The Dating Game

by Susan Buchanan

  ‘Your gaydar must be faulty, or out of range,’ Debbie squealed.

  ‘Very bloody funny. Well, plenty more fish in the sea. No biggie.’

  Soon afterwards, they decided to head back. They needed to change before dinner, and they didn’t want to miss a second of the evening’s action. The parade of giant, dragons and capgrosses – oversized heads - was due to set off from Plaça Sant Jaume at ten. It would then wend its way through the winding streets of the Gothic Quarter before finally returning to its starting point. Huge numbers usually attended and the girls had heard from previous festival-goers, that the squares were usually packed, sardine-style.

  Surprisingly their hotel was only twenty minutes from the last square they had visited. Gill took a long shower and decided she needed another coffee, as she felt tired and a little tipsy. Food would help, too. Freshened up, the girls hit the city once more.

  There wasn’t a single seat to be found in Plaça Reial. The girls ventured down a few side streets and eventually found a little restaurant with outside tables.

  Lisa’s jaw dropped, ‘Jeez, would you look at the prices! Six euros for a bottle of water!’

  ‘Let me see,’ Angela took the menu from Lisa. ‘Dear God, this better be good, twenty euros for a platter of Jamón Serrano, fifteen euros for a cheese platter, three euros per pincho.’

  ‘What’s a pincho?’ Debbie asked.

  ‘A pincho is like a tapa, but it's usually skewered on a spike or a toothpick,’ Gill said knowledgeably.

  ‘Have you been reading my guidebook again?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Can you tell?’ Gill shot her friend a grin.

  ‘In a word, yes!’ Angela slapped Gill playfully on the back, as she went to sit down.

  ‘Anyway, that’s bloomin’ outrageous,’ Debbie said.

  ‘I know, but everywhere is full. We’d never get a table anywhere else,’ Gill pointed out what they all already knew.

  ‘Fair enough. OK, let’s just have something small – I don’t like letting these greedy pigs rip us off.’

  ‘Just you tell it how it is, Lisa,’ Angela said, and they all laughed.

  The women ate their vastly overpriced tapas and drank the lovely, but terribly expensive wine, as Lisa grumbled you could buy it in the supermarket for five euros, and here it cost twenty euros a bottle. They were just about to pay the bill when Debbie gasped. Walking towards them were several Gegants. They looked like contestants from the eighties TV programme It’s A Knockout.

  ‘This is so cool,’ Angela reached for her camera. Debbie clicked away with her camera phone, as Gill searched in her bag for hers. Only Lisa remained cucumber cool, sipping her wine and watching the proceedings.

  ‘It’s a bit like a fashion show,’ Lisa said, as she refilled her glass from the bottle.

  ‘Ah, I think I’ve worked it out,’ Debbie said, ‘The giants are going into the back of the building, so they can come out the front into the square.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Angela held the map and tried to orient herself.

  They watched as the Gegants filed past them. One stumbled and had to be righted by a passer-by.

  When the waiter returned, they asked for the bill, which arrived quickly. Cheers arose from the square close by and the girls hurried so as not to miss anything.

  Soon the crowds roared, as the first brightly coloured Gegant ventured forth from City Hall. The Gegant rotated and waved then started its parade through the streets, as the next in line emerged to another cheer. One by one the Gegants left the building, followed by the Capgrosses and finally a few, what looked like pantomime horses. The procession continued through the back streets, onto Via Laietana and back round to Plaça Sant Jaume, before the participants climbed the steps onto the stage.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ said Angela, ‘even better than I expected.’

  Gill tried to take pictures, but night had fallen, and the photos were so indistinct as to be useless.

  The king and queen of the Gegants began to dance together – no easy task, as each measured more than fifteen feet tall. It was almost eleven o’clock, but toddlers and children of all ages, accompanied by parents, were amongst the spectators. Three-year-olds hoisted on parents’ shoulders frustratingly blocked the girls’ view from time to time. The square was so packed with people, the girls found it difficult to move a fraction of an inch. After the king and queen, came the pantomime horses and what seemed like Morris dancers. It certainly rated as the most bizarre spectacle Gill had ever witnessed. She glanced over at Debbie, who grinned at her, as if to say, ‘Isn’t this mad?’

  The most dazzling display of fireworks, which lasted for around fifteen minutes and lit up the starry Barcelona night sky, heralded the grand finale of the event.

  Everything moved in slow motion, whilst workmen removed the barriers to help the crowds leave the immediate area.

  ‘That was amazing,’ said Angela. ‘I got some not bad photos.’

  ‘Lucky you – mine are all dark and red eye,’ Gill was disconsolate.

  ‘Don’t worry. You can have copies of mine.’

  ‘What’s the plan now?’ Debbie asked.

  ‘Well, it’s pretty late. I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve probably had enough excitement for one day. One more drink maybe, and then back to the hotel?’ Gill said, still feeling the after-effects of daytime drinking, mixed with thirty degree plus temperatures.

  ‘So I’m going clubbing myself then?’ Lisa said.

  You could never tell if Lisa was joking or not. The other three stared at her.

  ‘Kidding! What about that place there? It’s busy, but looks really nice,’ Lisa suggested, indicating a restaurant, full of Spaniards and a couple of tourists.

  ‘Why not?’ shrugged Debbie.

  As the girls sipped the brandies they had ordered, they ran through the plan for the next day. One glass led to a second, at the waiter’s insistence, but they drew a line at a third, recognising how tired and woozy they were.

  When they left the restaurant, they took the more direct route back to the hotel, via the Ramblas. They didn’t trust their judgment to find the hotel again, via a circuitous route, since their heads were a bit fuzzy and impaired by too much wine.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Saturday 24th September

  After breakfasting on churros and coffee in El Corte Inglés, the girls split into two groups. Debbie chose to go with Lisa, to the l’Illa shopping centre, as well as window-shopping in Passeig de Gràcia, whilst Angela and Gill opted for the hop on, hop off bus tour, which included the Sagrada Família and the cathedral.

  It was a good way for them to see the city and they agreed to meet the others back at the hotel late afternoon, when they would have lunch more in keeping with Spanish time.

  ‘Ah, we’re here a day and already we’re operating on local time,’ Angela joked, as she passed the bus tickets to Gill.

  ‘I know, although I could have done with another hour in bed. That much alcohol mixed with the heat kills me.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Angela nodded sagely. ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road.’

  The tour was in English and four other languages. The guide pointed out famous buildings and houses where writers and artists had lived, as the bus made its way down to the first stop, the cathedral.

  ‘I always thought the Sagrada Família was the cathedral,’ Gill scrunched up her eyebrows in puzzlement.

  ‘Ah, you’ve obviously not read all of my guidebook,’ Angela gave Gill a gentle smack on the arm with the map. ‘The cathedral is the Saint Eulalia one, down near the port. It’s Gothic and dates from the fourteenth century,’ parroted Angela.

  ‘You must have a photographic memory,’ Gill muttered.

  The girls headed downstairs when the bus neared the first stop. Dozens of tourists busily snapped away with their cameras. Some ate sandwiches on benches outside, others sat on the pavement. Gill paid the entrance fee for both of them, shooing aw
ay Angela’s offer of money.

  ‘Wow! This is really something,’ Gill’s jaw dropped, as she took in the five aisles within the church, a chapel on either side.

  They spent over an hour touring the cathedral, reading the history and studying the chapels, admiring the truncated transept and the high altar, which gave a fantastic view into the crypt.

  ‘Ew! Crypts freak me out,’ Gill shuddered, pulling her cardigan around her. ‘Have you taken all the photos you want?’

  Angela nodded.

  ‘OK, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Do you want to get back on the bus, or do you want to walk for a bit?’ Gill asked.

  Angela studied the map. ‘Well, why don’t we walk down to Barceloneta then pick the bus up further on? We really just want to have a tour around the city and get to Sagrada Família, don’t we?’

  ‘Yep. OK then.’ And they strolled down towards the port area, which proved surprisingly crowded.

  ‘Why is it so busy do you think?’ Gill asked.

  Angela pointed to the marquees ahead on Moll de la Fusta. ‘Er, I think that might be the wine festival.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Gill.

  On the promenade, roller bladers zoomed past them, almost catching them in their slipstream. Mothers and nannies with children in pushchairs strolled by, whilst cyclists pedalled past on the cycle lanes. Despite having to dodge the various obstacles, they enjoyed a pleasant walk along towards the ferris wheel at Barceloneta. It was very noisy there, but they were so thirsty, they simply had to stop and have a cold drink.

  As they sat at a café, they noticed restaurants across the street, spilling over with customers, as more clients queued on the street.

  ‘Must be good,’ Gill thumbed in the direction of the restaurants.

  ‘Yeah, I bet you the seafood down here is amazing.’

  ‘No doubt. Maybe we could come here tomorrow after the wine festival?’

  ‘Might be an idea.’

  Finishing their drinks, they consulted the map for the nearest stop to pick up the hop on, hop off bus.

  As they wandered round to check out the beach, knowing that Lisa would be interested for the next day, they wondered how the other pair was faring.

  The wait to enter the Sagrada Família seemed interminable. But despite that, it was everything the girls had expected and more. It was enormous, majestic, and towering.

  ‘No wonder they just call it Sagrada Família,’ said Angela, pointing to the plaque which read ‘Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família.’

  ‘Yeah, bit of a mouthful,’ Gill agreed. She listened whilst Angela told her how Gaudí had devoted his life to the project, and how it was only twenty-five percent complete when he died in 1926.

  ‘That’s a bit of a bummer, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, at least he left a legacy,’ Angela said, as Gill handed over their tickets.

  A quick gracias and they were in.

  ‘This is amazing,’ said Angela. Gill nodded mutely, taken aback by the sheer size of the church’s interior. The beautiful stained glass sparkled, as if brand new.

  Gill’s neck began to ache from constantly craning upwards, but there was so much to see. The detail astounded her. Particularly impressive had been the main door to the church which was covered in a jumble of letters and words. The crucifixion, suspended over the crowd, had the same effect as being in a 3D movie.

  ‘I can’t believe the others missed this,’ Angela breathed, rubbing her neck and then rolling her shoulders. ‘It’s just so...breathtaking.’

  ‘I know. I think even Lise, philistine that she is, would have been impressed.’

  Privately, Angela doubted this, but thought Debbie would have liked it, and felt a twinge of regret that she hadn’t come with them.

  They spent nearly two hours at the Sagrada Família, before Angela checked her watch and said, ‘We better get going. By the time we get back round on the bus, the others will be waiting for us.’

  Lisa and Debbie were exhausted; their feet killing them, Lisa’s in particular, as she hadn’t chosen appropriate shoes for their task.

  ‘Lise, when will you learn that shopping is a sport and you have to be dressed for it?’ Debbie despaired at her friend, as Lisa moaned once more and spying an empty seat in a pavement café, sat down heavily in it.

  ‘I need a rest.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that. Don’t take your shoes off, you’ll make it worse. Why don’t you buy a pair of flip flops?’

  ‘I can’t – all they have here are the thong type and I can’t wear those. They rub.’

  ‘You’d think you would have learned by now, Lise.’

  ‘I know, I know. Thank God we’d finished shopping.’

  ‘I am never finished shopping,’ Debbie said.

  ‘Well, at least we got what we came for.’

  ‘S’pose, and I’m not sure my credit card could take much more, anyway.’

  ‘Let’s get a drink and see how much we’ve spent, if you can stomach it.’

  ‘What, the damage or the alcohol?’ Debbie said, tying back her hair, which had come loose. ‘I’m just having a soft drink. I can’t handle wine this early in the day, or I won’t make it to tonight.’

  ‘Spoilsport,’ Lisa stuck out her tongue at her. ‘I don’t do drinking alone, you know that. It makes me feel like a mad alkie, even if I am on holiday. I’ll just have an orange juice then. They probably have freshly squeezed, eh? It’s Spain after all, Seville oranges.’

  ‘Not sure if there are any orange trees in Barcelona, mind,’ Debbie said, as she pushed her fringe back off her sweaty forehead.

  ‘Whatever, I’m sure it’ll be good. What do you want?’ Lisa asked, as the waiter approached.

  ‘I’ll have the same – you’re right, orange juice is bound to be good here.’

  As the two girls sipped their orange juices, they compared purchases and talked about how they would complement their existing wardrobes.

  Soon it was time to return to the hotel to meet the other two and slipping her feet back into her heels, Lisa hobbled off in the direction of the Ramblas, with Debbie close behind.

  As Angela and Gill wandered along to the bus stop, they could see a queue ahead of them.

  ‘There must be a bus due. What are they, every twenty minutes?’

  ‘That’s what the brochure said,’ Angela confirmed.

  ‘I’m starving. How do you fancy…?’ Gill screamed and Angela looked at her friend in alarm.

  ‘He just stole my bag. Stop! Stop that man!’ Gill sprinted along the street, but she hadn’t a hope of catching him. Angela ran along behind her, as tourists jumped out of the way. She glanced around, trying to see if there were any policemen around. No. About fifty metres ahead, the thief was just about to round a corner and disappear from sight. Just then, in the midst of the multitude of tourists trying to stay out of the way, a leg shot out, tripping the thief and making him stumble. An arm followed the leg, trying to grasp the thief’s arm. The stranger couldn’t keep his hold on him, but in the thief’s struggle to get away, he dropped Gill’s bag. The man who had intercepted the robber, picked up Gill’s bag.

  As Gill approached him, he turned to face her, ‘Yours?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, seriously out of breath. ‘Thank you so much. My passport’s in there. I don’t know what I’d have done without it.’

  ‘No problem. But I’d maybe keep my passport in the safe next time, just in case.’

  ‘I will, don’t worry. Can I give you a reward or something?’ Gill scrabbled in her bag, trying to locate her purse. Angela nudged her. The man smiled at her, bemused.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. It’s enough that you have your bag back. Enjoy the rest of your holiday,’ and with that he was gone. It wasn’t until later that Gill realised he was Scottish.

  Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She had barely felt that guy nicking her bag. They really were professionals here. Only at the last yank, had she become aware of so
mething amiss. Whilst she waited with Angela for the next bus back to the city, and as her friend tried to reassure her, Gill’s thoughts wandered back to the man who had saved the day and her bag.

  ‘Where have you two been?’ Lisa stood hands on hips, indignant at being made to wait. Debbie, unruffled, waited to hear the explanation. Her mouth dropped open as Angela told them what had occurred. Lisa realised she should have known something had happened. Gill was never late.

  ‘You’re OK, though?’ Debbie asked, concerned. ‘You’re not hurt? Nothing’s missing?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I just got a bit of a fright. Bastard! We’ll just have to be really vigilant now, as I didn’t think thieves were that blatant.’

  ‘Right, said Debbie, ‘We’re not letting them ruin our holiday. If they do, they’ve won. So, let’s put it behind us, be even more careful with our belongings, and let’s go and enjoy ourselves. What do you fancy for lunch?’

  Lisa suggested a restaurant that she and Debbie had passed earlier in Passeig de Gràcia, which served Catalan specialities.

  Gill and Angela freshened up and they all set off, Lisa first donning flat shoes.

  The restaurant was still busy, but after a ten minute wait, a waiter led them to a table. They asked for his recommendation and when he mumbled something unintelligible back to them, they decided to take a chance. When the food finally arrived, it proved to have been worth the wait.

  During lunch, Gill was itching to check her personal e-mails, to see if she had received any word from Anton, but she was standing firm for now. She had made a point of checking her work e-mail on Friday, and again for an hour that morning, just so Janice had answers on anything she needed. A few quick replies to some important clients and her e-mail had been closed down. She needed this holiday.

  Around six thirty, the girls left the restaurant and took the metro to Barceloneta. Lisa talked them into it, saying she had walked enough for one day.

  On leaving the station, they aimed for the marquees which Gill and Angela had spotted that morning, and joined the enormous queues to buy tickets for tapas and drinks.