This elderly gentleman had a grown up family who owned and worked in a cafe on the corner of Provenza and the Placa Sagrada Familia. His wife did all the cooking.
In his youth he had worked in the vineyards in the South of France. He was Catalan and his wife was Spanish. He was retired, but not in good health and sat outside the cafe all day and evening. He had two breakfasts - one was coffee and pastries, the other was usually fish or ham and wine, lunch, and dinner in the evening with drinks in between.
All the neighbours would stop for a chat, or sit down and have a drink with him. My inadequate Spanish forced me to speak French with him, but his accent was very heavy and hard to understand. He loved just to sit there and watch the world go by: 'Look - that's a man!' he would say, delightedly, as a very obvious transvestite walked by.
He was a mine of useful information about the area and thoroughly enjoyed his life, despite very painful gout and obvious mobility problems. I used to call him 'Le Roi de Provence' after the street outside. Sadly, he died a year or two ago, and I shan't see his familiar cheery face again.
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