Life tends to have these unexpectedly poetic moments sometimes.
I am sitting in the late evening sun at the far end of the train tracks leading away from Barcelona’s airport. It smells like jet fuel and the platform is lined with tangled barbed wire and wildly growing weeds. After just having talked to what amounts to about half of the airport staff, and having paid another 70€ just to change my flight from Tuesday to Wednesday, I feel like at the end of some epically long work day.
Somehow my bad luck decided to go full circle today and so I actually just missed my train back to the city, it’s just me here, sitting next to a rather faded luggage tag reading “BCN” and the occasioal bird that hops by.
This morning, on my first day after the indescribably disappointing internship, I went to the laundromat with my housemate Gillian and promptly had my wallet stolen from me. that is something which usually happens to a great number of people who come to visit this wonderous city, yet I rather naïvely thought that I might be spared that part of the barcelona experience. I am still in the dark about what precisely happened, but what is certain is that my wallet contained not only a bit of money but also my German ID card.
After locking all my cards and filing a police report (with the amazingly named “mossos d’esquadra”), I believed that I was on my way of still being able to fly to Amsterdam on Tuesday- after all, I still had a photocopy of my ID. As it turns out, however, is it not possibly to fly with those documents, unless you are heading towards your home and native land. And clearly, why would anyone in their right mind fly to another European destination after just getting their ID nicked? Such reasoning must apppeal to the same people who decide that national consulates should close their doors all weekend, and on Catalan holidays, while they’re at it. So no new ID for yours truly on Monday either.
At any rate, “life is complicated”, as the border patrol guard at the airport told me. But with a re-booked flight coupon in my bag, 1 extra day in Barcelona and the amazing sunset that is taking place as my train finally rolls in, it is hard to feel overly bummed about what was essentially a big pain of a day. It could all be worse. And if speaking to the entire airport staff doesn’t help my Spanish, then I don’t know what does.