Another city. Another chance to see new things. I’ll be honest and say that Spain was sort of a afterthought as I planned this trip. I needed to round out the shape of the experience and a tour of Europe seemed incomplete without a visit to Spain. As you know getting here was a struggle, and one beyond just pushing through a hangover.
A friend told me that somewhere along the way on this trip I would hit a wall of loneliness, an existential crisis. To some extent I did just that. Some news from home had me thinking deep and wondering if I should cut the trip short. The swing through Italy was conjuring up memories of good moments long ago, still tarnished by the bad moments later to come. There have been moments when I’ve stopped and realized how much on my own I really am, and maybe that is what I’m here to do, to learn and to accept that I’m on my own now. To accept… The last step of the Kubler-Ross 5 stages of grief. Funny, but it wasn’t until I typed The words “and to accept” that I thought of Kubler-Ross and the process of grieving and how it applies to all manner of loss, not just death. Loss is loss. Grieving is grieving. Acceptance is freeing. Solitude is a chance to think. Solo travel is the best kind of solitude. Took a while but I’m finally finding the answer to that question I’ve been asking…”what the hell am I doing?”
Got up feeling better after a sleep filled with kinetic dreams that faded as my eyes floated open leaving only echoes of movement, rushing wind, and distant voices. Got out of bed and tested my foot. Still a little sore but better than before. A good sign. First thing first I had to get the station and reserve a seat on the high speed train to Madrid. I have a plane to catch there. Rushed through breakfast and got going.
Many friends have warned me about the talent of the pickpockets all over Europe but especially in Barcelona. Some very old lessons had been taught me as a young Marine hitting a liberty port in Asia for the first time. Don’t carry important papers with you. Keep your wallet in your front pocket and your hand on your wallet when you’re in a crowd. Stay alert. I was lucky then. I’ve been lucky so far on this trip.
Got to Sants Estacio, via metro and had a time trying to figure out which long queue to get into. There was a queue for information, another for immediate ticket sales, another for advanced ticket sales, one for medium distance trips, and a last for long distance trips. Didn’t know if a trip to Madrid was a medium, or long distance trip and didn’t want to spend a long time in the information queue just to find out which other queue I should spend a long time in, so I looked around and figured my best bet was the advance sales queue which, of course was the longest, but featured a take-a-number system and seats to wait in. I got my number, 175, then I checked the “currently being served” sign – “95”. Sat down and tried to meditate. Then… A miracle. A young man with long dreadlocks and a tie died tee shirt wandered up to the number dispensing machine and looked around. He had a number slip in his hand as thought he was looking to throw it away. There was a trash bin right there and he glanced at it then he just laid his slip On top of the dispenser and walked away. He was abandoning his place in line. I acted fast and had his slip in my hand tout suite. His read “118”. I just jumped ahead in line more than 55 places and I felt not a ounce of guilt about it.
My number was called, I got my reservation and was back on the Metro looking for adventure. I found it one stop from my hotel. The sign for the station said Catalunya But there was an exit in the station for Las Ramblas. I headed for it.
Las Ramblas is so much more than a big long wide shopping street. It is the mainline energy feed jacked straight into the heart of Barcelona. The energy transfer goes both ways, from the rest of the world through every tourist into BCN, and back out in a positive feedback loop of global proportions. You can feel it pulsing and beating to a rhythm enhanced by clapping hands, stomping feet, and a language, when spoken correctly, sounds like a holy chant. Las Ramblas is a magnet As strong as either of the earths poles. When you step off it onto a side street you need not worry about getting lost because you will be drawn back into Las Ramblas, It’s like instinct. Like running salmon, migrating birds, planets being acted upon by the the gravity of galaxies millions of lifetimes away. Las Ramblas is a force of culture.
And oh what a culture.
I took that side trip when I smelled something wonderful wafting of the breeze of this perfect day. There was a market nearby. Every great city has a food market and I had the scent. In a few minutes I was at the Mercat de Boqueria. This food market is intense. The fruits and Vegetables are meats and fish all have a color and flavor and aroma that is enhanced to the highest degree. I was getting drunk breathing deep the dense perfume in that place. As I was going through it a petty girl jet black hair, and tawny skin transfixed me with her dark brown eyes. I stopped. She handed me a small blue colored flyer. I took it. She walked away. I watched her till she disappeared into the crowd, then I looked at the flyer. Flamenco, tonight!