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From my personal journal, Sunday March 19:Well, it took me only three hours from the time I got off the plane to find a room, deal with surly tourist info people (well, I went back when they opened a second window and the second woman was nicer), get on a tram, walk down La Ramblas, realize I've gone too far, ask my second question in Spanish, "Donde esta Place Reial?" (The first was at the phone at airport where I asked "Cuanto questa?" because there were no signs.)It's disorienting but way cool. I didn't cry when we touched down as I'd expected I would. I'm also not getting the overly emotional welling tear and tingles - this is either due to lack of sleep or Xanax. I think I'll try to go out for a few more hours (while it's daylight) and soak in more culture. I'll nap in the evening, then check out the bars later tonight. Sounds like a plan. 9:25pm: After being awakened for a second time by the rowdy Americans down the hall, I finally decided to get up and say something. The first time I just put earplugs in because I was groggy enough to be afraid of them! It's weird - I want to turn and respond to any English - especially American English - I hear on the streets. I'm here for a totally different culture and I'm so lonely for a good conversation in my own tongue! It would help not being totally alone . . . I checked out a few fancier hostals that are not too far from here, and both said to come before noon tomorow. Sigh. I tried using Spanish: Tienes un habataciones libre manana? Which got me - yup - answers in quick Spanish. Well, ok, the first guy - a dark older man with a smoking cigarette fuming beside him - simply hunched over and answered in surly English, waving the smoke around when I tried to ask more. The second place - Hotel Europa - had a younger guy who helped me when I stumbled over "habataciones" and answered in what he thought was slow Spanish. I got the drift, but had to clarify in English. Thw whole ordeal made me self-conscious enough to forget to ask important questions like "is there a curfew?" "what time is checkout?" and "is there a lock-out period during the day?" I would call if I could figure out how to use the phone in my room. Of course, by now I would've called David, as I'm so lonely . . . Dinner/lunch was another ordeal. I agreed to sit on the patio (at Les Quince Nitz) and was teeth-chattering cold by the end of my meal. My food got cold fast in the breeze, too. I'm also less than confident in my resolve to eat fish/seafood while here. I ordered a mushroom/veg. soup which was delicious (I could've had many bowls), asparagus covered in a thick garlic butter (aioli) with weird greasy flat potato slices on the side. My main dish was salmon/prawn kabobs - I ate all the salmon and only a few bites of the shrimp; even though it was tasty, I can't abide by the texture. My first waiter spoke English, but indulged my practising Spanish phrases on him. He was cute (they're ALL cute, the young men, many with buzz cuts with a tuft of longer hair sticking up 2 inches in front ) and friendly, and he kissed his fingers in a thrilling way to approve of my choice of dessert: raspberry cake with chocolate and cream. Then he was gone, and a less friendly Spanish-only person brought the dessert and la cuenta (the bill) when I asked for it. There was an embarrasing moment while I tried to figure out the tip in pesetas - I'm sure I over-tipped. He also wouldn't let me take the rest of my bottle of mineral water (Vinadurade? so light and refreshing!) so I chugged it there. Of course, I'd drunk an entire carafe of white wine, so I was really rather drunk. Hey! I didn't know how big a 1/2 litre was! It's so cheap over here! A 1/2 litre cost 295 pesetas, which is about $1.80! Try getting a full carafe for that price in America, and yer drinking __________ (Damn. I knew things/names would fall out of my head while I was here.) Anyhow, I wish I'd brought throat lozenges, as I woke up with a sore throat and a cough. I hope I don't get sick. I'm still going out now - first to eat, then to drink a littel and dance - but maybe it won't be as late as I'd originally intended . . .
Written today:The hotel I stayed in the first night I was in town was in that square that is right by that reggae bar Jan had recommended to me, literally a 2 minute walk away! After wandering around the Barri Gothic (old, medieval neighborhood) all day, I took an evening siesta and headed for the bar around 11pm Sunday night. Immediately after I left the lobby of my hotel, one guy peeled off from his group of friends and started hassling me:"Hey, you. You speak English, yes?" "Yeah . . . " "Hey, you alone? You look like you're all alone." I lied, "No, I'm not alone." "Are those your friends?" He gestured to this group walking right in front of us who thankfully were going into the reggae bar. "Yes. Yes, they are." And I followed them in towards the back of the bar. I was going to sit at another table, but I turned around and noticed the creepy guy was WATCHING me from the window. Yikes! So I sat down with the group of strangers and made some friends. Maria was the only other woman, and she was the one who spoke the best English. She was very sweet, and understood the situation right away. She patted my hand, "Don't worry, you are our friend now." Mark seemed to like me, but the other guy, Christophe?, wasn't happy about me. They bought me a really good beer which I promptly forgot the name of and rolled an European joint (mostly tobacco and not so illegal in Spain). From the personal journal again, written March 20:So, I drank yummy dark beer with Maria and Mark and the other guy. Mark and I pidgened in each others language and Maria asked questions about San Francisco (I told her it was easier to get a job than it was to find housing.) I gave her my address and phone in case she ever comes to visit. She gave me her phone for when I come back from Granada - we're gonna go dancing!On our way to the second bar (I had wanted to buy a round but Chris wanted to go) these men started yelling and gesturing at me - I had been pickpocketed! (I turned around and) there was the thief who had picked the small hard rectangular item out of my coat pocket, looking with bewilderment at my phrasebook! I just had to laugh, which was easy since I was handed back my book. I even thanked him - hey, it was the most painless way I can think of to experience pickpocketing! Physically, I feel very safe here - MUCH more so than in CA! ...to be continued later today . . . | ||
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