Blogs by HackyJak

BLOG 1
Barcelona

Twas my first big trip, backpacking around Europe
enjoying the adventure of Eurailing from country to
country and city to city.

While finishing off some travels in Croatia, I figured
it would be a great experience to participate in the
annual running of the bulls in Spain - Pamplona.

Unfortunately time was against me so I figured I‘d jump
on one or two overnight trains and spend a night in
Barcelona and hi-tail it across several borders.

Exhausted upon reaching my Barcelona destination early
in the morning, a little stinky from being deprived of a
shower, I figured the best thing to do would be to find
the sandy beaches that Barcelona is know for and take a
dip to freshen up.

Not wanting to wet my shorts, I stripped down into my
boxers and carefully placed my belongings close to shore
line so to be prepared in the instance any would-be
thief‘s would steal my things.

After about 10 minutes,
awoken by the crisp water and being rejuvenated by the
warm sun, I went and sat on bench to dry up somewhat.
A nice old man (lets call him Jorge) came up and sat
next to me, I suppose sensing that I was a stranger to
these parts and proceeded to talk to me in Spanish. With
my Spanish and his English both being inadequate to
communicate, we resorted to a sort of sign language and
we came to the understanding that he had some lodging
and some food. Now there are two things that were going
through my mind here.

Firstly, it isn‘t uncommon to be approached in touristy
areas by local who have lodging and my previous
experience in Split, Croatia, were fantastic where a
little old lady from the train station had a pension for
me and my mate. She was lovely, bought me fresh
breakfast and showed me all her family photos, so this
could be good.

Secondly, I‘ve heard of gangs operating like this,
enticing you to follow them and then they mug you.
I figured, what the heck! This could be an experience.
So with caution and alert I followed the gentlemen back
through the main streets of Barcelona and back to his
flat, at all times keeping an eye out for anything
suspicious.

All seemed good, and he seemed to have a well located
place which was perfect for what I was after. He started
to change the sheets on the bed and showed my where the
shower was, and motioned that he could clean my shirt. I
declined as I was happy to do that myself and he left to
start making a meal. Inspecting the premises, I was
fascinated by what I assumed was a typical flat in down
town Barcelona. A few religious items on shelves and
what must have been a picture of a son or grandson, a
young footballer, who looked to be around my age.
I washed my shirt and hung it out to dry on the balcony
overlooking a plaza and watched the people doing there
thing, soaking in the atmosphere of a different culture.
To me, this is what traveling is about.
I went back into the room where Jorge was waiting. I
think he greeted me with a customary greeting kiss on
the cheeks. I though to myself, this was kinda weird
since I‘d been there for about 30 minutes already.. He
then kissed my neck, while forming an embrace and
proceeded to the shoulder...

WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTT!!
I know the penny should have dropped at the beach, but
It was at this point I realised i just got picked up by
an old man at the beach, and followed him home.....

Lessons learnt:
1. There is no such thing as a free lunch.
2. What goes on tour stays on tour, unless you have
friends like mine. Never tell your mates what happened
on tour...

I made a break for my things then the door after quickly
putting the brakes on with a strong hand gesture of what
I hoped would be interpreted as ‘NO!!!!!!!!!!’ In one
final attempt to get things going, he made a reach for
my plums which was met with a Daniel-San style ‘Wax-
off‘.. This seem to work.. On my way out he gestured to
the kitchen as if to still offer me some food that he
had prepared... Very sporting of him, but at this point
the only thing on my mind was to get out of there.
The only good thing about the experience I stumbled onto
a pub and managed to catch the ‘State of Origin‘ at a
pub..

And that is my Barcelona story. It also coincides with
the time in my life that i started to drink!