to not give away his motives.

Mid-June in the poor quarters of Barcelona meant it was a hot, sweaty day and Cristobal removed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder. It had been a hard few months for him. Since losing his job he’d been out on the streets searching for a way to provide for his wife and two children. But often to no avail. There were too many people out of work, and two few jobs to go around. Every day was a competition, a free for all between hungry men desperate to lift themselves from the unbearable poverty they and their families suffered to a state where they could at least half-fill their bellies. The odds were certainly against him.

It was easy to curse this city but Cristobal loved it. It wasn’t the cause of his hardship, in fact it seemed to offer consolation. In its interesting architecture Cristobal found hope, in its distinctive streets there was a spirit that seemed to be universal, a spirit that spoke of community, understanding and optimism. Yes, Barcelona was a great city.

He must have been walking for almost half an hour now, still he didn’t know where the old man was heading or indeed why he was following him. They were moving away from the outskirts though, moving more into the centre of the city. Cristobal was hoping - wherever the old man was heading - that it would involve passing La Sagrada Familia. It was still very much in the process of being built, however it was clear to Cristobal that it was going to turn into a stunning piece of architecture. Indeed it already was. Sometimes Cristobal took a walk there himself. There had never been a building that moved Cristobal as much as that one did. It was truly inspirational. The attention to detail, and the countless themes it evoked, was simply breathtaking. The man building that was a genius. Anyone who could turn bricks and mortar into something which moved grown men to tears was a genius. In La Sagrada Familia Cristobal saw everything that was good about Barcelona.

Still the old man ploughed on through the streets, walking slowly but steadily, weak but confidently, right into the heart of Barcelona. The curiosity surrounding him in Cristobal’s eyes had certainly not waned; if anything he was even more intrigued at where he was going. They’d reached the crossroads between Carrer de Bailen and the Gran Via.

Suddenly there was sickening squealing that made Cristobal’s stomach turn. There seemed to be silence in the surrounding area, everything seemed to slip into slow motion as out of nowhere a tram glided across the road and smashed into the old man. There was a gigantic intake of breath as the man was sent sprawling into the air, landing with a sickening crunch upon the stony ground.

Cristobal, like others around him, raced towards him. Soon there was a crowd gathered around him. Cristobal initially could not see him for all the people but someone shifted and he was able to get a look at him. He never looked as downtrodden or hopeless as he did at that moment. He lay in a twisted yet almost peaceful position. The man’s face looked ancient yet altogether at ease. But he was still alive. His chest moved up and down slowly. There were cries for help all around him. Arguments broke out between some people and some taxi drivers over taking the old man to a hospital. Some refused to take him. His appearance was dishevelled and his pockets empty they said, he was a vagrant, he wouldn’t be able to pay the fare.

Eventually someone decided to take him to receive medical attention. He was lifted into a car and wheeled away. The crowd dispersed. People got back to their business, back to their shops, houses and to wherever it was they were going. It was a tragic accident. A poor old man. But it was soon old news. People were already forgetting about the incident. Life moved on.

A tear fell down Cristobal’s cheek. He was partly stunned at what had happened to the old man he, only about an hour or so ago, had decided to follow out of interest, but it also seemed to symbolise the cruelty and injustice in life. The terrible unfairness of life.

Instead of going back, he decided to walk on. Somehow Cristobal seemed to know now where the old man was heading. He continued walking.

He didn’t need to travel that far to reach his goal. La Sagrada Familia.

Again he seeked comfort in its spiralling towers and religious imagery, and again he gained it. He stood for hours gazing at the great cathedral. Even now there were still men working away at it. It had stood for almost seventy years now yet it was far from finished. It would still take many more years to complete. It had started before he was born and it probably wouldn’t be finished until he was long dead. But still it captivated his soul, still it provoked the feelings of hope and optimism from a body that was bludgeoned and worn down by his destitution. Looking up at the wondrous structure he couldn’t help but feel that after all that was happening, his poverty, his unemployment, his starving family, the old man, everything was going to be alright. Yes, despite everything, it was all going to work out in the end…………

Cristobal returned, as he frequently did, to La Sagrada Familia. It had come on a good bit since that infamous day ten years ago. Slowly but surely he’d watched as more towers had been erected and more features added, his wonder at its seemingly endless detail only grew and grew. It of course had a new architect in charge now. The old architect, the one that had started the project and built so many different constructions around the city, had died ten years ago. Knocked down by a tram, the people had thought he was just another down and out, just another poor old man. He’d been taken to a pauper’s hospital, only finding out who he really was a day later. Despite efforts being made to move him somewhere better he’d refused to leave that hospital and he died there a few days later. There was a state of shock in the city after that.

As for Cristobal, things had turned out alright. He and his family had survived anyway. And he knew the building and the old man had had a lot to do with that. Yet with age came new challenges.

It had been dangerous for him to come here, Barcelona was no longer a safe city. People had been getting killed recently, violence was breaking out all the time. It was as if the country and the city no longer knew in which direction it was going. Some were saying a war could even break out soon.

Most of all he feared for his now grown-up children. It was they who would face the hardships that would soon ensue, it was their future that was now on the line. Maybe it would all die down, maybe things would change and tensions would calm. He certainly hoped so.

There were no longer any workers labouring on the cathedral, these days were far too dangerous now. But as he gazed up at the great structure, the great structure the old man had built, he knew that whatever happened La Sagrada Familia would still remain, still stand defiantly against all trials that the world threw against it. He knew it would - as it had done its creator - outlive them all, constantly evolving and adapting and providing hope for generation after generation. People would come and go but still the cathedral would stand. As he turned away to head back to the relative safety of his home, he reflected on what was to come. He had no idea what would happen to him, his wife or his children. But he knew it would take a lot to break the spirit of this city. And he could certainly take hope in that.