barcelona (31.08.06 - 03.08.06)

"live steady. don't f*ck around. give anything weird a wide berth - including people. it's not worth it. i learned this the hard way, through brutal overindulgence" - hst

myself and dopey rocked up in barca wilted from a body-and-mind-shattering weekend at the reading festival. our intentions were simple: days mellowing in the warm sun on the beach, some laid-back sightseeing, a few glasses of wine over seafood dinners, and pearl jam. gentle. those were our intentions.

it was about 11pm on a thick hot thursday night when we finally climbed off the bus into central barcelona. backpacks and sleeping bags strapped to our backs, and ably assisted by our cartoon map, we trudged off down the main drag looking for the plaza reail where the boys from ireland (frank, miguel, and puddles) were refeuling after a long day searching for a sleep-worthy hostel. we found them easily enough, and against our better judgement, joined them for a quick glass of the local headache-inducing crackling, after which we would go and find a hostel. that was our intention.

soon enough it was 1am and empty clay jugs formerly containing crackling and some sort of sangria-type-poison-brew littered our table. we had managed to squeeze in a paella, but had failed to find somewhere to leave our bags and rest our weary heads. but that was of little consequence now that the four norwegian chicks at a nearby table had made their intentions clear (i'm telling you, if you want scando's, stick with me... i attract them quicker than frank attracts drugged-up, glassey-eyed, homosexual, physcotic freaks). they were heading for the beach, and they wanted us (and any other virile young males) to join them. our sick alcohol-feuled minds were sold - visions of naked frolicking in the shore-break played like 52" flat-panel-high-defintion-plasma tv's in our heads.

we quickley dropped our bags at the three-bed room booked by the irish (a night spent on the cold tiled floor beckoned, but we were passed reasoned thinking), and hustled back to our viking lovelies. by this time they had managed to round up a 40-strong troop of testosterone-charged brutes, each with the intention of being alpha male. but we were convinced that we were foremost in their thought process.

the 2km trip to the beach took approximatley two hours - distances over 100m are never simple when one is in an alcohol induced stupor. delays along the way included: frank and dopey being accosted by hairy, gorilla-faced whores; numerous wee breaks; brown-eye posing for pictures at a big column in the middle of a roundabout; witnessing the police in a high-speed footchase with gypsies; trying to throw most of the other males off the scent.

anyway, so we got to the beach at about 3am armed with two six-packs of local beer. we weren't gonna f*ck around. off came the kitters and we were in the sea before the scando chick's could say, "my word, what big muscles you guys have". in all our excitment, we failed to realise that it was only the five of us bare-butted boys that were playfully splashing around in the water. the girls were entertaining some other greasy bastards on the promenade - and they were drinking our beer. a realisaton swept over us... we needed to protect our investment. we were out of the water in a flash and raced over to grab what was left of our six-packs.

eventually puddles managed to ply one of the birds (lets just call her "pork chop"... cos that's what dopey called her) with enough booze to get her to strip off and follow him into the sea. miguel was less successful... standing on the beach, trying to persuade one of the birds to get naked with a bald portuguese dude in tight-fit boxers - it was never gonna happen.





by this time it was 5am and somewhere in all this stripping off, frank had managed to lose his wallet and phone. somehow he persuaded us that we needed to hang around until sunrise and then comb the beach for his possessions. it seemed like a good idea and we settled down with our beers to wait for sunrise.

i must have dozed off sometime after this, but i was awoken by shouting and cans crashing down around my head. i sat up and turned to see two figures streaking along the promenade silhouetted by the rising sun. the figure behind looked vaguely like miguel and was steadily closing in on the figure running-for-his-life ahead. closing in that is, until the chasing figure suddenly disappeared from view behind a flower pot - he had crashed and burned on the pavement (one of those moments when the whole crowd cringes and lets out a collective "oohhhh"), severely damaging a finger.

at this stage i was in the dark as to exactly what had happened - turns out frank and miguel were sitting around, gently sipping on their beers and admiring dawn breaking over the beach, when some poor misguided soul arrived, unzipped, and tried to stick his knob in frank's mouth. when frank politely declined, the dude got nasty and started lobbing trash in our direction. this is when miguel saw red and took up chase. it was all very strange... but true... apparently.



we got home at about 7.30am. we never did find franks wallet and phone. myself and dopey slept on the floor. we woke around 1pm, had coffee next door, and headed off to the beach. we found a quaint little beach-bar and had some seafood breakfast / lunch. stomachs full and hangover headaches saturated by a few of jugs of sangria, a lazy afternoon on the beach looked tempting.

puddles headed off for some beers for the irish boys, while the rest of us enjoyed the warm sun, soft sand, and the gentle lapping of the mediterranean sea. but frank has a restless mind when he gets going on the beers, and he decided to dig a 3ft deep hole, jump in, and get the rest of us to bury him up to his head. this is great and it's all fun and games... until somebody gets stuck. then the whimpering begins. getting stuck in a self-made hole on a foreign beach packed with spanish mullets and hot catalonian babes with fake breast implants whilst your mates drop to their knees in hysterical laughter is enough to send even the most stable folks over the edge. frank had visions of fire engines and helicopters and huge red headlines on the local 9 o'clock news. it took us a full 45 minutes of digging and scraping, and pulling and tugging (at franks arms) in front of amused onlookers to get him out.









so friday night was the night of pearl jam. we managed to organise tickets for the irish guys - some bird looking for good karma gave us a free ticket... may the soul of the world bless you my child. we were late and somehow ended up as high and as far away from the stage as one could possibly be. it sure was hot though. but it was good to watch the concert semi-sober this time though and eddie, despite his patronising views on antonio gaudi, was awesome... they even managed a rendition of the famous south african rugby chant, "ole, ole, ole, ole" for us saffers in the crowd. pearl jam are one of the greatest bands ever. end of.





saturday we woke up bright and breezy (except miguel and puddles... who decided to party on after pearl jam). we hadn't seen much of the city and decided to take an open top bus tour for the day. barca sure is an asthetically pleasing city... huge boulevards, lined with the camo-like trunks of maple trees, and backed by massive square 4-story-high colonial buildings give the feeling of a place where you really want to live in the summer. unfortunatley the frequently scattered gaudi sculptures and designs tend to give the impression of euro disney (except the huge gothic cathedral which is super impressive)... but one can excuse a few eyesores in a city that contains the most beautiful women you will ever see. we stopped at porto's palace of love, the gaudi national park, and the nou camp for approx two minutes each - frank was hungry and bleating about a seafood lunch - and pretty soon it was time to start boozing again.







we somehow got roped into a pub crawl by some kiwi backpacking rep. lured by the promise of free shooters and a truck-load of slappers, we were at the starting point bright and early. we downed our vodka cross peach schnupps shooters... and knew there and then it wasn't going to pretty. the tequila bar followed, and it got downright ugly at the next bar when someone tucked into a grossly overweight aussie marshmellow. things went from bad to worse to goddamn rotten when dopey bought quadruple jd's at the final pub before we were due to hit the club (which was situated in a shopping mall on the marina). the hazy memory-loss mist descended and when we were denied access to the club on the grounds of being highly aggitated and wildly abusive, we found ourselves crazily scratching at the doors, pleading for somebody to rip the lungs out of the pompous bastard who was playing god by choosing who could and who couldn't enter the pearly gates leading to the promised land of milk and honey.

the manic gesturing was proving fruitless so we decided to make a stand... in true childish fashion, we stepped back, turned round, and mooned the doorstaff and all the people in the club (the front of the club consisted entirely of huge windows). we then proceeded to walk through the mall with our pants round our ankles trying to incite a revolutionary riot aimed at ousting the facist nazi bouncers. it didn't work. soon enough mall security pounced and escourted us, arm-locked, to the door. that was the end of the evening. myself and dopey found ourselves sleeping on the grey concrete stairs of the hostel, locked out whilst miguel and puddles queued for some dodgy club and frank hunted for food like a ravaged bengal tiger - he found a small box of pringles - and pringles just don't cut it at that perverse, perverted level of life.







so that was our weekend in barcelona... a really nice city actually. i can recommend it.

i seem to recognise your face
haunting familiar
i can't seem to place it
cannot find the candle of thought
to light your name
lifetimes are catching up with me
all these changes taking place
i wish i'd seen the place
but no-ones ever taken me
hearts and thoughts
they fade away