The Strange Incident of the Beaten Man

The ghost of Antonio Gaudi says "Hi there!"

Thieves are always on the look-out for opportunity, and an older woman alone is less likely to chase or hit when victimized. While sitting, eating my burger with bacon and corn chips in the Barcelona Airport before catching a shuttle to my hotel, a strange young man appeared directly in front of my face, across the table from me. "Do you speak English," he said, with an obvious accent.  What was also obvious was that he had the living crap beaten out of him, the left side of his face an enormous swollen bruise complete with open gash.

"Yes," I said.

"Do I have to speak slowly, or can you understand me"

"I understand. You want money. No."

"Why do you say that?"

"Go away"

"No, please, why do you say that"

"Because I get hit up all the time" I started to stand up. "Do I have to call someone?" I said, looking for airport security. He took off like a shot.

I looked down and my formerly zipped cross-body bag, which is held very close to me on my left hip, was wide open. Nothing was taken, but damn, they are good at what they do, and he obviously had an accomplice who was behind me. I saw him approaching another older woman who was alone a few minutes later, but she said she didn't understand him. Creating a distraction is a primary method, and you really couldn't look away from this guy's face.

Dali's "Living Room"

The life-size "easy chair" in Dali's "Living Room"

Wanting to spend the night close to the airport, I chose Frontair Congress Aeropuerto (Alberedes, 16, Sant Boi del Llobregat), which had an excellent shuttle service to and from the airport, plus a shuttle into town during the day (this must be reserved--I didn't use it, but it's the only option to get downtown if you don't have a car). The hotel was was very sleek and modern--worth three or more stars--with a spa and pool (at extra expense). There was a popular restaurant/bar on the first floor. This was a surprisingly nice stay overnight close to the airport, though the strange location--in a shopping/industrial area far from Barcelona city—made walking around not possible. The hallways really carried noise, so people leaving or coming in the middle of the night were quite loud; generally though, it was very quiet. In the morning, I took the shuttle to the airport—far too early, I found, because the Barcelona airport is incredibly efficient with each of the three gauntlets travelers must run (passport check, security check, checking in/passport check again). 

Twisted trees outside a small market, Barcelona

There’s a fancy shopping area on the middle floor that can be entertaining. At last my flight was called—another hellish middle seat for nine hours, a three hour wait in Newark (I used my last free pass to the United lounge, and took advantage of their plush seats and minor munchies), then the last 5+ hour flight home between a linebacker and a sleeping teen. I completely understand why a strange look settles in the eyes of someone who has made a habit of flying standby—no direct flights, the worst seats, possible long waits for a seat at all, and way too much time spent in airports. But without the gift of stand-by this year, I never would have made it to all the fabulous destinations I’ve always dreamed about—and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Part of the facade of the Sagrada Familia