Barcelona 2. Ziggy 0. (Pt 2)

H3 turns out to be another run-of-the-mill Spanish cerveceria, full of men and the prerequisite smoke. I order a tea and the man behind the counter looks disappointed. I ignore him and take my little teapot of hot water to a table, deciding to start blogging on paper to get my thoughts together. Theres a table of Barcelona's Finest behind me. I look around; Im the only female. Is the staff looking at me funny or am I imagining it?

I settle in and start writing. After a while I notice the waiter is clearing off tables and turning chairs upside down on them. Oh, no. Please dont be closing. You're supposed to be open 24 hours!! I ignore him in hopes that that will make him stay open another 2 hours, thats all I need.

He leans towards me. "Something something cerrado en 5 minutos"

Its 2:55. Dammit. Now what?

I start to wish I had struck up a conversation with the now-departing cops. In my wishful thinking-infused daydream, they let me tag along in their police van. Of course, they're on duty, so they cant actually drive me to the hostel, since its way up in the mountains, and out of their way. But surely they can let me hang out with them and patrol the streets for a couple hours.

I decide not to indulge in this particular stupid whim of mine; life is about choices, after all. I pack my stuff up and leave to wander the streets of BCN.

I head back to Las Ramblas. Its just me and the garbage men. And the guys standing around offering me beer cans from a six pack they have concealed in a plastic bag (common practice in Barcelona; since the stores close early, they have plenty of customers).

Cafes and bars are out of the question a this point, since theyre all closed. I think "hotel lobbies!". I walk up to a nice looking hotel and discover even they have locked their doors. What the hell kind of hotel is this?? I see the security guard heading towards me so I wait. He opens the door a crack, listens to my question of whether there are any cafes he knows of that would still be open at this hour, tells me no, and doesnt offer to let me sit in his dark lobby. I walk away.

I stop at another hotel (now that I am rereading this, I totally feel like a vagabond, mind you). I explain the predicament that I am so tired of explaining by now. I get bold and ask the young guy if I can sit in the small area to the left and wait for the trains to open.

He gets a look on his face and tells me if it was any other night, he has no problem with that, but I have bad luck bc they have someone from Control doing the rounds tonight, and how could he explain to said Control person why theres a random non-guest sitting in the lobby reading, at some godforsaken hour of the night. He apologizes and is sincere, and I believe him. I thank him and leave.

I decide the safest place for me right now is the major bus stop a few blocks away, bc thats the only place theres several people and some life. I sit on the bench and feel safe for all of 2 minutes -- as soon as the first bus rolls through and takes all the people with it, I am left alone, and I feel like a sitting duck (which Im sure is what I look like with my big-ass backpack).

I start walking around the Plaza and wander down a street I havent been down before. Its wide and clean and pretty. I enjoy looking in the store windows, all the while checking behind me every now and then, just to make sure. Pretty soon I see a huge hotel. I contemplate for a quick second and decide Ive already been rejected so many times tonight; whats the possibilty of one more? Pish!

I walk into the fancy lobby. I am directed to someone who speaks English. I explain, he listens, he looks at his watch.

"Its only 1 hour aaand..."

"1 hour and 30 minutes left to wait," I hurry to interject, lest he think thats not a lot of time. "Ive been waiting in the streets for more than 2 hours. Please?"

He says its OK and motions to the chaise. Finally! I give him a heartfelt Thank You and think that when I have tons of money to spend on a 5 star hotel in Barcelona, I am gonna stay at Hotel Majestic, hands down.

I sit down and write some more. I run out of paper, and while I dont want to bother the guy, I really need some more paper, so I go ahead and ask. I write some more on my fresh sheet of papel. I check the time, its 10 to 5. If I leave now itll be 5 by the time I get to the train. I consider waiting until 530 just to be on the safe side, but Im beyond antsy at this point. I call out another thank you and get moving.

I get to the nearest train station and, even tho its only 450-something, the gates are open. I walk down the stairs cautiously, not quite ready to believe ALL the gates are open, buy a new Metro card, and get myself on a train headed to Baixador de Vallvidrera (my stop). Theres a guy across the aisle and one row behind me playing some music off what I assume is his cell phone. The melodies sound all too familiar. I catch him staring at me and I quickly look away. I put my big ol' camera away in my backpack and wonder if thats why he was looking at me. A few stops later, I walk to the other side of the train and take a seat, facing away from him again, just to make sure Im not giving Creepy Guy any messages Im not intending to.

Almost at my stop, I get up and stand near the door. In Spain, you have to press a button or pull a small lever in order for the train doors to open. Monet and I had missed our stop a couple times because we hadnt gotten the hang of this, and I couldnt bear to make the same mistake again, so I got ready. I notice CG get up, move to the door and look at me. He kneels down and starts fiddling with his bike, unlocking it, or whatever it is he is doing. I start to get nervous. Did he get up just bc I did? I wait. He stands up. There are several seats and poles between us, and he is standing behind the plastic partition on his end of the train; it is hard to see him clearly. He looks at me. Did he just motion to me with his fingers, like "come here"?? Now I am officially in something-mode. I decide not to get off and ride to the next station. As the train pulls into Baixador, he gets off and I manage to fake him. I stare at him as the train doors close and I see him going up the stairs carrying his bike, and he catches my eye and holds it. Dammit, I wasnt wrong. He was being creepy.

I get off at the next stop and am waiting on the platform, which is in open-air. A tall, blond man comes onto the platform, nods hello, says "Buenos dias". I mumble, "Hola" with a stern look on my face. Im not trying to be nice to anyone. Next thing I know, just beyond the fence of the station, Creepy Guy is there on his bike, yelling something in Spanish, one hand on the handlebar, one arm high in the air, motioning at me. I think I catch a word about "waiting". Thats all it takes; I freak out.

I walk towards the blond man and try to ask him if theres anyone in the station, but he cant understand me bc Im speaking in English, and I just keep repeating my question, at some point trying to translate into Spanish. I start crying bc I am so done right now, I cant even keep it together. Theres no way I can communicate what I need to with this person in Spanish, its 530 in the morning, its still dark out, and Im on a train platform in what feels like the middle of nowhere.

The train pulls in in front of me. The man is trying to comfort me, "Tranquila te, tranquila te" and in the back of my mind, while I am virtually clinging to this man (not physically, but in every other sense) I think that he could be an asshole too. He asks if I want him to get the conductor. I say yes bc I dont know what else to do. We half-walk, half-run to the 1st car of the train and Im asking the blond to ask the conductor if he speaks English, when I turn around and magically, out of nowhere, there are 2 cops behind me.

I am out of breath just writing this...

The blond hands me over to the policemen and gets on the train. The conductor tells the police "Yo voy" with a question in his voice. As if I am in charge of the situation, I wave my hand at him and say "Yes, he can go". At some point I realize the train is gone, taking the blond who was so kind to me with it, and I didnt even say thank you.

I explain the sitution to the police, 2 older men; one moreno, in his mid-40s and the other blanco with more white than grey hair, in his 50s. Both are balding. Of course, neither of them speak English. I start crying again when I think of CG and the maliciousness in his face.

"Tranquila te, tranquila te" the older one tells me. I understand from him to calm down before I try to speak. The other one is asking me something, and I manage to understand that he wants to know if CG touched me or attacked me, and I assure them he didnt. I keep trying to explain "Hes following me, hes following me" (I have no idea what point repeating things has, but we all seem to be doing it) and as Im saying the next sentence, I realize that this is what my current problem is:

"I dont want to walk up the mouintain by myself, Im afraid hes waiting there. Can you come with me?" Its part question, part 'theres no way in hell Im walking up there by myself'.

The 40-something cop has gotten someone on the phone who speaks English, and I repeat my story, and my request that the cops walk me up the mountain. "Its only a 10 minute walk" I try to sell it. I hand over the phone and they talk, and then the officer tells me that they are going to come with me to my station and wait with me for the other police officers to come. I dont understand why they cant just walk me up the damn hill, but say thats fine, since they reassure me they will wait with me.

We get to Baixador and wait for a good 30 minutes. Wheres the bastard now?? I just wish he would show up, and I actually look around for him, wanting so badly for him to come by so he could get his ass kicked. I imagine the police holding him by both arms while asking him questions, and me slipping in quickly to punch him, or even better, slap his face, like a lady in contempt.

The older cop asks me questions; how long have I been in Spain, am I on vacation, can I describe the man (which I actually manage to do, down to the scars on the left side of his face, in Spanish). But mostly we stand in silence, waiting. After a while, he pulls out the pad where he wrote down my information and points to my birth date; thats his birthday too, he tells me, but in 1959. He is a few years younger than my mother. I smile. We are both Geminis, I say.

Finally the other cops show up. I explain my story again, this time in English (again). There are 2 women and 2 men. The women tell me that their partners will drive me up the mountain. I turn to the original 2 cops and give my second heartfelt Thank You's of the night. If I hadnt felt it inappropriate, I probably would have hugged them, especially the older, nicer one. I walk to the police cars and am struck by how tiny they are. I try to open the back door, forgetting who the back of the car is usually reserved for. The cops apologize for the fact that I have to sit back there. I dont care, I assure them, as long as you take me home. At this point my nerves have completely calmed, but even so, when the officer driving starts making small talk about New York and how he had visited there last month, I find it a little odd.

The drive takes 2 minutes, tops. I make sure they deposit me RIGHT at the door; I feel no need to walk any extra steps by myself. I say thank you and look for a name on the chest of the one who opens the door for me, but find only numbers. I say thanks again and head inside.

Needless to say, Im too hyped up on adrenaline to even attempt sleep. I whisper Mo a recap, grab my laptop and head to the hostel resaurant. I sit there for a few hours, write Part 1, swallow down some breakfast and lots of tea. Around 11am, I head back to my room to go to sleep. I reflect that, as much as I hate the Barcelona trains, I absolutely love its police.

Im sure theres a few morals to this story, but I think the most important is this; Ladies, listen to your gut, its probably right when its trying to tell you something. And on the chance that its not, what have you really lost by being more careful?