Notes from Barcelona: Chapter 2 - Finding My Way

Sunday, Sept. 27th:

First 48 hours here and it's fucking INSANE!

I'm out alone on a Sunday night because my hosts went to bed early due to work in the morning. Yawwwwn. Ben works at 9am and his girlfriend, Alex, works at 11am. Nice hours. I'm on my own only because I forced myself. There are tons of people out, including whole families with small children, so I couldn't exactly stay cooped up. It's terribly easy to get lost here so I've wandered around the block and felt nervous seeing the drug dealers at every corner. They're immigrants from Morocco and elsewhere I was told and they are endlessly aggressive trying to sell coke and hash to tourists or anyone else who bothers to look them in the eye and doesn't immediately ignore them and walk past. All I wanted was a glass of wine and to not feel so out of place.

I chose a pretty quiet bar compared to the raucous ones close to the apartment. Finding something divey and comfortable within which to write after midnight is difficult. I wandered through an open square still set up for live music for The Lady of Mercy festival - one of the biggest here and I arrived at the tail end of it. Plaça Reial is in the Barri Gòtic and a heavy tourist area. It was filled with people eating at the various places that surround three sides of the square and each had these assertive waiter/PR men outside holding out their menus. They're worse than the spritzer girl in a department store. It's a tourist-oriented city, much more than I ever thought, and the competition for your euro is fierce.

I've been talking to my bartender - a young Greek man who, when I asked how he was doing said, 'Awful,' so we got into a deep conversation of life and expenses and why we're both here. I have no idea, but I think this bar, Sukūr, is supposed to be Turkish or something to that effect. Looks like it's about 2am and the female manager is shutting the doors. She'd previously brought me a small plate of olives with my wine and they were really good tho the wine only so so, but a full glass, so down it went. I may be off to find late-night food elsewhere - my stomach isn't used to the late hours, but if I'm going to be up drinking, I have to eat something to absorb it all.

I didn't realize it's only 12:30am. They don't stay open as late as the other bars. My poor Greek boy informed me that tomorrow he's giving his notice and will get out of this job due to bad management. He doesn't care and thinks he'll find another job easily.

We talk about New York, where he says he's going eventually after his next year of marketing school here and has no idea how expensive it is to live there. We talk about Seattle and the rent I pay there. He asks if that's comparable to New York and I say, 'Uh.. no. Not even close.' I explain usually it's a lot more for a lot less. He asks about wages and I explain it's one state that allows restaurant owners to pay less than minimum wage for serving jobs due to tips. He's surprised. He had no idea.

He tells me his name but I have to ask a couple of times. He explains it's basically John in English. The manager brings me more olives after asking and answering for me if I need more. I ask if the man she's clearly familiar with by the way she's talking to him is her boyfriend. She says no, after a little laugh, and that it's her ex-boyfriend. Funny, they seem together and obviously he cares, but there's an interesting dynamic there.

Giannis offers to come out with me when he's off, which should be soon so I wait. He's a sweet guy, not unattractive, but not the typical for me. Not sure why he offered. He's not flirty, that's what I mean. But he tried to pour me another glass of wine after I paid for one.

He takes me to a bar called Polaroid. It's brightly colored and we walk thru a haze of cigarette smoke to get to a table. Random album covers are plastered on the walls. One strikes me as particularly odd: It's Bob Hope with a glass of milk called 'Siniesto total II (el regreso). It didn't matter what it meant. It was just weird. The back of the bar looks cool. The shelves I instantly recognize are in the shapes from Tetris. Giannis brings back a couple of beers for us, ordered us hot dogs of all things and we start talking.

Monday, Sept. 28th:

Wow, my Spanish is as bad as my handwriting. Completely sucks. Wandered to the place Ben took me to for food yesterday and managed to order tho only because the man attempted to speak English. I seriously couldn't survive here without knowing more. I'm kicking myself constantly for not learning Spanish when I had the chance. Why did I pick French?!

Man, the café con leche here is amazing. I have yet to master the three course lunch because I usually am only ready for breakfast by that time. Vacation has me up late til the wee hours and sleeping in lazily like there's nothing better to do.

I took the sweet Greek bartender home after we drank more than I thought I could. He reminded me I was here to have a good time.. and I did.. at least twice. Possibly seeing him again tonight, but going to enjoy the day.

The people-watching is great. More people than not have tattoos - lots of artwork. A lot of alternative youth, a lot of tourists. Not sure which one outnumbers the other.

Ben, my host, is down with a nasty cold. He tried to fight it this weekend, but he's definitely out hard today. The flat he rents is owned by another Australian and is huge. It can sleep 11 people if they needed. It was full with a married couple - she's Australian and he's Catalan, and her cousins. They've been in the city for 3 1/2 years and they know the owner of the flat. They're waiting for government paperwork to come thru so they can move back to Melbourne. Apparently Spain will pay for your way home if you're foreign.. or Australian. Can't remember which, but it sounds like they don't want you here regardless. The paperwork can take a long time as Emma told me, but it's free so they're waiting. Her cousins just left for Valencia today. Sweet boys - a little Aussie frat-like, but cool.

I wandered out to window shop and get some basics for the apartment and some orange juice for Ben. This area gets a lot of tourists. Some shop owners are familiar and nice, others are stand-offish and clearly resent you and the fact you don't communicate - not that they'd want to. I found a very popular shopping street, Carrer Ferran, that I hope to find again. Amazing clothes unlike I've ever seen. Spendy but so, so cool. The boots aren't bad either. Also not cheap.

The only problem with exploring all day is my body gives out earlier than I'd like. My hip aches a lot. The alleys are cobblestone and pavement. My new kicks I bought before I left are great - even without socks so no blisters (Yay!), but my hip - ugh - I want to rip my leg off and throw it in the fountain. But thinking of being out has me conflicted because I'm sleepy. Maybe I'll nap and then head out for some dinner and wine. Zzzzzz..