BCN – August 2010

Lathering my upper torso in oil, she begins to massage my shoulders as I nestle my head into my towel and start to relax. Just as I am dozing off, my back is transformed into a chopping block as she pounds her hands firmly up my spine - a sure sign the massage is almost over. Although I am fairly skint I am also not ready to say goodbye so I slip her another five and ask her to continue. But, just when I thought we were having a moment and I was re-reaching optimum comfort, the massage stops and I look up to find my masseuse gone.

Scanning the beach I find her crouching into a tight ball beneath the lifeguard stand, her gaze resting just in front of me. My confusion is answered when I see the police speaking with a woman to my right. While I don’t catch everything they say, I make out that the woman has had her handbag stolen and they are questioning her about the man she reports to have taken it.

As soon as they leave, my masseuse returns giggling apologetically mumbling something about ‘policia’ and the massage continues. This to me is the true Barcelona – beautiful, spirited and wild. And, that is why I love the place beyond belief, because it is what it is and it doesn’t pretend to be something else.

Leaving the beach, I stroll down La Rambla through the horde of tourists and street performers and into a tattoo parlour. The idea has been niggling at the back of my mind since my last trip to Barcelona two years ago, but today has confirmed my decision. ‘Hola,’ I cheer while pushing forward a piece of paper across the desk. Examining my design he looks at it nodding. I know myself that my drawing is a bit rough around the edges, but it epitomizes what Barcelona is to me and for better or for worse it will always be in my heart.

Lying back in the chair, my foot elevated so it sits at his eye level, the gun begins to buzz and my heart begins to pound. While there is not much conversation between the two of us, with him speaking no English and me speaking minimal Spanish, he manages to ask me where I am from. He switches off the gun and turns around pointing proudly towards a boomerang suspended on the wall, before placing a closed fist across his heart. I smile empathetically, knowing exactly how he feels to have such a passion for a place. When it is all done, he looks at my necklace, my name looped in silver across my chest, pronounces it to himself out loud before giving me a huge embrace and sending me back on my way.