From Scraps: in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Back.

So I started a handwritten entry in my little notebook that I take to jot down work notes when traveling. Actually had some great thoughts written down, a few sketches, plans, travel arrangements, phone numbers, e-mail addresses and some important measurements recorded.

Lost it. Somewhere between London and Barcelona. Gone. Never to be seen again. Bummer. But I did manage to find some scrap paper. I think I should record it before I lose the scrap notes and someone finds them and wonders what kind of nutball mixes journal entries with work notes:

Friday, August 22nd

I lost/left my notebook in London. Poo. Now I’ll have to get a new one cuz there’s so much stuff to note. I’m in Spain now. It’s sunny and hot and gorgeous. Did you know that in the summer the women in Spain truly use those Spanish hand fans? Yep. They do.

I’m so out of place here. Such a pale, white thing.

I must see if I can remember all of the stuff from London. Damn. I lost sketches and notes and everything! Oh well. Onward…

Later: now sitting at the entrance of a cathedral. Lots of smoke [side note: ???]. Getting hungry. Getting thirsty. Not sure what to do here by myself.

[It’s around this time when someone set off a massive bunch of firecrackers in the little plaza where I was sitting. I didn’t immediately think of terrorism or danger, but that thought came quickly thereafter…until I saw the boys who did it.]

Saturday, August 23rd

10:27am – Severely disappointed with myself for yesterday. Walked around for three hours (working/looking for stuff), went back to my room, and promptly fell asleep (after a glorious shower). I’m mad because I didn’t go out. Didn’t really have dinner. I ate snacks that I brought with me and drank a couple of glasses of wine that the hotel sent me. Today I vow that it will be different. I’m now on Las Ramblas [shopping/restaurant district], rambling.

12:07pm – Belly now rumbling for some reason. Could it be because I ate a huge breakfast this morning and those crappy snacks last night? Belly feels fat. It’s very hot and my hair is down.

12:50pm – Feeling a bit better. Was accosted and questioned by two Italian men while walking down the street. Ducked into C & A store to escape.

3:09pm – Stopped for tapas. I’m in heaven. Best people watching ever. Dying to ask guy sitting next to me for a cigarette. [didn’t.]

Sunday, August 24th

I’m back in London. Layover at Heathrow before I head to NYC.

Oh my gosh. When I made the vow to have a different kind of night last night…little did I know what was in store! First of all, I wanted to go to this place I’d heard/read about called Salsitas, but I wasn’t too sure about going to that particular area unaccompanied. I would be walking because getting a taxi is next to impossible on a Saturday night.

I told the concierge at the hotel what I wanted to do and asked him if it was safe for me to walk down there alone. Well…he hesitated a bit. And then he warned me about a dangerous area, and told me that Salsitas was right on the edge. But he said that as long as I wasn’t carrying a handbag and kept my wits about me, I should be fine.

And then he offered a different idea. He suggested that I go to another place in a safer, closer proximity. And it sounded cool too: Boadas, the oldest bar in Barcelona. Okay. Perfect.

So I started walking the few blocks to La Rambla. Once I reached the Placa de Catalunya (beginning of the street), I started to wonder if this little excursion was such a great idea. I was approached time and time again by random men. Sometimes single, sometimes in small groups. Sometimes speaking in English, sometimes Spanish, sometimes simply leering. I was thankful for the little bit of daylight still in the sky, and I never really felt all that threatened…just bothered.

I finally located the teeny tiny place. I opened the door. The place was packed full of people and so smoky I could hardly see. When I was able to focus, I could see what the drink of the evening would be: mojitos!!! Everyone, EVERYONE was drinking those minty, leafy little cocktails. And the bartenders could hardly keep up. I couldn’t even find a spot at the bar to place an order. Eventually, after summing up the whole situation, I spotted a space to squeeze. Ordered my precious mojito, and lo and behold, the cute bald guy next to me struck a conversation.

Not even sure how it started, but it turns out he’s from Dublin (if I don’t get to go to Ireland, then at least meet an Irishman, right?!) and his name is Karl. And we were soon off and running! Karl and I sipped a few mojitos and shared why we were both solo in Barcelona. He came for the tomato fight in Bunol (I think it’s close to Valencia), something much more festive than my story, yet he was still interested in hearing all about me and wouldn’t let me pay for one single drink. When we’d had our fill of mojitos, he told me that he’d be more than happy to go with me to Salitas, and even offered to show me a few other places that he knew of. After sizing up the situation, I decided that hell yeah, this was going to be fun night!

Here are a few highlights from our late night arm-in-arm ramble: