Not only was Barcelona AWESOME!!! but the adventure of bringing a van full of bikes back to Italy from Spain via Boat and roads proved to be one hell of an amazing time, and something that I desperately needed to boost my driving, navigational, and language confidence. Only problem (for you) is that I lost my camera full of photos, so you are gonna have to read through this and use your imagination...and maybe a little wikipedia.
Lets start with the scotch...cause that seems as good a place as any. Sunday morning I pretty much nursed little nibs on a bottle of scotch all day in my excitement for this little journey. Not just any scotch but a bargain bottle of Vat 69 - the scotch of pulp novellas, and a favourite of brittish and american soldiers during WWII, (Cousin will recognize it as Nixon's fav scotch from the series Band of Brothers) which of course led to a power nap right before leaving and feeling pretty unprepared. James drove me to the tren station, I had no idea what train to get on but bought a ticket and proceeded to fumble about. A cute girl talked to me (FINALLY!) and I had nothing for her, no Italian for me, no english for her, so we broke up right then. It was brutal but these things usually are. I hopped the train to Bologna, in Bologna got the well labeled bus to the airporto, and managed to make my flight in time. The flight to Girona was fine, and by fine I mean F-I-N-E FIIIINE! If you have not been on a ryanair flight you have not had the pleasure of the flashback 60s style flirty and fun hostesses, seriously I was beside myself, and highly encouraged that this trip was starting off charmed (could be the scotch). My Hotel in Girona was literally across the parking lot of the airport, a 20 minute walk and aside from the restaurant being well closed, and having to use my own credit card for the room (wasn't sure what was in there) I had myself a steaming hot shower and crashed. The whole trip seemed like it would be punctuated with late starts; an 11:30 flight, an almost midnight boat, and a 11pm drive through Italy.
The Girona airport is not that close to Barcelona and the bus I took took about an hour and a half and a gorgeous ride through the hills that separate the bulk of Spain from the Costa Brava. Check out some maps for the visual. I roll into Barcelona slow with the traffic and on an elevated freeway (La Ronda - more on that later) which allows me to peep the biggest shit market since the swap meets of my youth! I get off the bus and grab a McDonalds sponsored map, and work my way back to the market with all the crap junk for sale. Seriously I wished I had a MUCH bigger backpack! There were people crammed in there selling everything from books to dismantled chandelier bits, to old porn and brass doorknobs (a combination SOMEONE needs to make a joke about!). There are old men selling old coins, medals, ashtrays, tools, stolen stereos, records, war stuff, found junk, and clothes. The clothes bit was good cause I had forgot my belt and the weather and walking conspired against my one pair of pants for the week to expose my bum. From there I basically walked, and tried to find monuments, parcos, statues, crowds of tourists, anything that made me feel immersed in a big city.
Barcelona has to be my FAVORITE european city so far! Its amazing, feels a bit like SF and is HUGE!!! Its also on the coast, has the Barri Gotic (the oldest part of the city) with its twisty alleys dodgy characters, boutiques and tiny bars. I basically took it all in and wandered. Wandered right into a hostel that I had looked up online the day before so I figured I would call that my bed for the night.
Now Hosteling is a big part of most travelers experiences most everywhere. But somehow in my years I had never taken the chance to stay in one and to be honest the stories of beds crawling with scabies, not being able to sleep cause of the smell of some dreddie kids feet, and the overall flop house nature of them had me a little more than treppid. But I had to think of the stories and encouragement from my good buddy Taint-Boy. He has stayed in them, and has always encouraged me to do the same from a strictly financial need point of view. In other words he has said things like, "Dude, they are dirt cheap and worst case scenario you get hammered somewhere, crash in a room full of hot young brittish tourists, snore your ass off and disappear in the morning." Sounded perfect. I faced my fears and was pleased when I found a room for only 18 Euros, with 18 beds, a small bathroom with its own shower, shared with no less than 7 cute young tourist chicks who I treated to a rather impressive orchestra of snoring and sleep farting all nite long! Then bounced in the morning. Perfect! The place had a rooftop bar and I met a chick named Rory who was on the run after loosing her job in LA, and spending her unemployment partying and exploring Spain. It was weird to talk american for a while and the need for food (me) and sleep (her) tore us in separate ways. I found a place with a TON of grilled meat (see sleep farting above) and the cracked out waiter up sold me a whole carafe of vino, no doubt the cause for the unbelievable snoring! (I seriously even woke myself up once!)
The next day was spent similarly strolling around, but I was SORE! My calves have never felt like that before and strolling was a painful and slow process. Saw the Joan Miro statue, drank loads of water, peed between parked cars, had a fantastic swarma at a sidewalk cafe, almost puked in the open air meat market and took tons of pictures of graffiti. I wish I had them but in the process of wandering I found a great reason to go back.
I met a couple of dudes originally from New Zealand who run a tattoo shop in the Bari Gotic and if all goes well they will both be doing a little work on my arms during the big Tattoo Convention in Barcelona in October. Check out there work here, Mark's stuff is incredible and he does all of it WITHOUT a tattoo machine (its not called a "gun" for those who don't know, and knowing this will make you seem like an insider). All hand done pokes, one at a time, and they are beautiful! Ill have another camera soon so will def get those pics up when I go.
I continued to chill until I got the call I was waiting for and I think I was half asleep in the park when I got it, I jumped up grabbed my bag and walked and talked leaving my camera sitting in the grass behind me like a half asleep dumbass! Oh well. Dont tell anyone but I think that camera had once belonged to the big corporate brewery in fort collins anyhow - easy come, easy go. I got my directions and set out to meet up with Juan, the Spanish Tour Leader and pick up the van.
I took the metro up to a neighborhood that would have safe parking while I wait for my 11.55PM ferry boat boarding, and Juan scoops me up at the station. The bikes to my surprise are INSIDE the van, all 19 of them, spare parts, spare wheels, and tools and stands, and two rows of seats folded down. Unbelievable but it will certainly deter theft. A better theft deterrent turned out to be the neighbourhood I was to park and wait in, maybe have some dinner, has turned into a permit parking only neighbourhood, and after giving up trying to find a place to park I decided to drive down to the port and check it out during daytime. I was told to watch my back cause there are hustlers who ride next to cargo vans on a scooter, puncture tires, and while you are fixing the flat they jack you for some of your stuff. A very clever plan that has me ready for action and a bit nervous. I hop on the rondas and managed to make a full loop around Barcelona in rush hour traffic. Not bad, I'm used to driving and needed to sit down a bit anyway, and managed to take a good look at the city from the elevated freeways. I circled back around where I had started and noticed kids on BMX bikes in a park so I pulled off hoping there would be parking - sure enough, free parking, a BMX track with practice runs going on, a fountain with drinking water, and I dug out some left over trail mix from the tour supplies. Best part was in doing so, I stumbled onto what was probably supposed to be a welcome surprise...a CASE of Spanish beer for the helpful mechanics from the generous and brilliant Spanish Tour leaders, Juan and Philip. Philip has been introduced here earlier and used to be a bike messenger in the 80s in Germany and knows how far a few free beers will go for dudes like me. SALUTE PHILIP!!! A couple warm Alhambras and a few handfuls of trail-mix and I'm feeling like I can do anything! After a while I'm feeling something else...something that feels a little rumbly...and lower...and before long I am a little more than panicked at the prospect of holding my rumbling boom-boom guts for another 3 hours before getting on the boat, especially since I will probably have to share a bunk, and the boat is almost always late to leave. I frantically dig for some of the shop towels I know we put in the tool box, managed to remove a clean(er) corner or two a make way for the bushes to soil someone's bum-camp with an impressive pile of boom-boom, corn from last nite's dinner and all!!!
At this point I realise the gem that this little bike tour outfit has found in hiring me...not only am I staying cool, preparing early, taking notes, killing it in the shop with 15+ bikes a day on a good uninterrupted day, and able to navigate with a map and my keen sense of direction, leaving the GPS to the others, a decent cook, clean to the point of ADHD, and full of english slang, not to mention braving the language barrier to get through it all with an appologetic smile and a few new friends, but I'm able to laugh at the fact that I had to crap in the bushes of an otherwise pretty public park, had I not lost the camera boy would you be in for a treat right here!
When its time, I make way for the port and all goes smoothly. Tales of pirates and theives keeps me from stopping and I find the line of cars without much a'do. It IS indeed late and I dig out another spanish beer to pass the time, stretch and call the base to let em know its gonna be a long late ride but that I'm loving every second of this!! We board about 1pm, set sail at about 2, and I snuggle into a bunk ALL TO MYSELF for the 20 hour boat ride!
With the rocking of the seas I slept like a baby, 11 hours, woke up and had amazing coffee, wrote a bunch, had some epiphanies, finished reading a Nick Hornby book, took a nap, watched elderly tourists (that arrived by a huge bus) eat a crappy lunch of broiled chicken (skin on) and cigarettes, then turn green and carry around bags of their own barf as the violent sea tossed them about! Seriously, for all the romanticism of the Mediterranean, the sky was grey and drab, and the seas were rough! 20 foot high swells had us tossing about like a dingy, waves crashing up on the windows on the 5th floor!! There was a crappy wedding singer-esque lounge act on the 7th floor and I skipped the whole mess for alone time in my room. Loads of rest and we dock in Livorno, Italy at 10pm. Livorno is on the west coast of Italy, the Farm is on the east coast - for the record. I drive the van down the docks and get a little turned around in all the truck traffic but otherwise find the highway pretty easy, and scoot my way all the way across Italy in the middle of the night, full of one last cafe con leche and with a cold can of that sweet sweet european coca cola in the cup holder.
And that's when it really hits me. Driving, squinty faced into the dark Italian night, trying to make out signs before I pass them, and managing to find myself not far from towns I recognize, passing by the sights next to any freeway in any country I would imagine; late night diners, gas stations with a ton of fluorescent lights, truckers sleeping it off on the side of the road, and parking lots at empty malls. Fueled by caffeine and excitement of having made it I even hallucinated the mirage of a home depot off in the distance with its glowing orange sign and empty car lot. I was HOME.
I had a water-eyed moment of clarity out there on the open road, having been wandering in another country, the nautical adventure I always love, and now driving as I have done so much of in the last year, that all the things that I could and have worried about have all made it so that I could be where I am. And where I am is not just Italy, its a state of mind, and a state of mind I was not sure how to get to a year ago. All the writing, all the alone time in the woods on my moto, all the bike rides in spots I have always wanted to ride, all the friends who took care of me when I needed it and I was still left wondering when I would feel good again, cause I still didn't feel very good. I still felt betrayed, and lost, and alone. I still struggle with those feelings from time to time as I ponder where the hell I might go next, or how life can get more exciting than this. But the feeling is being battered pretty good right now by a self confidence that I could not have created without this experience. The last few years makes sense, all the way back to the divorce, and the hustling through SF. These sets of circumstances have left me feeling like I can handle almost anything, and that's not a feeling I have had truly deeply in a very long time, maybe even since I was in college and felt successful navigating that very foreign world. And here, it seems more pure, more substantial, more lasting somehow, maybe cause small successes wont turn into wild nights with friends and lovers this time, repeating old patterns, and I'm left to wallow in this personal growth alone. Sometimes I wonder if I will be much different when I get back. Then I realize that I will again be able to make dick and fart jokes in my native language and talk about pop music that everyone knows and will probably jump right back into my old self, not that my old self is not here with me now, I still crack myself up, god knows James isn't going to do it! But I know this trip is changing who I am, how I see the world, my habitus (for the french anthropologists out there), even what I eat has changed dramatically - all of it adding up to the change in the way I FEEL.
I wrote on the boat that I was going to "continue to feel my way through this experience, see where it takes me and enjoy the living hell out of the ride that I never thought would be mine to take." Pretty much sums it up.
S.
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