CAFÉ - BAR EL MUELLE
El Muelle apareceu coa Segunda República, tan feminina, bela e caótica, naquel 1931 intenso e febril... Unha república efémera como a Rúa da Senra, un desafío urbanístico dun Santiago que un día quixo ser moderno pero nunca chegou a selo.
Máis aló dos últimos contornos da longa sombra da catedral, El Muelle iniciou a súa longa historia de café clásico. Froito do empeño dun emigrante oriúndo da parroquia de Calo, recentemente retornado dunha afortunada estancia en Montevideo: nas súas mesas comezou a reunirse un variado elenco de composteláns e non composteláns que ben podería parecerse ao celiano café de "La Colmena". Podemos imaxinar a trasfega de cuncas de viño, cafés, bicarbonato e coñac no medio do bulicio dunha rúa rebosante de vida que foi impregnando miles de anécdotas en cada un dos poros da súa vetusta barra. E deu igual que, polo menos oficialmente, a Senra se travestise co nome de Xeneral Mola, xa que El Muelle seguiu sendo un centro de reunión de poetisas, cantantes, canallas, anarquistas, estudantes, comerciantes, oficinistas ou mesmo sacerdotes e militares. Unha estraña amálgama que sobreviviu ao Santiago caníbal dos setenta: din que, en certos días de néboa, desde a cristaleira de El Muelle pódese ver aínda a rexia silueta do Edificio Castromil.
O epílogo a esta pequena historia pono Pedro Almodóvar quen, unha mañá, tomando alí un café antes de buscar exteriores para a súa nova película, quedou fascinado cos respaldos das súas cadeiras en forma de corazón: en balde, moi en balde, negociou a rodaxe dunha escena alí mesmo. Pouco sabía o manchego que a única maneira de que lle fixesen caso no Muelle sería facendo unha reaparición antolóxica con McNamara, interpretando un a un os seus grandes éxitos: non o fixo e quedou sen gravar as cadeiras. Ter casi noventa anos e seguir sendo novo eche moito.
El Muelle emerged with the Second Spanish Republic, feminine, beautiful, and chaotic, in an intense and feverish year... The year of a period as ephemeral as the Senra Street: an urban challenge of a Santiago that one day wanted to be modern but never became so. Beyond the last contours of the long shadow of the Cathedral, El Muelle started its long history as a classic café: the result of the efforts of an emigrant from the parish of Calo, recently returned from a fortunate stay in Montevideo. At El Muelle's tables began to gather a varied cast of Compostelanos and non-Compostelanos that could well resemble the café of the renowned novel "La Colmena" (The Beehive) by Camilo José Cela. We can imagine the hustle and bustle of cups of wine, coffees, bicarbonate, and cognac amidst the buzz of a street brimming with life that impregnated thousands of anecdotes in each of the joints of its old-fashioned counter. It didn't matter that, at least officially, Senra was renamed after the infamous General Mola, since El Muelle continued to be a meeting place for poets, singers, scoundrels, anarchists, students, merchants, office workers, or even priests and soldiers. A strange amalgam that survived the cannibal Santiago of the seventies: they say that, on certain foggy days, from the large window of El Muelle you can still see the majestic silhouette of the Castromil Building. The epilogue to this little story is provided by Pedro Almodóvar who, one morning, having a coffee there before scouting locations for his new film, was fascinated by the heart-shaped backrests he was resting his hips on: in vain, very in vain, he negotiated the shooting of a scene in the café. Little did the famous filmmaker know that the only way to be listened to at El Muelle would have been by setting a comeback concert with McNamara, and performing their greatest hits one by one. He didn't do it and was left without filming the chairs. Being almost ninety years old but holding a young spirit is hard.
