barcelona to sevilla

June 10, 2007

I don’t really want to admit this… in fact, I’m quite gutted by these few moments and trying to forget it.  I’ll say it once here – and not again. On the Ramblas my first day, en route to the beach, I got caught up by one of the many distractions on the busy walking-only street .  I’d paused, hand on all of my possessions for fear of being pickpocketed, to watch some 3-matchbox  gambling game, along with a small crowd.  I can see exactly how I got trapped now in retrospect. 

The first game I saw the little paper ball, as did the gambler who won a wad of cash.  During the next game, almost like a knee jerk reaction, my arm shot out a finger pointing at the box I was certain covered the ball.  I’d never ever intended to bet; only play along.  The matchbox shuffler called to me and I resisted.  Beside me, a lady bet on my box and encouraged me to do the same.  And, just like that, in an instant, I lost  $XX.  Yes, dollars… b/c as I’d explained in my last post, it makes me feel better.  If you don’t get what happened…figure it out or avoid the matchboxes entirely. 

Other scams I’ve seen: 

Montmatre in Paris… these dudes ask to tie a string on your finger and make you pay to remove it.  I don’t get this one, nor does matty, who told me about it. Just avoid string k?

Ramblas in  BCN … dude approached asking if I spoke english and tried to give me some incense in a box.  No thanks. 

Ramblas in  BCN … heard this one last night.  Dude asks if you can read a card in english while another dude pickpockets you. 

I’ve been writing everyting in my little black book since leaving paris in order to be considerate of others at the hostel computers.  In fact, the last few paragraphs or more were written on a beach in BCN.  Today (is not really today, but…), my last day here, train ticket reserved and backpack stowed at the hostel, I am tanning topless for the 1st time.  *flip* 

Anyway, back to recounting BCN.  There has to be a better nightlife than I witnessed last night.  Located near the Olympic Port, the strip of clubs reminded me of something you’d find at Wasaga Beach (though I’ve never actually been…I don’t think).  

June 9th:   it was a strip of tiny, open-doored clubs – all beside one another – interspersed with fast food joints, one of which I bought my pre- & post-drink meals .  none charged cover and drinks could be carried between each.  I wonder how they make money.  I ordered  wine, and carried at least on of the 2 miniature bottles between prolly 5 or 6 of the  miniature clubs. 

It was a sausage fest!  Apparently, lots of work places send their men off for these bonding trips, I think, like the fire-fighters.  Unlike home though, they all seemed to be undetered by the m /f ratio and danced together jovially to music from the 90’s.  I do wonder though, as I watch the men stare at the ugliest, oldest, buffest, and shortest go-go dancer ever.  I feel embarrassed for her as they all try to get pics with her; I do too.  Actually, maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe our intentions were different and I’m the mean one?  Well, at least the fire-fighters, mari, and ashley are on the same page as me. 

As per usual, I make an early exit . I’m thinking about tmrw and wanting to pack w/o waking the rest of my roomies in the morning.  I barely heard anyone come back last night, but thankfully, did actually hear my faint alarm ring. 

Setting off to the wrong station threw off my plan and upon returning to the hostel, I introduced myself to a random and enlisted his help.  Apparently, I’m a social whore…ha!   So, Shawn, from Winnipeg, actually just patiently listened as I thought aloud…which was necessary and calming.             

New plan in my head, I set out to pack, check-out, stow backpack, and reserve a train seat.  Coming back, I allowed myself to wander and look at all the things I resisted on my way to the station.  I walked through the very tiny gay area of town, by some park (I think joan miro or something?), and barrio chinois, which was never a chinatown, but called that supposedly cuz it was the shabby area.  Hmmm.

At the beach again, I chuckled to myself at all the bright pink ‘foreign’ skin being burnt to a crisp.  So… imagine how stupid I felt when I looked in the mirror and saw that I too was a colour of pìnk I’d never associated with my skin, all along the raised area of my torso. 

June 10th:  I thought today was father’s day.  Obviously, I’ve lost sense of time and had to wish my dad a one-week early daddy’s day, and then ask  ¨what day of the week is it there?¨…haha played off nicely!  Yeh right. 

In Sevilla, Spain since yesterday morning.  Initially was unimpressed by the quiet, often run-down, and closed-for-business, old town.  Eventually however, even the extremely light rain and overcast didn’t bother me.  I think I needed some down time, though, coincidentally or not, yesterday and today, I entertained my first thoughts of ¨7 weeks!?  What was I thinking?!¨  The hostel is nice, clean, and this time there are only 4-beds in my room.  I’m feeling anti-social now and can’t be bothered to socialize.  After a quick trip around town, I decide to move on tmrw.  Everything Sevilla (pronounced: seBEEa) is known for, that i´m mildly interested in, entertainment-wise (e.g. tapas bars and flamenco), requires company.  not really, but I’m not really in the mood either.

In Spain, the locals and other tourists all stare at me.  Though in Spanish, I can tell they are talking about me, or to me.  I just look down or give them a polite, closed mouth smile.  My favorite… or rather, the only thing I really understand, is, ¨Señorita, sayonara!¨

Today, I thought about my ex.  I wonder if it will go away, ever.  I´m stuck btwn stiffling thoughts or forcing thoughts.  Having dabbled in both, (because I think there’s some some of method to this), I’m now at the point where I know I need to do something about it… but just how, now?

Don’t get me wrong.  I may be alone, but I’m not lonely here. 

Did I mention that I’m off to Lisbon tonight on a bus?  Buses make me barf… bring on the Gravol!

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