Last July I went on a solo trip to Paris & Barcelona. It was a phenomenal adventure filled with some pretty interesting experiences.
I had flown into Paris first & I was there for about a week & a half, and it was incredible. It was exciting, fashionable, historic, elegant, expansive, artistic, magnificent, dreamy & well, totally exhausting. I did a lot of tourist-ing while I was there & I made it to all the must see sights: the Eiffel Tower, Momartre, Versailles, the Louvre, the Arc du Triomphe, etc. It really was non-stop. There was SO much to see, to do, to taste! By the time I made it to Spain, I was just spent.
And although I made it to Park Guell & La Sagrada Familia, I readily admit I spent most of my time happily topless & tanning on the beach. On one of these particular days I was reading & I happened upon a Brazilian & Turkish guy playing soccer. I know what you're thinking, but it was strictly platonic, at least on my end & what does one do when traveling alone, but make new international friends. I found them rather annoying at first, because while I was trying to read my book, the Turkish guy was kicking sand up all around me, until the Brazilian guy noticed my annoyance & told his friend to play further away. The Brazilian obviously noticed other things & asked me if I too was Brazilian. I told him I wasn't but that I was from here & I pointed to my beloved Panama beach towel I was lying on that my dad got me on one of his many trips back home when I was younger. Thinking about it, I've probably had that towel for more than 15 years. I'm sentimental about things like that. Well the Brazilian invited me over to join him & his friend for a beer & I really didn't know anyone in the country, except my host but he was working most days, so I joined the two guys & we hung out talking about the difference in cultures of our various countries, the incredible beauty of Barcelona & of what kind of job I could get to move my ass out there. Mind you this whole time I'm topless, because well hell, when in Spain, do as the Spaniards do. That was the beauty of this wonderful beach culture, most of the women were topless & none of the men paid it any attention; it was normal. And hell, even people you may not want to see in those circumstances were splayed out in all their glory with nothing but a bikini bottom or speedos, if they were even that modest. You saw every shape & age out in the sand devouring the beautiful Mediterranean sun. It was beautiful, because it wasn't about vanity or vulgarity, it was about pure, unadulterated pleasure.
So here I was topless, making new friends on foreign lands & the Brazilian decides we should go out & walk out onto these rocks that stretch out into the sea. He said his Spanish friends would probably be out there. So we decide to leave the Turkish guy with our things so we didn't have to carry them over the rocks. I began to put my bikini top on, but the Brazilian stopped me & said why, we'd be right back. So I shrugged & grabbed my beach towel, leaving everything else behind --& I do mean everything, but more on that later-- we made our way towards the rocks. Well along the way lies La Vela, the W Hotel that sits right on the water’s edge. It's shaped like a sail on a ship, hence the Spanish word for it, La Vela. That damn Brazilian was a little too happy to have me walking alongside him topless & in my rio-cut bottoms amongst the hotel guests out on folding chairs (though there is an area for topless sunning, not all of the hotel's property is). Well not like any of them had never seen breasts, so though I felt slightly self conscious, all anyone had to do was look out at the beach & you'd see a sea of topless women. The Brazilian & I made it to the rocks & I met a few of his Barca friends. Everyone was very welcoming & friendly. We hung out there for awhile & the Brazilian & his friends were diving off the rocks into the warm sea water. I refrained as I'm not a strong swimmer --I mean truthfully, I can't swim. My greatest fear of suffocating causes me to freak out with even the slightest feeling of not being able to breathe. Technically these rocks were forbidden to navigate, there had been signs saying not to enter on our way in, but these people lived here so I figured we were all safe. After awhile the Brazilian gets up & starts whistling & waving his arms to his friend, the Turkish guy on the beach to bring, over our stuff. We were about half a mile out, so there was no way his friend could have heard him. Then he turns to me & says he's going to help him & bring back our things & plunges into the ocean, leaving me there with his friends. They were all very nice & it was an equal mixture of girls & boys, so I didn't necessarily feel unsafe with them. I did however have an incredible sinking feeling in my stomach. You see the contents of my bag consisted of more than just a book & flip flops. My purse held my wallet, my phone, my host's house keys, my passport & all the other articles of clothing I wasn't currently wearing. There I was on the rocks, with nothing but my bikini bottoms & a beach towel, & these guys I had just met a mere hours ago were in possession of everything that was not only important, but necessary for the rest of my travels & for me to make it safely back to the States. And it all happened so quickly. I hadn't even had a chance to stop the Brazilian. In an instant he had disappeared beneath the ocean's surface & there was no way I could go in after him with my inability to swim, I'd surely drown. So there I was with thoughts of nothing but what I would do if they didn't come back & stole everything, as I had heard Barcelona was infamous for thieves. I tried to think of a plan. I could go into the hotel & call my host. With what number?! Everything was in my bag! I could log onto to FB from their computer & get his number that way. But I wasn't even a guest of the hotel & I'd be walking in there half naked, with nothing but tiny swimsuit bottoms & a beach towel. I hadn't even so much as brought flip flops! I’d really had just put myself in what could be a disastrous situation. How the hell would I get back home without my passport? What made the whole situation worse was that I'd been robbed just 5 months prior on the beach in Miami. I had been frolicking in the waves along the shore at 4 a.m. while I left my purse in the sand a good distance from the ocean to keep the waves from getting to it. Well it was safe from the salt water, but apparently there are people who hide themselves along the beach waiting for just such a tourist like myself to leave their possessions unattended. I referred to them as "beach gypsies" & those SOBs nearly ruined my trip to Miami. I had no money, phone or ID & continuing the trip, as well as getting back to SF, was a big ordeal. Had I really been foolish enough to let it happen again, in a foreign country, where I really knew no one & would be left with no identification, phone or money?? This situation could be really bad. I was trying to stave off a panic attack or complete freak out, so I kept telling myself it would all be ok. They would come back with my things & there'd be nothing to worry about. And even if they didn't, I'd figure out a way to get ahold of my host & figure out some sort of game plan to finish up the trip & make it back to the states, even without a passport. The minutes waiting for them to return seemed like eternity.
And out of pure luck or karma or just the loveliness of trusting life, the boys arrived with all our stuff in tow about 20 minutes later. I'm not sure if they saw just how relieved I was, but in that moment I thanked my lucky stars & loved Spain all the more for taking care of me. I immediately put my bikini top on, not for sudden shame of my half-nakedness, but from the vulnerability I felt having so much of my immediate future dependent on the honesty & morality of these two men I had just met. I hung out a little while longer, but I ended up telling them I was going to grab something to eat. We exchanged info & I parted ways with them. Truth be told I think I needed a little space to really sit in the reality of what had just happened. Had the situation gone awry, not only would my trip have been ruined, but I'd really have a difficult problem on my hands. I went to one of the nearby changing rooms & put my clothes on to walk the distance to one of the many restaurants along the boardwalk that catered to tourists. I wanted a meal & a strong Sangria stat!
I actually did later meet up with the beach boys. We again shared some conversation, this time over drinks in the city. I never did tell them how worried I was that they could have been Beach Gypsies who could have destroyed my vacation, & made my life pretty hellish for awhile. I think they may have been offended had I told them my initial fears of them being thieves. From that day on I did learn a valuable lesson of not putting so much faith in strangers & not carrying so many important things on me. But I do have to say I was just very lucky to meet such honest, good people thousands of miles from home. And hell, it certainly did make for a ridiculous story, which makes life all the more interesting.
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| La Vela, with those infamous outlying rocks |
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| Barcelona beach party |
