"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 –“saving the most intimate ones, of course”– was the summer of 1985 in Sardinia. “It was a completely unforeseen trip that ended in a slightly tipsy night of brotherhood,” he reveals. 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 6. “More than 100,000 people filled the Camp Nou for Lluís Llach’s concert. It is the biggest concert of song in the Catalan language, I think at that moment it was a world record for a solo singer. There were spectators from all the Catalan Countries, I went from Perpinyà by bus. It was a concert of colossal dimensions,” explains the writer, who adds: “To put it briefly, I entered the concert 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 somewhat indifferent to him, he was interested in the coast and I in the interior. As 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 the Sardinians were very unwelcoming in this regard: nobody stopped.” They opted for public transport and the writer continued to reflect on culture and identity, noticing that the island was full of graffiti from Sardinian independentists.

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

Coincidence led the writer and his friend to meet that same driver in the bar of the lost village where they ended up, Ottana. “Seeing us arrive, he started laughing and wanted to buy us a drink. We said yes, a little surprised by the contrast with the lack of kindness of the Sardinians 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 showing them their traditional dances. “I, not to be outdone, taught them to dance sardanes”.