Wanky Old Fart

Oh dear. Ila and I flew to Barcelona today to start her intensive spanish courses, which I may now attend as well. My spanish is a little rusty.

So we fly in and the plane was pretty cramped. That's what you expect from a cut rate airline. We made it to Barc only a little behind schedule and worked our way to the Train station. After we waited a long time on the train we finally pushed off. We weren't exactly sure which station to get off at, but we thought we would head into town and if we couldn't find our apartment we could take a cab there.

So we are standing on the train with tons of travelers when this man approaches us. He was probably in his 50's with grey hair, a belly and shorts. He was also wearing a Liverpool jersey. So he looks me square in the eye and says, "I know and English native speaker when I see one." I figured I had nothing to lose by talking to the guy, after all, he could have been a very nice Brit. But then whatever was coming out of his mouth certainly wasn't English.

"Are yus from Wales dere, yore pale. Ifink yu from the see-coast?" and other such ramblings. He continued sort of talking to us, and it was fine for a while when we could understand him. But most of the time he was talking and we had no idea was in the world he was saying.

"Ah jus' got back from Ree-oh Jan-ee-row (Rio de Janeiro) an it was nice. (Undiscernable mutterings) Yu coul' just flah-ee tah Salvador. An yu's coul' getta get-up if yu like. Der was Lewis Vitton, Christian Dwyor, Armanio or whatever. Nice."

And then he continued hitting on us, saying how he got kicked out of his hotel because the hotel owner thought he wanted to sleep with the owners daughter who worked there. (He claims he wasn't but by the end of the conversation Ila and I were convinced he had been trying to.)

So then after he thought Marco was gay (I called him Marcolito and he thought I said Marguerita) and I was going to pick up all the Spanish guys, we managed to pawn him off onto another poor unsuspecting soul.

The rest of the train ride was spent trying to avoid eye contact with him and sorting out what kind of retarded he was. It was interesting, really.

And the girl who we pawned him off on knew Barc so she told us what stop to get off at. She walked us out of the station, and he wanted directions as well. So he was following us for a bit and then he asked how to get out and she said, whichever way is fine. At that point, she went with us to the right and we parted ways with the Wanky Old Fart as I will call him. I immediately asked her if she had ever met anyone as weird as that. She replied only once. Some Japanese business man she sat next to on a trans-atlantic flight who hated his boss. Other than that, he was the weirdest.

So we managed to get to the apartment easily enough, just a few blocks walk. Ila of course didn't know the apartment number (she was hoping names would be on the door buzzer) and they weren't. So, I had to find a payphone, figure out how to work it and then call the guy as she was standing outside.

So the apartment is really nice! We have our own wing virtually, and the place is light and clean. The guy who lives here is really cool and accomodating, from Manchester, England. And if you know anything about Chicago we are staying in the equivalent of Boys Town. Yeah. Ila and I got dinner around the corner and realized people probably thought we were a couple. Oh well, it's at least a safe neighborhood!

She starts her classes tomorrow, and I think I will try to get into the same thing. I want to improve my Spanish and I really have nothing better to do.

Oh, and our apartment is a 15 minute straight shot to Barceloneta beach. I hope no one in the future says I am pale from Wales!