The Dating Game (21 page)

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.

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 away 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 something 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.

‘I didn’t realise there would be food stalls, too,’ Debbie
said.

‘Yes, I wish we hadn’t just eaten,’ said Lisa glumly.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be able to fit in a few
tapas
later.  We just need to stay until it shuts,’ Angela said.

They bought two books of
tapas
tickets because they
didn’t want to have to queue later, and six books of tickets between them for
drinks.  Each book contained ten tickets.  Stalls generally offered drinks
worth two, three or four tickets.  The number of tickets required directly
correlated with the quality of the wine or cava.

The whole area was packed, with parents with children,
toddlers and even babies in buggies.

‘The Spanish way of life is certainly different, all right,’
Debbie nudged Gill.  ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking Olivia to a wine festival.’

‘Maybe you would if you lived in a climate like this,’ Gill
said, as she watched a group of children playing.  ‘The kids are all having
fun, dipping their toes in the water next to the boats.’

As the girls searched for a good stall to start at, a gap
opened up in one of the queues and they darted in there.

‘Let’s face it, none of us knows that much about wine.  As
long as it’s not a sweet, dessert wine, we’ll be OK,’ said Lisa.

The others recognised the truth in this and piled in behind
her.  Lisa also suggested they start with the cheaper wine first, as, if they
started with the classy stuff, everything else would taste awful afterwards.

Taking on board her advice yet again, the girls accepted the
glasses of white wine which the patron offered them.  They took a sip then
Angela said, ‘Made with
Xarel-lo
grapes.’