Meeting the Group

March 28, 2013 (continued)

Napping was more or less productive. Occasionally the doorbell would ring as guests checked in, and the noise of traffic outside was pretty frequent. I did doze off on a number of times. I would say in general—between traveling nonstop and living in the dorms—I am becoming a much heavier sleeper than I used to be.

At one point, a guy came to move his stuff into our room. I woke up and introduced myself. His name was Mike and he was accompanied by his friend Sean who was studying in Madrid. Mike was doing the Weekend Student Adventure package, but Sean had just flown down to meet up with him for a few days. After they left to go out, I fell back asleep.

When I woke up, it was a little after six. Chris, our tour guide, was going to come by around 8:30 to meet the group. I decided I should find some dinner before then.

Out in the lobby, I asked Dreadlocks for suggestions. “Is there a cheap restaurant around here that I could grab a bite?”

“Yes,” he said. “Do you have a map?”

“I do,” I said, pulling out the one I’d gotten earlier.

“Ok,” he said, pointing to a few spots. “Over here is a Bohemian neighborhood and that tends to be very cheap food.”

Eating food from Prague in Spain didn’t sound like the getaway I had in mind.

“Or down by this metro stop is a place called The Vaca Paca. It is about 10 euros to get in and then the food is all you can eat. Lots of roasted meats and breads and stuff. Not the highest quality, but tasty and traditional.”

“That’s about my budget,” I joked.

“If you want the most traditional Barcelona food, you want to get tapas.” I had heard that word before. My research had described tapas as sort of like appetizers but I was excited to try them. “There is a tapas bar called Tapas 24 right here,” he said pointing to another spot. “It’s not cheap, but it can be if you pay attention to what you order.”

“Thank you!” I said, folding my map into my pocket.

I decided to find the Tapas 24 place and have some cultural food. Leaving the hostel, I pushed through the crowd of One Direction fan-girls. Walking, I passed the obelisk, and headed down Passiege de Garcia.

I couldn’t help but notice what a lively city Barcelona is. Watching the crowd, I made several observations:

• There are a ton of motorcyclists. It seems to be the preferred method of transportation. I literally stood at one intersection counting them. In one cycle of a green light, I did not see a single car go through. All of the congestion and traffic was made up of motorcycles.
• There is a very large Islamic community. Most of them wear the very traditional dress, but the women’s clothes are much more decorative and stylish than we see in media coverage of the Middle East. I must have seen head scarfs of every color, all of them bedazzled with sequins and glitter.
• There are far fewer smokers here than in Prague. I still probably saw more here than in Germany or back home, but it was so nice to be able to breathe fresh air for a change.
• Both gender characteristics are heightened in men. When men are with women they are very masculine looking. Their body language is very macho and their facial expressions are pretty serious. When they are with other men however, their behavior appears quite feminine. There is a lot more touching, hugging, and handholding than I’m used to seeing. Two heterosexual couples could be walking down the street and if the men recognized each other, they would embrace in a very passionate hug, and occasionally a kiss on the cheek.
• Women also had heightened gender characteristics. When with men, they appeared very feminine, flirtatious, and submissive. Around other women however, there facial expressions very serious and the body language would change dramatically. A woman walking by herself typically had her eyebrows arched, arms crossed, and jaw locked; while women with men would lean into their partner, laughing and smiling the whole time.
• There were a lot more kids and families than I’d see in Czech or Germany. Specifically, the number of little kids jumped out to me. There were toddlers everywhere. There were also a lot of pre-teen/teenagers around too. This group however didn’t seem to be the rebellious nonchalant clique that teens in the US fall into. They seemed very joyful and expressive in everything they did.

I never found Tapas 24, but I did stumble upon The Vaca Paca. I took a seat on the covered, outdoor patio and ordered an orange soda.

“I’ll have that right up for you mate,” the waiter said. I learned later from Chris that mate is a common word in Barcelona for friend. They refer to all of their friends as their mates.

“Thank you,” I said. “And can I get a menu?” I asked, noticing there wasn’t one on the table.

“Sure can,” he said, handing one to me off of his little bussing station.

I looked it over. It was mostly mixed drinks. I found the description of the dinner that Dreadlocks had described. It was 10 euros for one drink and as much as you could eat.

“There you go mate,” the waiter said as he brought back my drink. “What’ll it be for you to eat?”

“I think I’m going to do the dinner,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, sounding concerned. “This drink is not included in the dinner. Now I can take it back for you if you like, or you can pay for it separately.”

“That’s fine,” I said, realizing he was only getting paid for the drinks he served on the patio. “I’ll pay for both.”

“Ok,” he said. “I’ll reserve this table for you. You can go in and pay for the dinner at the counter, and it’ll be all ready when you get back.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I went inside. The salad line was before the cash register, but I decided to skip that. I paid the lady and got water as my main drink. At the buffet line, I took one of everything so I could try it all. Back outside, the waiter had laid out a place setting for me. A little metallic “reserved” sign waited at my place.

I sat down, opened my orange soda, and poured it over the ice. Taking a drink and looking at my food, I suddenly became overwhelmingly homesick.

This city was so beautiful, I knew I was never going to be able to describe it to anyone. Plus, everything I was doing was unbelievable. From flying to exotic destinations to navigating winding cobblestone roads and tasting new flavorful foods, I couldn’t help but wish that I had someone along with me to share the adventure. In that moment, I would have given just about anything to have had my family or friends there with me.

As I ate, I began imagining that they were there. I wondered what they would think. What would they say about the scenery? What would they think about the food? What would excite them, frustrate them, or make them never want to leave? I felt a bit like a moron talking to “imaginary” people around the table, but that’s probably what it looked like I was doing.

The food however was really, really good! There were different types of ham that had been roasted and were all very dry but very flavorful. There was cheesy bread that was really rich. There was also kind of a noodle dish that was pretty bland, but filling enough. The buffet also came with a dessert. I got some pretty funny looks at the amount of soft serve ice cream I took (using a salad bowl instead of an ice cream dish) but both the vanilla and the chocolate were fantastic. The vanilla was rich and sweet, while the chocolate was thick and silky.

By the time I finished, it was almost 8:30. I realized I needed to rush back to the hostel to meet the group. I paid the waiter, thanked him for his help, and bused my own dishes onto his cart. I didn’t know if the bussing was appropriate or not, but not many other people seemed to have left dishes at their places.

As I got back to the intersection the hostel was at, I was momentarily turned around in the dark. The One Direction store made a nice landmark and I quickly figured out where I was. The door to the building was locked when I got back, and the key to open it looked like something out of a Harry Potter movie. It was long, sleek, and silver with three huge teeth that turned the levers inside the lock. Up in the room, I sorted out money and stuff in my locker. I did a little bit of journaling, jotting down my observations from the night. Once again, I had the feeling of…I did it

It was 8:30 and time to go meet the group. I could hear them in the kitchen, but I was a bit anxious. Even though I’m getting a lot better, meeting new people still makes me nervous. I hesitated for a few minutes, adjusting things in my locker that clearly didn’t need to be adjusted. After buying some time, I left the safety of the room and ventured into the kitchen. 

The girls I’d met earlier were sitting around the table sharing bottles of red wine. There was another girl sitting in the corner of the table that I didn’t recognize. She introduced herself as Amy. From Texas, she’s studying in England for the semester.

We talked about what we’d done during the day. The girls had gone to the beach, while Amy had actually gone to the Picasso museum.

“Do you want some wine?” Megan offered.

“No that’s okay,” I said.

“It’s ridiculous how cheap it was,” Ally added.

“And good,” Megan said.

“Yeah, until somebody got cork in it,” Mary joked.

“I’m sorry,” Megan said. “I’m not an amateur, I promise.”

While we were talking, the doorbell rang. We didn’t really acknowledge it until we heard a very heavy English accent behind us.

“Hello everybody,” it said.

We turned and saw a tall, tanned guy with glasses standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He didn’t look like he would have an English accent, but it was the most stereotypical British sounding voice I’ve ever heard.

“Are you all here for Weekend Student Adventures?” he asked.

We all said we were.

“Wicked!” he said. “I’m Chris, your tour guide.”

Chris explained to us that he is from Brighton, England and originally came to Spain for a Spanish intensive class. His hope was to teach Spanish as a second language, but he fell in love with the Catalan culture and just kept pushing his flight back further and further until he wound up staying in Barcelona. He’s gone home for Christmas a few times, but other than that, he’s lived in Spain for the past five years.

We all introduced ourselves, where we were from, and where we were studying abroad. While we did, we were joined by Austin and Naomi, a couple from New York who are studying in Dublin.

“So we are just missing Mike and Kaitlin,” Chris said. “Has anyone seen them?”

“I saw Mike earlier,” I said. The girls confirmed they’d met him too. No one had seen Kaitlin yet.

“Alright, well maybe we can wait a bit and then go get some dinner?” Chris offered.

“We already ate,” the girls said.

“You did?” Chris said.

“I did too,” I said. So had Naomi and Austin.

“We thought everything started tomorrow.”

“Well it does,” Chris said, “but nobody eats that early in Barcelona. You eat at eight, start drinking at twelve, and go out at two.”

We laughed. Chris offered to take us to a bar, but the girls said they were going to go with a group from the Hostel to a club called Opium.

“Oh that’s a great place,” Chris said. “Usain Bolt goes there sometimes. Sometimes he starts DJing. He’s not very good but everyone is like, ‘Hey! It’s Usain Bolt. He can do whatever he wants.’”

We laughed again.

“Well if you don’t want to go out, I can at least show you the map of the city,” he said pulling some maps out of his bag. “That hostel map is shit so I got these for you all from an informance center today. They only let you take one at a time so I had to go around to a couple of places to get as many as I could.”

Chris oriented us to the map. In pen, he’d written in where we could find grocery stores, cheap restaurants, and routes back to the hostel.

“Everything is pretty much closed tomorrow for Good Friday,” he said. “But we should still find some cool stuff in town.”

The girls poured some more wine and offered some to Chris.

“Where else have you all travelled?” he asked.

All of the girls along with Austin and Naomi had gone to Rome. They all said it was really overwhelming and too much to see in just a weekend visit. They also confirmed that all of Europe was having a chilly spring, with record breaking temperatures recorded not just in Prague, but also Lisbon, London, and Dublin.

Our conversation eventually turned more cultural. “We saw that pickpocketing is a big problem here?” Mary asked Chris.

“Yes,” he said. “Thieving is rampant. The problem is, it’s legal.”

“Legal?” we all asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Even if the police catch them, as long as they didn’t steal more than 300 euros worth, they can keep what they stole.”

“Seriously?” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “And if it’s more than 300 euros, they get a warning. Then if they do it again, they get another warning. No one takes it seriously because there is never a punishment.”

“Have you ever been mugged or anything?” Ally asked.

“Not mugged really,” he said. “There’s not much violence in Barcelona, but I’ve lost a few bags.”

“How’d it happen?” Mary asked.

“One guy came up to me while I was sitting in a café and asked for the time. He didn’t really want the time, because when I took my hand off my bag to check my watch, he grabbed the bag and darted.”

We laughed.

“I chased him though and got it back. He spit on me. I called him the c-word and then he just handed it over. The other one swiped it from under my seat in the metro. I saw him later that day carrying it under his jacket and confronted him. He didn’t expect to see me again so he just gave it back.”

“That is ridiculous,” Naomi said.

“I’ve also seen them take wallets out of pockets. Most of the time they just take the money and return the wallets. Cell phones too. They’ll swipe an iPhone any day, but I once caught a guy putting my T-mobile phone back in my pocket. They don’t want shit.”

We laughed.

“The wine here is really cheap?” one of the girls pointed out.

“Yes, it is,” Chris said.

“I have to ask,” I interjected. “Is marijuana legal here?”

“Not really,” he said. “You can get a fine for smoking it in public if you get caught. In your house it’s okay. But you also aren’t supposed to have open liquor on the streets but everyone does.”

“I only ask cause it seems to differ everywhere,” I said. “I heard that in a lot of Asian countries, marijuana gets the death penalty.”

The entire conversation was lots of fun. Chris would use great English words like “blimey” and “wicked” to describe stuff. “Sorted” was the one he used most often for “figuring stuff out” (Ex: “Do we have the bedrooms sorted?”)

“Is there any chance we could find an Easter Mass for Sunday?” Mary asked.

“Yes, I was going to check on that for you. The Cathedral Del Mar is a church that is really old but a lot of young people go to it. It has some really cool history I can tell you about and I thought that would be a good place for you all to go,” Chris said.

Everyone was excited about that. Naomi and Austin didn’t share, but the four girls confirmed they were Catholic and Amy said she was Lutheran.

“Are you all signed up for the Sangria making class?” Chris asked. It was an option that Andy had given us while booking the trip.

“I didn’t,” I said. “But I don’t really drink alcohol.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “If you have 20 euros, I can get you in. It is a shit ton of food, and instead of having sangria on tap you can have Coke on tap if you want.”

“Great!” I said.

He suddenly looked a little flustered. “I meant the soft drink, not the other type of coke.”

I told him I’d get him the money in the morning. Since everyone had made plans for the night, Chris decided to head out. He told us he’d be back at 10am with a light breakfast, and that we’d go from there. We thanked him, and he headed out.

As he did, a tall kid came in the room and introduced himself. His name was Nick and he was from my home state. He asked me where I went to school and it turned out he had just graduated from my university.

“That school sucks,” he said. “You can’t get a job with that degree anywhere.”

I speculated that it was hard to find a job when you tour Europe immediately after graduating, but I didn’t mention that to him. 

He went on to encourage me to change from Business to something like Philosophy. When I mentioned I was thinking of going to Seminary for grad school, his advice was to just drop out of school now.

I moved off the topic and let him talk to the girls. They compared experiences grocery shopping and he showed us some of the pre-packaged flan he had bought. I had to roll my eyes when he pronounced it with a short “a” as in “fat.”

“I need to go buy some more of that stuff tomorrow,” he said.

“The stores are closed tomorrow for Good Friday,” Mary said.

“Oh right,” he said. “#$&@-ing catholics.”

We all looked at each other.

“Don’t you guys go to a Catholic school?” I asked the girls. I’m not sure if my tone sounded nonchalant or sarcastic, but they caught my drift.

“Yes. We do,” Mary said coldly.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Nick said. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m just not religious.”

Ally immediately changed the subject. “Would you be a priest if you went to seminary?”

“No,” I said. “I go to a little non-denominational church. I’d definitely stay on the protestant side.”

“What kind of pastor do you want to be?” Megan asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I really like to write. I like public speaking. I’ve thought about youth ministry, but I don’t have a clue. It’s a fairly recent idea I’m toying with, and it’s a bit of a departure from the business track I was on.”

It was refreshing to talk religion with people who were seeing the same grand churches I was. At the same time the conversation suddenly felt a bit too personal. Here I was sharing this idea—one that I hadn’t really even convinced myself of yet—with a group I’d met less than 5 hours ago. I got very anxious about it and tried to figure out how to change the subject.

Unable to find an out, I stood up, and very awkwardly said, “You know, I should go to bed. Have fun tonight.” With that, I went back to the room. It was probably the most tactless exit I could have made from the conversation. 

In the room, I started journaling, but Bridget came in almost immediately after me. She hadn’t said much all night, but started chatting now. Apparently I had a striking resemblance to her ex-boyfriend and had freaked her out a little when she first saw me.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she said. “Why don’t you drink alcohol?”

“I don’t really have a straight answer,” I said. “I never drank back in the states, and I haven’t liked anything that I’ve tried here. I’ve seen some dysfunctional alcoholics in my day, and I certainly have an addictive personality. I just don’t have the need or desire to get involved with alcohol.”

“That’s cool,” she said. “Maybe someday you’ll find a tolerance for it.”

“Probably,” I said. “I mean I’m only nineteen so…”

“You’re only nineteen!!!” she shrieked.

“Yes,” I said. In some ways this reaction was flattering, but at the same time, I was surprised I could fool everyone so convincingly.

“I thought you were like 22 or something,” she said.

We laughed about it. In the end, she concluded that she too was too tired to go out to the pubs with the group. Amy also stayed back and when Mike returned, he said he “admired” us for not giving in to “peer pressure.”

Before going to bed, I went to take a shower. There were two community shower rooms—one men’s, one women’s—with three private stalls in each (at least in the men’s there were three stalls; I can’t confirm if this was true in the women’s.) The shower was hot, but did not have a temperature control. There was a single push button to turn it on. When the button was pushed, the water flowed for about 30 seconds at a time before clicking off. I eventually developed a rhythm where I could hit it with my elbow while soaping myself to keep the water on.

I showered and shaved, nicking my face a few times with my cheap razor and shampoo in place of shaving cream. Back in the room, I made a few last notes in my journal, before we switched off the light and went to bed.