"I was a young Catalanist and after Lluís Llach's concert in 1985 I was a young independentist"

One of the most special nights in the life of the writer Joan-Lluís Lluís –“senña comptar les més íntimes, esclar”–, was the summer of 1985 in Sardinia. “It was a totally unforeseen trip that ended in a slightly alcoholic night of fraternity,” he advances. Before going into explaining the story and understanding the state of his spirit, we must go back a few days before the trip, to the night of July 6th. “More than 100,000 people filled the Camp Nou for Lluís Llach’s concert. It is the biggest concert of song in Catalan, I think at that time it was a world record for a solo singer. There were spectators from all the Catalan Countries, I went from Perpignan by bus. It was a concert of colossal dimensions,” explains the writer, who adds: “To put it briefly, I entered the concert and I was a young Catalanist and when I left I was a young independentist”.

Three days later, on the way to Sardinia, “I was still digesting the emotional shock.” He arrived in Alghero with his travel companion, a German friend attracted by the Mediterranean beaches. “He didn’t speak any Catalan and Alghero was pretty much the same to him, he was interested in the coast and I in the interior. Since Sardinia is a relatively narrow island, we made transversal journeys and thus everyone was satisfied. The idea was to tour the island by hitchhiking, but we soon realized that Sardinians were very unwelcoming in this regard: no one stopped.” They opted for public transport and the writer continued reflecting on culture and identity, noticing that the island was full of graffiti by Sardinian independentists.

Suddenly, during one of these moments of reflection, in the carriage of an old train, the huge backpack he had stored in the luggage rack fell on his head, and he made “a bit of a fool of himself” in front of the passengers and the conductor, who was just entering the cabin.

Coincidence led the writer and his friend to meet that very same driver at the bar of the lost village where they ended up, Ottana. “Seeing us arrive, he started laughing and wanted to invite us for a drink. We said yes, a little surprised by the contrast with the Sardinians' lack of friendliness when picking up hitchhikers.” That man, however, was “extraordinarily” friendly, and even ended up giving each of them a photo of himself. “They made us taste all the local alcohols, and we ended up betting on who would be independent first, Catalonia or Sardinia. The night ended with the Sardinians teaching them their traditional dances. “I, not wanting to leave it without a response, taught them to dance sardanes”.