Barcelona, 8pm

Benvinguda a Barcelona!  

Ramon and Thor

That's how you say welcome to Barcelona in Catalan.  We pulled up at 8 pm.  I grabbed the bags and Stu returned the car.

Mark Says Hello to Ramon

I have not seen Ramon in years.  I took intensive Spanish 8 years ago and we last saw him before that. Typically, I can understand Spanish but can't generate it very well.  I just need practice. Lots and lots of practice.  Since Ramon speaks no English, we are a perfect match.  He also has a new mascota (pet) a hyper-active bulldog named Tor. (Actually it is like the god, Thor.  If you listen carefully, you can hear 'Ta-hor'--but in one syllable.)  How the hell do you make a dog behave in Spanish?  You know, like 'get down' or 'stop'.  Ramon kept barking commands at the dog and I was clueless. It turns out, the dog learned Catalan, not Castilian. He handed me keys and asked a friend to guide me to his apartment.  It has been years since I have been here.  What do the letters in the elevator mean?  The ground floor is "0", but there was not even a "0". Which door was it? It turns out it was the one with a feminine shopping bag.  It took me a while to get the keys in the door.  I sighed and went back to Ramon at the shop, already exhausted.  Even if I can say something thought provoking, I probably won't understand his response.  If you have read David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day, you understand my dilemma completely.  I successfully asked him about the flag and some friends but not much else.  I asked him about the weird name for the dog.  That is when he showed me pictures of "Thor" on the internet. Dios Mio.

Stu Returns the Car

Hi, it's me, Stu. I will write elsewhere, extolling the virtues of driving in Europe, but this is about last Thursday, 8pm. I managed to get both Mark and Ramon to agree to having me leave Mark and the bags at Ramon's place. I would then refuel and return the car to Hertz at the airport. I admit that I was leaving two guys together, with with imited language skills and a silly dog for an hour of two. I was hopeful that they could cope. Otherwise we would be needlessly schlepping bags back on the bus from the airport. Five and a half weeks in, I was over the luggage. Anyway, that was the plan.

This plan required that I get down off the highway and negotiate driving on the overcrowded streets of the Catalan capital, in their rush hour.  Ramon lives and works two blocks from Praça Espanya, a major urban epicenter-- think a major, multi-laned traffic circle, centered on a gorgeous gushing fountain. This was to be my Driving in Europe final exam, and I was going to do it with only my Android Auto navigation avatar to help. Mark was off discovering how adequate his Spanish was.

It only took two passes around the block to find a place right in front of Ramon's shop to unload.  That place actually was double-parking across four parked cars... but hey, I was living the chaos. Mark quickly unloaded and Thor, the silly puppy, jumped into the car to head-butt me. Just as the first of the four drivers I had been obstructing strolled up I was able to pull away, down Carrer Sepulveda toward the airport.

Praça Espanya, swirl is in my head....

200 meters later I was at the light that would then dump onto the swirl of Praça Espanya. Like all traffic circles, I entered at the '6-o'clock' position. I had to exit onto the Gran Via de Corts Catellana, the main thoroughfare toward the airport, at about 11 o'clock. Ms. Android Auto was chirping away but it was more like noise. I did a lot of work in Barcelona in 2001-2002 and had done this airport ride at least a dozen times, but now...

The light turned green, then the next light on the circle turned red... but I managed to get off onto the Gran Via without having to make a penalty lap around the circle. I was then moving toward the airport in solid traffic, constantly getting cut off by cabs, merging out of the bus lane. I moved over and was seemingly in the clear, moving at the speed limit toward the rental car return. Woo-hoo.

Ms. Android Auto interrupted my moment of masculine validation. There was a slowdown and she recommended another route. Suddenly I was less sure. I listened closely as she dumped me off the highway early and looped me around a long loop to the rental car return. Still I triumphantly pulled into rental car return, grabbed my pack and prepared to head for the airport bus back to Praça Espanya. As we were completing the paperwork I panicked- I forgot to refuel- an 80 euro fee error...

About this time I got a panicked call from Mark... what floor was Ramon's apartment on? That would be 13yr old data... I confessed ignorance and felt terrible... but Mark would not forgive me for paying the 80 euro fee instead of refilling the tank. The sweet guy at Hertz let me take the car back out. Here's where Ms. Android Auto completely screwed me, sending me twice to a phantom gas station on airport property... I eventually silenced her, opting for my own dead reckoning... There had to be a gas station somewhere nearby...

I drove a few kilometers south of the airport to a shopping center exit and found a fully automated gas station. After topping off the tank with 47 euros of fuel, I cruised back to Hertz where my attendant awaited, signing off on my fuel level and saving 33 euros. Mark, ever frugal, would approve.

I got on the Aerobus back to Praça Espanya more relieved than satisfied. I texted Mark, trying to act cool. He started describing the scene above... I think I still qualify for the Euro-driving merit badge, though I did lose a few style points.