Barcelona Brought It

Oh, hey! You're back! Thanks for stopping by! Where did we leave off? Oh, right! The train to Barcelona. So I got there. I was finally in Spain.

Remember how Lichita thought I was coming a day later? The FIRST thing I did when I hopped of that train was find a place in the train station that offered free wifi. Lichita had told me previously that you could always find such at a McDonalds or Starbs no matter where you were. McDonalds there was, so near McDonalds I went. I texted via WhatsApp that I was in Barcelona. "You're here??" Her boyfriend was in the middle of cooking her a romantic dinner with her favorite bottle of wine, I later found out.
Looking back, what I could've done is offered a stranger a € or two to lend me their phone to send her a text msg. Hindsight is 20/20, folks.
Lichita kindly sent me dirrections on how to get to her house from the train station, and on my way I went.
What language would you assume things are written in Barcelona? Spanish? Castilian? Nope. Barcelona belongs to a region known as Catalonia where the predominant language used is Catalan. It's pretty similar to Spanish when written... But spoken? Good luck.
Luckily everyone speaks Castilian as well, and most announcements are also made in English, Spanish, or both. I had to go through three different booths to get to the right place to buy my tickets since I was not used to the Castilian accent, then it was time to figure out metros. For being a country girl from a ranch, I must say I am not too shabby at figuring out these metros with a few directions on where to change. It's a good thing I'm smarter than the average bear.

In Paris I'd told you about my 1.5 hour metro ride? I think it might've been due to a European strike. In Barcelona, something similar happened. I waited at my platform for one hour (what should've only taken 3 minutes) with another 100-150 people. The announcement of "The current strike may cause delay in the schedule" played at least 10 times... In Catalan, Spanish, and then English.
When we finally got on, I still had one more train to change to to get to Lichita's stop. I originally went to the wrong stop, but once I got to the right one, I was safe on the home stretch... So I thought.
On the metros and trains I've been on thus far, I put my 48 liter backpack (we'll call her Betsy) in the seat next to me until I notice more people getting on who need seats. I tried to squish Betsy into the shelf above, but she was a lil too fat, so on my lap she went. An older "gentleman" (late 50's) came by looking for a seat. When He saw the empty seat and saw me with big ole Betsy he pointed to the luggage shelf above us and I informed him in Spanish that it didn't fit. He insisted on grabbing Betsy and violently forcing her onto the shelf. Okay, I guess she fits now.
"Gracias".

Note: If someone shows me kindness, I try to show gratitude by showing interest and lending more attention than usual.
This is a mistake.

The moment the "gentleman" sat in the neighboring seat I smelt the wave of liquor that was baked in his breath and possibly his clothes. Oh no.
And so it began... For the next hour he asked me very personal questions ("Where are you from?", "Are you married?" pointing to my ring, "What's your stop?") intermittently accompanied by him pretending to read the newspaper (aggressively turning the pages while looking straight at me as I nervously stared out the window or into the reflections of the women in it). As his drunk self began to notice my complete lack of interest in engaging his questions, his questions became more frank ("Americans are very cold, huh?", "Am I bothering you? I'll shut up", "Do you ever smile?"). "I'm just tired," I kept saying, "I'm just tired." He would move around my luggage that I was gripping at my legs as if it were his own, attempting to make me more comfortable, I guess, "No one is going to steal it," he thought he was reassuring me. The women sitting around me were saying to eachother things like "Poor thing" and giving me looks like "I'm so sorry this is happening to you."
But I thought to myself, "Why aren't they saying anything? Am I old enough that I should be telling this old man off myself? Since I speak enough Spanish do they assume I'm just fine? Are they scared, too?"

The whole 20 minutes of this guy, the only thing on my mind was "What are the best replies I can make to get him to quit pursuing me?" and "If he decides to follow me off this train, what is the wisest thing for me to do? Do I punch him in the nose? Do I kick him in the nuts? Do I try to outrun him with my luggage and Betsy?" My stop came, and the presumable happened... he yanked Betsy off the shelf onto his shoulder "I'll go with you."
I snatched Betsy from his booze-soaked hands, grabbed my suitcase and jolted across him, "No, I'm fine. Have a good one," I said without even looking. I hopped off the bus and who did I see? Lichita, who had waited over an hour at the platform for my arrival. I can't even begin to explain the amount and amplitude of peace and safety I felt when I saw her beautiful smile and embraced her the moment I stepped off the train after such a scary moment. We walked to her flat and chatted in bliss. I'll never forget the contrast of these two moments. Never.
Lichita showed me around her cute and modern flat quietly as her boyfriend, Edu, slept. We said our goodnights and to bed we both went. I don't think I've ever appreciated a bed more in my life than last night. Two nights in a row sleeping sitting up will give you so much gratitude. Also... Always buy the direct flight, even if it's $200 more, it's worth it.

I totally and shamelessly slept in until almost noon this morning. I advised Lichita to spend some time with Edu today since they both had a rare day off together. They did! Which means I got to shower with no worries, poop with no cares, pluck my eyebrows, and take a walk around their neighborhood (I was gonna go the market, but had forgotten that everything closes for a few hours midday for "siesta").

Once I got back to their flat, Edu and Lichita were back from their day out. I was first greeted by Edu with a kiss on each cheek (Spanish custom) who is a Spaniard with that Castilian accent (but he also speaks, 5 other languages fluently, NBD)-- the Castialian accent compared to my Mexican accent exposure have some stark differences, so after like 3 hours of hearing it could I finally understand what was being said all the way. When I walked in, they had already started what turned out to be an AMAZING lunch: honeydew topped with ham (that tasted like prosciutto), and a total Lynda salad with arugala apple, cheese, tomato, and vinegar & oil. I could eat that er'day.
After lunch and great conversation, Lichita and I chatted more over coffee (Spain style, which is more like espresso with milk) while Edu took a nap. At 6 our night on the town began. Edu gave us a tour of Plaza de Espanya (remember, it's all in written in Catalan). BEAUTIFUL ancient buildings, palaces, cathedrals, and arenas... Edu even showed us where the university of sports is (if P.E. happened to be the only subject you ever even liked).
For dinner around 8:30 we stopped for wine and lite appetizers first at one restaurant and then wine, limocello, and heavy appetizers (tapas) at another. I got to try some Spanish-style chorizo... Don't tell any of my Mexican family, but Spain has them beat in the chorizo department. I also had deep-fried calamari, which no one had to lie to me to get me to try like the first time (cough, cough, Pa...)

We made it home on the metro with no strike effects nor bothersome drunks.
And I get to sleep in a bed again tonight.

I know a lot people have been praying for my safety; If you're one of them, please continue to do so. I can be weary about my trust in prayer sometimes, but I have no doubt that last night could've been a lot worse. It's moments like that, of stepping off a metro and feeling sudden peace and protection when a friend you didn't expect to be waiting is there after a moment you thought you might have to run for your life and safety, that reminds you that God is with you.