Magic Moments

March 30, 2013 (Continued)

Back in the hostel, I dropped off my jacket in the room and used the restroom before heading out again. My plan was to go back to the market on Las Rumblas and maybe hit the beach or antiques market if time allowed.

My first priority though was going to get batteries for my camera. Walking back over to the little market I’d gotten razors in, I saw that the batteries were guarded behind the counter.

“Hola,” I said to the man working. He was busy stocking the shelves in the back of the store.

“Hola,” he said, coming up the counter. He was balding a bit on top, and wore wirey glasses. I would guess he was probably in his early 40s although his appearance made him look a bit older.

“Can I get batteries?” I asked. He looked confused. I opened my camera and pulled out the two double As. “Batteries,” I repeated.

“Si!” He said, and grabbed a pack from behind the counter. As he rang them up, he asked me, “Where are you from?” Apparently my accent had given me away.

“America,” I said.

“Oh!” he said smiling. “Do you like Barcelona?”

“I love it!” I said.

“How long are you here?” He asked.

The friendly conversation was kind of nice. Most people in Prague either can’t speak enough English, or get turned off by tourists. It was nice to have someone who was interested in talking. Despite his heavy accent, I could understand him quite well.

“I go home tomorrow,” I said. “But I’ve been here for three days.”

He went on to warn me about the theft in Barcelona, and deciding I could chat for a few seconds, I opened my camera and changed the batteries on the counter.

“Thank you so much for your help,” I said, reaching out my hand to shake his. He returned the gesture although it clearly was not commonplace for him.

“Is your girlfriend with you?” he asked.

“No,” I chuckled, thinking I wish! “I’m here alone,” I said.

“You don’t like girls?” he asked.

The question through me a bit. I didn’t really feel like that was the logical follow up to being alone.

“I do like girls,” I said, my voice probably shaking a bit from surprise.

“Do you like boys even a little?” he asked.

I could feel my eyes dilate and did my best not to let my jaw drop. I suddenly realized why he had been interested in “friendly conversation.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t like boys at all.”

“What is your girlfriend’s name?” he asked.

I panicked. “Torey!” I said, thinking of the first female friend that came to mind. “She’s a law student back in the US so she had to study, and couldn’t come.” All of that was a lie, but I really wanted to get out of this conversation. “I need to go,’ I said.

“Ok,” He said. “If you decided to stay in Barcelona, come back. You can stay with me.”

I’m sure I can, I thought, darting out the door. “Thank you,” I said, and started walking the other way.

 I made my ways back to Las Rumblas. It certainly was more crowded than it had been the day before. La Boqueria was further down than I remembered it being, but it was open so I went inside.

The inside was awesome. The main attraction for both locals and tourists were the juice vendors. They had fresh squeezed juice in every color of the rainbow. There seriously was pink grapefruit, purple blackberry, green kiwi, golden mango, and every other color and fruit in between.

There were also lots of fresh meat vendors. I cannot emphasize the fresh in that statement enough. Many of the slabs of beef still had the hoof and fur on them. Dead but whole chickens lay in display cases and were only de-feathered after they’d been purchased. Seafood was everywhere too. In addition to shellfish, there were whole squids and octopuses available for sale.

Pastries, chocolates, and candies were a huge hit. Some were clearly milka bars missing their wrapper while other vendors were making chocolate at their stands.

I bought a chicken empanada, a strawberry and orange juice, and some homemade chocolates. All three tasted incredibly fresh, nutritious, and delicious. The juice was pulpy and rich. The chicken was tender and juicy. Of course the chocolate was wonderful. I just can’t get enough of this homemade food in Europe.

Leaving La Boqueria, I crossed the street and wove into the old Roman town. I got lost briefly, but quickly reoriented myself. When I found the open aired cathedral, the line had to be almost a block long to get in. There were fewer vendors or performers outside, but perhaps 500 people were waiting to tour the garden inside.

We were on our own for dinner tonight, and I knew I had to make time for that. Deciding the beach was probably too far to walk to, eat, and walk back, I started heading back towards town. On my way, I looked for a good tapas bar. By sheer coincidence, I found Tapas 24.

It was odd restaurant. The entire thing was underground with two bars making tapas in front of their guests. The bars were full so I took a seat at a table in the corner. It took over 20 minutes for a waiter to approach me. When he did, he left a menu and took my order for orange soda.

That waiter actually clocked out and a different waitress came to take my order.

“If I order three tapas, will that be enough?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But I hope you will order more.” I stuck with three.

They turned out to be great. One was a ball of beef and potato. The other was like a piece of really tender dark chicken meat, lightly covered in bread crumbs. The final, was strips of lamb meat in sort of a lemongrass sauce. They were fantastic!

When I finished, it took equally as long to get the bill as it had to place my order. Now, I needed to rush back to the hostel. Leaving the money and tip on the table, I headed out.

At the hostel, I checked email and put on my jacket for the evening. I was so in love with wearing shorts, I decided not to put on pants. When Chris showed up, we headed into town. We took the metro across town to the art museum. We got to see the old Bull Fighting stadium (which I’d seen from the bus on the way in) and several beautiful plazas.

The main attraction, however, was the magic fountain. The fountain, which spurts water several stories into the air, also does a laser light show. The combination of flowing water, lights, and mist—coupled with rock opera in the background—is truly unlike anything I’ve seen.

Chris showed us the best view was from the steps of the art museum high above the plaza. It was again a steep escalator ride to the top, where we could sit on the stairs, watch the fountain, see Montjuic, and the Barcelona skyline at sunset. We watched as the sunset for a while, talking about how we’d spent our free time.

“Hey everyone!” Chris said. “I brought some dessert.” He pulled out a bag of corn bread muffins, and two bottles of champagne.

He gave everyone a little plastic Dixie cup and poured around the champagne. I said I’d give it a try and he filled my cup half way. Sitting down to enjoy the view, I took a sip.

“Wow!”  I said. “That is really, really good!”

They all laughed. “So you only like expensive alcohol?” Amy said.

“If you knew me better, you’d understand the irony of that,” I said.

“What is that guy doing?” Mike said pointing to a couple on the balcony that was obstructing our view of the fountain. It looked like he was tying his girlfriend shoe.

All of a sudden, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small case. Opening it, he revealed a sparking ring. The woman’s face light up and she began to cry. Nodding in agreement, he stood and the two embraced in a joyful hug. We all clapped, but I doubt they saw us.

That makes me feel REAL good. I thought. Here I am; alone in Barcelona; drinking champagne at the Magic Fountain; this couple just got engaged; I got hit on by a gay guy in a supermarket. Cheers!

Chris went down to offer them the second bottle of champagne, but just as he was about to tap the guy on the shoulder, they went into a fairly passionate kiss. Chris looked back at us with a wide eyed expression. His face looked apprehensive and we all gestured that he should probably just call it off. So he came back up to us, uncorked the bottle, and poured us all another cup of bubbly.

As we drank, there was suddenly a loud commotion. A woman was calling out in Spanish and some police came over to us. Chris instructed us to hide our drinks since open alcohol was technically illegal and ticketing a group of American tourists was favorite pastime of Catalan cops. As Chris listened to the woman he translated for us that apparently her daughter was missing.

“Hold on to your bags,” he instructed us. “It’s a scam to distract the police.

After we’d finished our drinks, we walked back down to the fountain and listened to the opera a bit more. After a few photos, we headed off to catch the metro.

“This train system really is sprawling,” Kaitlin remarked. It was true. Once you went underground, you still had to walk several blocks of tunnel to actually reach the platform.

We rode the subway back to the royal square. Our fee had included tickets to a flamenco show and Chris wanted to ensure we were first in line. We were and we got great seats. Mike and his friend Sean were in the front row with Amy and I. The four girls sat behind us, and Kaitlin, Naomi, Austin, and Chris sat across the aisle from them. While we sat, we talked our families and friends from back home. The group kept telling me I was very philosophical. “You should be inside my head,” I joked. “I have to live with these thoughts.”

When the show started it was amazing! The sound the dancer’s shoes made on the stage was absolutely deafening. The movements of their feet were lightning fast and as much a part of the music as the guitars, a drums and singing.

Both the man and the woman dancer had such passion in their faces. At times, I was afraid they were going to jump off the stage and hurt me. At other times, they looked a little uncertain about their footwork. Their lips would tighten with nervousness, but when they nailed a move, their eyes beamed with satisfaction. It truly was a magical performance.

After the show, Chris took us out in the plaza. This was officially the end of our tour. He gave us each postcards and—as promised the night we arrive—demonstrated his breakdancing for us. He also offered to take us out for mojitos. We all went, and while I sipped one, I didn’t not order my own. I enjoyed the taste actually, but I was tired and ready to head back. After Amy finished hers, we said goodbye to Chris and walked back to the hostel. Mike and Sean were also finished, but they went out to find a club instead.

When we got back to the hostel, everyone was leaving for the pub crawl. Amy went straight to bed, while I went to check email one more time. As I did, I met an American girl named Lyena. She was the only other person in the hostel not clubbing. While her official reason was she had torn her ACL, she also admitted she didn’t drink and was having a hard time socializing in Europe.

I attempted to check into my flight back to Prague, but discovered that Czech Airways did not offer online check-in for flights to Prague (only from Prague.) This frustrated and made me a bit nervous, but after hearing disaster stories about European air travel; this seemed like a pretty minor issue.

I took a shower, but decided to skip shaving this time. As I did, I began thinking. I have always vehemently protested that “people don’t change.” I’ve cited bible verses, read psych cases, given examples of history, all trying to prove my point. Yet somehow, I felt like I was changing. I began to think about this and came up with analogy.

In the past, I’ve pictured “people changing” as cracking an egg. They crack out of the shell, forever destroying how they used to be and appearing to have a completely new form. In my mind, change was more like eating an artichoke. As layers get peeled away, we get closer to finding the true heart of the vegetable. But each layer has a tiny piece of that heart and it’s necessary to eat each one, before the new inner core can be revealed. In this way, each phase of growing is a bit of a change, and each is necessary to go through, but the essential core is always the same.

Like I said, my brain is tortured by these philosophical debates.

Back in my room, I journalled about the evening, before turning off the light, and heading to bed.