I took the bus to the airport on my way out of Barcelona last week. Although I've frequently ridden the bus into the city, I don't I've ever done the reverse, because I was utterly surprised to find us, as we neared the airport, veering off into a back parking lot loaded with taxis. Literally hundreds of them, all black and yellow. At first I thought they were just lining up, from very far afield, to pick up passengers. But then I realized that none of the drivers was in his car, and that in fact they were all just hanging out, talking, smoking, and going for coffee at the special taxi drivers' bar handily located alongside the parking lot.
It was like one big, secret, taxi drivers' treehouse. The windows on the bus were closed, so I couldn't hear. But I can imagine the passionate, rapturous discourses on ham, and the declining morals of youth, and why the government is withholding information about the Madrid bombings that emanated up from the asphalt.
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