Barcelona

My only memories of Barcelona go back to April 1977. After living for two months in a tent in the middle of the Foret de Dan Germain, just outside Paris, myself and a girlfriend were hitch-hiking down through France, hoping to reach Benidorm in time to secure work for the season. After a couple of short rides in the morning, we found ourselves just outside the agricultural town of Perpignan, only 24k from Spain. “Wouldn’t it be terrific if we got a lift all the way to Barcelona?” I remarked to Erica just as a car stopped and took us all the way there. We sailed through the border without any trouble at all, and I remember welcoming signs in Spanish, French, German and English. We felt on top of the world! Barcelona is one of the greatest ports of the Med, and one of the strongest banking centres in Europe. Which didn’t help us much when I realized that I only had about 400 pesetas in Spanish currency that my Dad had given me before we left home .......... and it was now Good Friday! The banks wouldn’t be open to exchange our francs until the following Tuesday. Our ride had driven us right around the city, and I’d completely lost my sense of direction. I got out my Spanish phrase book and after exhaustive enquiries worked out the direction to Valencia. It was right at the other end of town. As we walked it started to rain and eventually got dark. We had nowhere to stay, no money for a hotel, no money for food, no money even for a bus across town. We felt wretched. We sat down by the side of the road and tried to think of somewhere warm and dry to sleep. We made plans to live on 400 pts for the next three or four days, and then on Tuesday catch a train to Alicante. Even though we’d heard how hard it is to hitch-hike in Spain, we stuck our thumbs out anyway. And within minutes somebody had stopped! At 10 o’clock he dropped us off just outside a little Spanish village where we stuck our thumbs out for another two hours until midnight, but all to no avail. The thougts that go through a person’s head when he’s standing in the cold waiting for a ride. “Why don’t they stop? It’s not asking much, is it? In fact, it’s not asking @!#$ all. Not if they’re going in the same direction and they’ve got plenty of room in the car. It’s a bit of company as well.” Of course, in reality who wants some dirty, smelly hippy in their nice, clean car? Muddy rucksacks on the seat, muddy boots on the floor and muddy conversation in their brain. All I can say is this: If you’re a woman on your own, don’t ever pick anyone up. There are too many lunatics out there these days. But if you’re a bloke, and you can handle yourself and are driving a tatty old motor, then give someone a break. Take a good look at them first. Make sure they look fairly clean and respectable - they’re bound to be a bit dishevelled - but if they appear safe and sober enough it won’t hurt to help them out a bit, will it? But please, whatever you do, don’t just drive past with a smug grin on your face. And please don’t point and laugh or stick your thumb up too. Because if you do any of these things you have obviously never known what it’s like to stand for hours in the cold, not knowing how many more hours you may have to stand there. Even if you don’t approve of people tramping their way across Europe (or America or India), at least admire their stoutness of heart, their pluck, their audacity, and dare I say it, their panache. If all you can do is send them a good thought, then do so. Who knows, it may even make a difference. At least you’ll like yourself better anyway. We were cold and wet and hadn’t eaten since lunchtime when we’d had pork chops and spaghetti on the road to Perpignon. So we decided to sleep in a telephone box. It stank, and so did we in the morning. We balanced our tent on top of the telephone, laid our rucksacks on the floor, sat on them and tried to sleep. The situation was made worse, of course, by the fact that we had no idea how long all this unpleasantness was going to last. It is no fun at all having to sleep all scrunched up in a phone box when you’re freezing cold. A couple of days earlier I'd thrown my jumpers and jackets away in a temper. Eventually I managed to fall asleep and woke up after what seemed like ages to find it was only one o’clock. We were shivering and both of us had chattering teeth. So we dragged both the sleeping bags out of the rucksacks and completely covered ourselves with them, even our heads. The only parts of us still chilled to the bone were our feet, but at least we managed to sleep. The next morning I wrote in my diary, “At times like this I really long for England. Maybe I just haven’t got what it takes because when the going gets as rough as this I wish I’d never come away from home in the first place. At least we’re out of Barcelona though. I’d thought we’d never get out of there. As long as I live I don’t ever want to go back to that fucking town.”

ah.....thats so sweet Ralph... all that you have there and you still have the time, not to mention desire to peruse the ABC forums. That is so nice!!! Give my love to the beautiful Barcelona... and have a wondrous time there tomorrow. recuerdos y besos querido Liana x x x

Very, very jealous. I am deeply in love with Barcelona at the moment. Postcard of Sagrada Familia please Ralph. Have a good break.

indeed ralphie......wonderful city....enjoy the holidays....

So that's why you don't answer your bloody phone?

Yep, I could Ramblas on about that city too.

Hmmm, more and more I hear such good things about Barcelona. I tramped around Barcelona back in 1971 seeking out the Gaudi works. I've been threatening myself with a return visit ever since, including recently. I know the Gaudi stuff is still there, plus a whole lot more since 1971! *looks for airline schedule*