Guildford, England to Barcelona, Spain, Sunday August 31st

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Yesterday’s lovely weather in Guildford had been an aberration and by half past seven, the time for us to leave for the station, the rain was pelting down. We have covers for our big back packs and umbrellas, so we were not too worried. Unfortunately the cover that I made from our old shower curtain was a little brittle and Keith put his finger through it, but in general most things stayed dry. We walked down with Adrian who was catching another train and then we were off on the next part of our journey.

Just before our train stopped in London, an odd announcement boomed out over the loud speakers. It said something like “There are no expected delays on the Metro system today and ….”, and then it trailed off as if there had been a sudden loss of confidence. “There may be some disruption on ….. London Metro wishes you a safe journey.” Maybe the work experience announcer had messed it up, we thought. Rachel and Adrian had worked out a good route for us but, in view of the strange announcement, Keith wanted to check at the information desk. We took the official’s advice which was to use a slightly different route. Luckily we had been well schooled by Stefan in how to ‘change horses’ on the Metro, because after our next train to connect to the Victoria line, we found that the Victoria line was completely closed for the day for work to be carried out on it. The Metro map looks a bit like a Snakes and ladders board, but has so many links, connections and frequent trains that it was no big problem. Soon we were on a train to Luton, and finally on a plane to Barcelona.

We had arranged to meet Rohan at the airport and there he was, waiting with all the others to greet new arrivals. At this stage our large bags were pretty heavy, so it was with pleasure that I handed mine over to Rohan. He had travelled light, with only a small back pack for his couple of days. We caught a bus to Plaza Catalunya, and then followed Keith’s suggestion of going to the apartment we had rented via the cathedral, as a bit of sight seeing. This is never really properly possible with heavy backpacks and every time that I (with only a day pack) or Rohan stopped to look at things, the weight in Keith’s pack was too great for it to be a comfortable proposition. Nevertheless we saw a minute of spectacular break dancing in front of the cathedral, which looked interesting but which was almost entirely shrouded in scaffolding from our angle.

We gained a sense of how maze-like the curving narrow old city streets are, since we were not able to find our way to the apartment. We did not have a good map with all the streets on it, so finally, after asking a few people for help and not getting anywhere, we stopped at a bench for Keith to try ringing the person we were to meet in front of the apartment, for advice. Now, it is important to note that we had just been telling the story of a young friend who had been robbed in Barcelona, with the robbers using the ruse of distraction to take her attention away from her belongings. Keith had taken off his bum bag because his back pack was too uncomfortable with it on, but he had stowed it safely in the day pack he had on his front. We stopped at a bench in a square with Rohan and me on one side of our bags and Keith on the other. In searching either for the phone or the number, Keith had put some things out of his day pack, and I must have been on guard so well that I didn’t even notice that he put his bum bag (with money and passports inside) down on the bench. A man came over and said “Hotel?” to Rohan and me, pointing across the road to a building and without thinking our eyes followed his hand in that direction. Suddenly Keith was yelling abuse and grabbing the bum bag back, and starting after a robber, whom he kicked. He continued to shout out colourful Australian obscenities after the man, who slunk away down a narrow alley. It was just incredibly lucky that Keith had been looking down as he dialled his numbers and had seen the arm reach in, also that he had thought and acted so quickly. Had it been another two or three seconds the bag would have been gone.

We were all little shaken by the incident, so Keith and Rohan waited while I went off to get advice about telephone boxes since, after all that, we hadn’t been able to reach our contact with our mobile phone. Eventually a lovely woman called Sylvia arrived to show us the way to the apartment. If we had followed the instructions from the Metro station, as they were given, we would have been fine but we were using a poor map to try to come from a different direction.

The apartment was in a very old building but was very modern and looked to be newly refurbished. It had air conditioning, which proved to be essential on the humid nights, and a well equipped kitchen. The exterior and the stair case were fairly antiquated, with the need to climb quickly before the light timer left you in the dark. The lane below had tell-tale streaks of water running in it now and then, with a smell to match, but later I noticed a drain from a roof opening out at pavement level, so perhaps my smell sensors were askew. The walls were cream when we arrived but graffiti appeared, with Rohan being asked by the police a few days later if he had noticed anything and if the loud music that was playing was his.

With our bags and apartment sorted, we set off with Sylvia who kindly showed us where the supermarket was, where the magnificent Arc de Triomf stood and where the station was that Joel would arrive from.We then enjoyed a very short stroll to the Café Napoleon for a settling drink and some spicy potatoes to try something Spanish. Time was ticking on and we were worried that, if we had problems finding the apartment during the day, it might be impossible for Joel at night. Keith went back to the apartment to wait in case he found his way there and Rohan and I walked about on the station and decided that if Joel came on the train, we would be able to see him exit from a vantage point in front of the Arc de Triomf. It was a balmy evening, with many people out and about and a genial group of backpackers waiting for some of their comrades to arrive. Maybe it was the influence of the Arc de Triomf but it had the feel of our first night in Paris. Every time a group emerged from the Metro steps I was sure that Joel would be with them but he never was. The boys beside us greeted their friends and Rohan assisted some tourists with our map. Still no Joel. It was well after we had expected him and Keith had sent us an SMS question asking what was happening but we had no way to answer it. Rohan went back to the apartment to speak to Keith and I waited on. Imagine my surprise when, after about fifteen minutes, Rohan returned with Joel in tow. Joel’s plane had been late so he had taken a taxi rather than a train. Of course the taxi couldn’t drive in the alleyways, and Rohan had found Joel in one of the nearby alleys reading his instructions to take him to the apartment. What a relief!

We had a quick tea and a long catch up before settling for the night. It was wonderful to be with the boys and to see them together after such a long time, and I wished that everyone else in the family could have been there with us too.