This way back to theBack to LEDEWeb.
July in Barcelona is always warm but we had run into an oppressive hot spell. It would reach 100 degrees that day. Budget backpacking around Europe is a real mixed blessing on days like that. Air conditioning is a fantasy even at the nicer pensiones and we were twice our daily budget away from those. Showers are almost futile because you are no sooner stepping out into the narrow stone streets when a motor scooter speeds by dusting you in exhaust. Under these circumstances there is only one place to go.
There was no hiding how excited my girlfriend Tina and our friend Cheech were to see a European beach. This would be the first beach any of us had ever been to on a continent other than North America. Somehow this was important. The waters would be bluer and the sand whiter. The wind would carry fragrances we had never smelled before.
We took the subway to Estacion de Sants where Tina went into action. She was our official translator by virtue of her two years of high school Spanish and her Italian heritage. I think the latter of the two qualifications got her farthest. She had a strong vocabulary of hand signals. Tina bought the tickets and handed them out. I took the time to put Tina's and my ticket in the zipped front pouch of my backpack. Cheech had a large duffel bag with a shoulder strap in which she placed her ticket.
Descending beneath the station to the trains we discovered that we were not the only young travelers escaping to the beach. Our platform was packed, sweaty body to sweaty body. It looked as if everyone in Barcelona under the age of 25 had decided to take this train. A powerful collection of smells hung in the stale air and though there was stiff competition from an inversion layer of exhaust the smell of body odor was the dominant fragrance. It was hot and humid despite being under ground.
It was not long before I developed a dryness in the back of my throat. I took out a bottle of water I had purchased at the open air market on Las Ramblas and took a drink. Tina and Cheech had decided to wait until we got to the beach to buy their bottles probably because they knew they could get a sip out of mine if needed. Understanding this, I passed the bottle around. As I was returning it to my backpack a particularly dirty and rather smelly young Spanish man approached with a friend. He motioned for the bottle and asked for a drink. A momentary feeling of panic ran up my spine. There were a lot of untidy people surrounding us but this guy took the cake. I would not want to touch the bottle after he drank it much less drink from it again. A quick glance at Tina and Cheech confirmed the disgust I felt as it was mirrored in their faces. But something took a hold of me. I wanted to be the compassionate youth not the ugly American. So I gave him the bottle.
I looked away, feigning indifference as he prepared to drink. My brief moment of indecision had been long enough for us to become the center of attention at our end of the platform. It amused me to see that the look of disgust so brazenly displayed on Tina and Cheech's faces was appearing on the faces of Spaniards and tourists all around us. But no sooner had I noticed this when the expressions changed to amazement. I turned around to see a foot long, unbroken stream of water delicately leaving the top of the bottle and disappearing down the Spaniard's sweat streaked throat. And with a tilt of his wrist the stream of water stopped and the bottle was returned to me. Amazingly, not a drop spilled. And, more importantly, the bottle did not touch his lips.
A wave of mixed feelings washed over me. Certainly I was glad he had been courteous enough to preserve the cleanliness of our bottle but there was a part of me which felt bad about feeling disgusted in the first place. As I was digesting what had just happened I looked for his friend who , I was certain, would want the bottle next. He, however, had circled around the back of Tina and Cheech andproceeded to leave the platform. Our talented water drinker followed him up the stairs. The crowd turned away and a low multi-lingual murmur could be heard. Tina for her part was delighted at the unexpected courtesy displayed by the now less disgusting Spaniard. But she was quick to scold me for endangering the water supply that way. After all, not all young, smelly Spaniards would be so skillful.
We returned to our waiting and I pondered what had just happened. Yes, next time I would refuse and just be an unfeeling bastard. But what were the chances of this occurring again? How many people will ever be approached in the same way under similar circumstances much less do the approaching? The whole thing was just strange. I began to feel uneasy.
An antiquated train finally rolled up and we joined the crush to get on. Not knowing for sure when we would be asked for our tickets I retrieved them from my pack but Cheech couldn't find hers. She dug around quickly finding it had slipped down inside her bag. As we boarded I reminded Cheech to zip up her bag because crowded trains offer ample opportunity to be pick pocketed. We pressed far into the car and stood in a corner. The number of passengers grew to the point where I could not see the door through which we had just entered. A few long minutes passed before the train lurched forward. Finally we were on our way.
Upon reaching Villanueva y Geltro we pushed our way off the train and took a deep breath of saltwater air. My mood was improving. The Mediterranean rose in the distance and I started walking towards it but my friends were insistent on making a detour towards a stand selling water. Tina did not trust my assurances I would not endanger our water supply again. She insisted on having her own bottle. Cheech as well wanted a bottle of water and one of those Italian ice cream cones. But when Cheech started looking for the fanny pack containing her wallet she could not find it. She had placed it on top of the towel in her duffel bag, or at least she thought, but it was not to be found in the duffel bag at all. Tina and Cheech then discussed whether or not she had left it on the bed in the pensione. Cheech was certain she had brought it. Tina did not remember seeing her bring it.
I listened to the two of them retrace our steps that morning and when they got to the scene on the platform at Estacion de Sants the sense of panic returned. The oddities of the water bottle incident at once became clear creating a lump in my throat like peanut butter and wonder bread. We had been scammed. Our two dirty friends had orchestrated the picture perfect pick pocketing. They worked as a team. One distracted while the other lifted Cheech's fanny pack out of her OPEN duffel bag. Cheech had not zipped it back up after she put her ticket in it. I had noticed her oversight but had not said anything to her thinking we would be safe until we got on the train. How naive. How stupid. Wow, we were so easily fooled. Hell, everyone standing at that end of the platform had probably been fooled. What he did was pretty amazing. But had he spilled water all over his face he still would have succeeded. We had been sitting ducks.