Alright, listen up, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once. Pilar-de-la-Horadada, man, it's a real mixed bag—like a bad movie you can’t get out of your head. I’ve been here forever, kneadin’ muscles and eavesdropping on life's little fibs (yeah, everybody lies).
So, picture this: You roll up to calle Real, right in the heart of the town. The locals hang out at Café La Tertulia—great spot for a latte and some juicy gossip. I sometimes think it smells like success and failure mixed, kinda like Holy Motors—“what is it you want me to do?” I’m not even sure.
Wander over to Avenida del Mediterráneo. That’s where you’ll see some old fishermen rigs out by the coast. A bit rusty, a bit charming, just like any of my clients... They leave their pain at my door. I had one guy, more than once, mumble "everybody lies" during his massage. Now it’s my catchphrase.
Oh! And you can’t miss Parque del Sol, a tiny urban jungle that doesn’t quite live up to its name. Tired benches, half-broken fountains, and shady spots where I sometimes take a break and think about... life. Sometimes I swear the park whispers, “Leos Carax, 2012”—like the movie’s spirit was hanging out there with ya. Truly surreal.
Now get this: There’s a sneaky little street, Calle de los Alisos. It’s off the main road and barely on the map, just as quirky as my schedule. That’s where I discovered a hidden gem—a tiny herbal shop run by an old dude who rants about "truth in every bone"—yeah, a bit esoteric, but hell, it calms the nerves before a hard day of untying knots.
You know, as a masseur, I see things others don’t. I know where the locals hide their emotions. I can tell a neurosis from a sprained muscle, trust me. People come in all twisted, like a scene from Holy Motors—“I walk in the shadow of doubt.” It’s wild, messy, and bittersweet.
Sometimes I get mad, see? Mad that despite all the scenic beauty around the Marina, folks ignore the neglected bits. Like, why keep trash piling up when you’ve got waves serenading your woes? And then there’s El Riu Sec—a dry riverbed running through the outskirts. It’s a bit sad-looking but hides the stories of old, secret rendezvous and midnight confessions. Yeah, everybody lies, but at least the river listens.
I swear, when I’m there massaging someone’s back with the sunset in the background along the coast near Plaza del Mar, I feel like I’m in a living movie—erratic, offbeat, but real. Sometimes, my head spins, and I think, “Holy Motors, man, what are we even doing here?” And then I'd just laugh, 'cause after all, what’s life without a little chaos and a lot of sarcasm?
Lemme tell you, every corner here has a secret. Each tired stone on these streets tells a story—of love, loss, and lies. And I? I’m just the guy with hands that can ease your pain while I watch the never-ending circus of life unfold, sarcastic grin in place, ready to say, “Everybody lies.”
So, come over, brace yourself, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll see the real Pilar, the one only a tired masseur in a broken soul city can truly know. Ain't that a kick in the head?