So I'll start with the pickpocket story, which occurred toward the end of our week in Barcelona.
Jane and I had just left the "David Bowie is..." exhibit at the Museu del Disseny and were making our way to the Sagrada Familia cathedral via the metro. We were coming down a set of stairs at the Clot station when I heard someone yelling loudly at the top of the stairs, followed by a quiet "thud" sound. I turned around and saw what appeared to be my somewhat distinctive passport folder lying on one of the stairs. I took my backpack off - and sure enough, my passport and wallet were gone. I went back up the stairs, and there they both were...minus the 200 Euros that had been in my wallet.
I felt a flood of conflicting emotions, obviously - relief that my passport, driver's license, and credit cards had not been taken...anger that I had allowed myself to be vulnerable to pickpockets...and furious at whoever had actually done it and thirsty for blood. I noticed several security cameras in the area and made note of a label on the one closest to me, "C-30." Jane went to a kiosk marked "SOS" and called for security, who eventually met us at the top of the stairs. Jane, who speaks pretty good Spanish, learned that we had to go to a police station a couple stops away and file an official report in order to get the security tapes pulled. I was feeling pretty frustrated by the red tape involved, but Jane persuaded me to go to the police station anyway. But when we got there, we were told it would be a two-hour wait before we could talk to anybody. I was simply in no mental position to exercise that amount of patience, nor did I want to come back the next day "with a translator."
We went to Sagrada Familia, but it was too late for Jane to get a ticket to go inside. She wandered around outside a bit while it was still daylight, taking pictures, while I relaxed in a nearby restaurant.
I still don't know if I had left my backpack unzipped, or if pickpockets are routinely so brazen as to unzip someone else's backpack while they walk along. If the former, then lesson learned. If the latter, then word to the wise.
So, about the tomatoes. I hate tomatoes. I hate crowds more.
This whole trip was Jane's idea (so I blame her for everything), and her "dream" was to attend La Tomatina. La Tomatina, for those who may not be aware, is an annual festival held in a small town called Buñol, about a five-hour bus ride from Barcelona. During this festival, revelers gather by the tens of thousands in a narrow street, and for one hour chuck tomatoes at each other.
Lots, and lots of tomatoes. Literal tons of them.
We had purchased tickets as part of a tour group from Barcelona. Our itinerary required us to meet up at a certain public place at 2 a.m., and take a five-hour bus ride to Buñol (which was not very well temperature-controlled and they played too-loud music the whole way, so forget about sleeping).
Once we arrived in Buñol, we had to walk a good mile or two downhill to Calle Cid, the main avenue where the tomato fight would take place. The place was packed, and still some bros tried to make their way through the crowd with full cups of beer or sangria. We came prepared to document the occasion - Jane wore a GoPro on her chest, and I had one on my head and one on my left wrist.
A half hour before the official start, Jane and I were packed in a crowd across from the La Andana restaurant on Calle Cid. One of the La Tomatina traditions is the crowd has to retrieve a ham on a spike atop a greased pole. I don't think they ever got the ham, but it was fun watching them try. An occasional tomato was tossed by people on rooftops, and a news helicopter circled above.
It wasn't too long before we heard the BANG of the cannon which signaled the start of the fight. More tomatoes than ever rained down on us, but it also wasn't too long before the first of several truckloads of tomatoes was driven through the town.
I thought the street was packed before, but when the tomato truck started inching its way through the crowd, I experienced an altogether new level of physical human density. I was completely crushed in the throng - I honestly thought "this is how I die." My face was half-buried in the scalp of the guy in front of me. I realized that I was able to relax every muscle in my body and still be held upright merely by the sheer amount of buttressing force of other humans.
As the tomato truck passed, inch by inch, and as the fight organizers stood in the truck chucking tomatoes at the multitudes below, I decided enough was enough and I formulated a plan. I figured that directly behind the truck would be some sort of space with fewer people, and the truck would also lead me out of the war zone. Turns out I was right on both counts - I wrestled my way to the back of the truck as it inched by, and grabbed onto it once I was behind it.
You have to understand that even with swimming goggles on, I was still completely blinded by tomatoes. They were everywhere. I was walking in ankle-deep tomato soup. Tomatoes rained from the sky and from that very truck which was also my salvation. Tomato rinds caked on my GoPros and the tomato juice turned my white shirt completely pink.
Slowly but surely, I made my way out of the tomato fracas. Just outside of one of the gates, I found a kind gentleman with a garden hose. I was also able to take care of some of the worst of it at a public fountain nearby. I also discovered the hard way that one of my GoPro housings was not completely waterproofed - but, the camera itself was fine, if a bit smelly.
I walked back up the hill to the bus, and about halfway up I heard the horn that signaled the end of the fight. Jane wasn't too far behind me, and we changed clothes and rode a chilly bus ride back to Barcelona. La Tomatina basically dominated our first 24 hours in Barcelona, and we were glad to have the rest of the week to decompress from that event.
So, overall impressions of Barcelona...nice to visit, probably won't go back, will never do La Tomatina again unless I'm paid a handsome amount. Looking forward to my next trip to Japan, whenever that will be. Oh, and I got first class there and back, which is always a treat.
Quote of the week, upon throwing a small slice of tomato at Jane at a pre-La Tomatina dinner: "Don't be an asshole yet, BJ!"
