Close Call
On my first day in Barcelona, after having checked into* a small hotel near the Camp Nou football stadium, I decided to do some exploring. I'd only got about $70, and I wasn't sure if I could trust the hotel, so I decided to take all my money with me in my wallet. I knew that my financial situation was very tight*2, so I was to explore the city on foot*3.
Using the maps in the street outside each station, I decided to follow the blue metro line from Collblanc down to the city centre. It was a Sunday and the sun was shining, so the walk was very enjoyable. After three quarters of an hour's walk, I'd arrived at Placa Catalunya, where I'd arrived the previous night, then I headed on down 'Las Ramblas', through the Barrio Gotico and out into the sunny square in front of the Cathedral. It was an autumn Sunday and there wasn't much movement in the square, just a few tourists and two 'Urban Guards' who are the local Barcelona city police. After a quick look at my map, I decided to take a small alley which ran down the left-hand side of the Cathedral in the direction of the sea. Just as I was nearing the entrance to the alley I heard a shrill whistle. I stopped, turned round and scanned the square. My eyes focussed on the two Urban Guards, one of whom had just blown his whistle, but neither of them was looking in my direction. I turned and entered the alley.
After just a few moments, a young guy came up to me and said 'You want to smoke some hash?'. I decided that it would be a nice way to spend my first day in Barcelona, so I replied 'Yes, OK.'. The guy, in his mid-twenties, explained that he needed some tobacco to make a joint*4, so I gave him my tobacco box with old Holbourn inside. There was a stone bench running down the left of the alley, so I sat down while my new 'friend' made a joint. On finishing the task, the guy put the joint in his mouth, lit it and pulled a knife out of his pocket. He flashed the knife in front of my neck and demanded money. Now, All the money I'd got in the world was in my wallet, which was in the pocket of my jeans. "I haven't got much money", I said truthfully. The man touched the wallet in my pocket and said, "OK. Give me that!".
Now was the moment of truth. Either I give him my wallet and give up my dream of starting a new life in Spain, or ..........what?? Luckily for me, instead of keeping the knife near my neck, while continuing to demand my wallet, my assailant started making sweeps*5 with knife above my legs. "Ok. Either I lose my dream or a lose a leg - and it'll take him a while to cut through them!" I decided. Mentally and physically I clenched my fists and shouted "NO!!!! POLICE!", then I stood up and advance towards him. The guy backed off*6, said quietly in Spanish something that sounded like "It's obvious that you really haven't got much money", then he turned tail and walked away. My heart was beating like a hummingbird's wings, but I was still undecided as to whether to follow the guy and attack him, or beat a hasty retreat. I walked back to the square, approached the two Urban Guards and with my dictionary in my hand and in very shaky*7 Spanish, I tried to explain what had happened. After producing something like "Me rob there", one of the Guards looked at my wryly and said "Yes?" with a cynical look on his face. I gave up, turned away and took an alternative route to the port.
However, I didn't forget what had happened. After having settled down in Barcelona, I bought a flick-knife at an arts and crafts centre called 'El pueblo Espanyol', and headed back to the same alley with my knife in my pocket. Half of me was hoping that the same guy would be there ready to make the same offer. The other half was relieved when I walked the entire length of the alley without seeing anything untoward. Things worked out for the best because in my entire life I'd only ever used a flick-knife to cut bread and tomatoes!
* Phrasal verb
*2 Adjective - definition 5
*3 Noun - def. 8
*4 Noun - def. 7
*5 Noun - def. 3a
*6 Phrasal verb
*7 def. 3a