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

Antonio + Joanne, True Love

Mosaics on the patio of Gaudi's Casa Batllo

Barcelona airport, El Prat, was easy to navigate, and finding the the train into Passig de Gracia train/metro station in the middle of Barcelona was quick; not a lot of drama finding the hotel.  The nasty surprise when I got there was the ... and I'm being generous...spartan room at Somnio Hostel (251 Diputacio, 2nd floor).

The location was excellent, near public transportation, shopping and restaurants in a good part of Barcelona close to everything. The staff couldn't have been nicer or more helpful. However, I discovered very quickly that there are dozens of hotels in this area that cost just a little more money and offer a lot more.

At $108, this stay was WAY overpriced. This is basically a hostel, and I've stayed in other hostels that offered much more for less money.The room, about 12-foot square, consisted of a double bed and four white, featureless walls.  A couple of hangers on the door sufficed as a closet. The shower was so small an average-sized man couldn't turn around—and I paid for a room with a bathtub. A lot was lost in translation, and Booking.com got flamed for this one.

Casa Batllo at night

Since I arrived at 9AM, I immediately walked around and took in a few Antonio Gaudi properties—one of my main interests in Barcelona, along with my love for the book “The Shadow of the Wind” by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, which is set in the old city just south of my hostel. The wait to enter La Pedrera (known locally as “the quarry” for it’s blocky gray presence), an apartment house famed for it’s rooftop sculpture garden, was more than an hour, so I took a tour of Casa Batllo (BAT yo), once a private home for a weatlthy Barcelona family. The house burst with Gaudi's ornate natural themes of ocean life, dragons, curves. What an inspiration!

Gaudi was not formally trained as an architect, and built everything using plumb lines and models; his works will live forever because of their incredible whimsy mixed with practicality. Everything, down to the shape of the door handles, was carefully thought out and handcrafted. Genius! 

The multimedia presentation on the top floor was mind-blowing. There were no credits given, but what a beautiful tribute to an amazing design--the video is projected on top of a five-foot-tall model of the house. See it at Vimeo.

Roof of Casa Batllo

Gaudi's deep Catholic faith was evident in the crosses he placed here and there on the property, and the small family chapel off the main sitting room. 

That evening, I walked the length of beautifully lit Passig de Gracia, admiring the graceful buildings and ironwork. Barcelona is one beautiful city; even the sidewalks are beautiful.

Sitting room ceiling and light fixture

The servants quarters on the top floor were light and airy

The sidewalks of Barcelona; great to look at, hell on suitcase wheels

Getting There was Half - Fun

Christ parachuting to earth in Gaudi's Sagrada Familia Cathedral.
There were times when I would have opted for this mode of escape myself...

My dear neighbor John actually volunteered to give me a ride to the airporter at 4:45am, and while waiting for the airport bus I struck up a conversation with an attractive man who was off to Greece to visit his entertainer girlfriend and a fascinating, intelligent and charismatic older woman--we all decided to meet at Denny’s on our return for a grand slam breakfast.

The flight from SFO to Newark was an exercise in compression. We flew in United's new 737s, which, if it can be believed, are even tighter than the old crates we flew in before. I got jammed in the middle between a former geologist who was on his way to Stuttgart to research a book he was writing about Porsche motorcars and a young woman who slept the entire way.

A four-hour layover in Newark, but I was lucky this time—I got all my flights, though those first- and business-class seats that were available in the first few months of my travel are a distant dream. United has tightened up considerably, and the flights now are booked to the max; I consider myself fortunate that a few undesirable seats remain for employees and folks like me.

Sunday August 4 – Gay Christmas and the Other Side of Stand-by

Photo courtesy of Joe Shao--you'll recognize
these guys from the video (http://vimeo.com/71997462)

The radio advertised “Gay Christmas”, referring to the LGBT Pride Parade taking place today. All along Robson, Deman and Davie streets, rainbow flags flapped, storefronts were decorated with rainbow stripes (even Safeway!), pedestrian walkways were multi-striped, and people of every orientation dressed up a little or a lot. The Parade is a very big deal in Vancouver, especially in the West End. Viewers were gathering by 8AM; people had reserved tables near the street in cafes. And I was going to miss most of it.

My flight left at 3:14PM, so Joe gave me a ride to the airport ($20 to cover gas and time—not bad, as it would have been $12 by public transportation). 

The saving grace--a terrific collection of
Disney character toys in the Vancouver airport

I got there at 1PM, and the nightmare began. I had noticed flights that day were overbooked, but it didn’t occur to me that this might be a warning sign. When the gate opened for boarding a half-hour before take-off, I asked the airline rep about my chances for getting on—he told me, “not likely. I’ve had one stand-by here since 6AM. We routinely overbook here in Vancouver”. Not good news. In fact, they had to ask a paying customer to get off the plane for the next flight (he got a $400 certificate, so he didn’t suffer too much). Long story short, I was there for 9 ½ hours before I caught the last flight to San Francisco; the only reason I got on was because the flight was delayed 3 ½ hours and people who had to make connections out of SFO took other flights. The overbooking of Vancouver flights was a royal pain, but the delay was all SFO’s fault, as they’re only letting one international flight land at a time since the Asiana Airlines disaster a month ago (a pilot filled me in on this detail).

I got in at 12:45AM, and SFO was completely shut down. My only way of getting home was by taxi, and the fare was $120. I had exactly $46. I thought, “hey, the airporter will run in only 4 hours; I can wait it out”. I queried a couple of cab drivers whether they would consider my $46 for the fare and got turned down. As I was pacing around the baggage pick-up doors, a cabbie pulled into the end of the line (there were 30 cabs waiting, and no flights were landing…go figure). He yelled, “Where you going?”. I told him, and the amount of money I had on me. “I’ll do it,” he said, “but I can’t pick you up here—they’ll get mad (meaning the 30 cabs ahead of him). So I met him upstairs, and all I can say is, I’m glad there’s no traffic on the road at 2:30AM. Basically, he used the white line on the road as a guidance tool.

“Some people ask me how I can stand to work all night,” he said. “Coffee and cocaine. Just kidding.” As we neared my house, I mentioned that it was across from a well-known quick stop. “If it’s open, I’ll get myself a beverage,” he said.  It wasn’t, he didn’t, and I made it home at 3:30AM, all in one piece. I wish my driver the best of luck, and slightly more prudence. And I will never fly out of Vancouver again, Donald and Mickey be damned.

See the video: http://vimeo.com/71997462.

Friday May 17- home again home again, jiggity jig

A very LARGE dinosaur skeleton in the Chicago airport

Breakfast at the hotel was overpriced (15 euro) and blah. I made my way back to the airport, suffered through the usual wait and got an Economy Plus seat for the eight-hour-plus to Chicago. I managed to sleep a little, which was good, as I was bumped three times in Chicago, and spent several hours wandering from gate to gate. This is the inevitable bad part of flying stand-by. Finally got a middle Economy seat in the back of a plane; exhausted, I told my friendly neighbor that I had to sleep. When I woke up, he had saved a can of soda for me. That sweet man--very married, two grown kids and a dedicated Mormon—spent the next several hours regaling me with bible passages on his iPhone. It’s not as ghastly as it sounds. He answered a lot of questions for me; for instance, the Mormons DO believe in the devil. Second, married couples can choose to go to the temple to be bound forever, beyond death. So widows and widowers can remarry, but it’s only for “this” lifetime, as the bound spouse will be waiting in the afterlife. Fascinating.

See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page