Finding My Fix: Chronicles of a Travel Junkie

Barcelona won the European Cup. Thousands of Spaniards, Brazilenos, and even Arsnel fans flocked to the city’s bars to witness the event. And in Barcelona it was the event of a lifetime. Sitting in a bar with a beer and temporary friends, cigar smoke rising from the floor below, heads glued to the big screens mounted on the walls, fans from both sides and from neither side came together with an energy unparalleled in the US and definitely in New Zealand.

I sat with four new English friends and a Russian. Being American, from a country that couldn’t care less about a European soccer game, I got to root for the winning team. So Barcelona it was.

Decked out in blue and red stripes, Barcelona fans jumped and yelled for joy and hugged each other, and flooded the streets headed for La Rambla. And then the explosions started, the fireworks and the glow of orange flares, and drums and chanting and dancing and blasting of horns. Traffic lights were torn down. Fans climbed light posts and trees to string up their flags–Barcelona, Senegal, Brazil, Catalunya.

Men stood by tins of ice and beer selling for a euro or two. Hands were loose and found their way to pockets and purses and asses and other hands in celebration. The entire Rambla was packed tight. The English fans couldn’t be depressed for a moment with that kind of fiesta.

According to my Russian friend, the next morning the news stations around Europe broadcast these images, and reported how unsafe La Rambla was that night. But the next day, the streets were sparkling clean and the decapatated light posts had been removed. If it weren’t for the few hardcore fans roaming the streets with their banners and blow horns, no one would know what had happened the night before.

What a wonderful time to come to Barcelona on a whim. I had no idea until an hour before just how wonderful my timing had been. See why having only flexible plans is a good thing??? And now I have again settled into the travel routine, overcome the culture shock, the loneliness, and stepped back out of my shell. And I can painlessly skip down European streets with my 10 kilo pack fitted to the curves of my back. No regrets now!

Tags: 4. Europe, 4B. Spain, 4B1. Barcelona, Barcelona, soccer

This entry was posted on Friday, May 19th, 2006 at 11:23 pm and is filed under 4. Europe, 4B. Spain, 4B1. Barcelona. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.