01 Sep 1985, Posted by Scott An Chora in Travelogue, No Comments.
09/01 Valencia, Spain
I woke early to the jingling and jangling of the vendors setting up the local market and was up and out in minutes following the caravan of wagons and carts down through the streets to the market. The strategy was the same, I looked for food and if I could obtain it for free, all the better. As long as we both got what we wanted out of the conversation, I could play the game. “You picked them all by hand did ya? Your fingers are too big. I think this one has been bruised. I‘ll give you this much” and driving the vendor’s last pitch down in price. Haggling is simply the field on which the conversation takes place. Sometimes if I was really good and appreciated they’d hand it over to me for free. After I ate I followed a pair of good looking young ladies, searched through a few local shops and eventually ended up in front of the American Express office. The plan was that if either one of us would be late we were to call ahead and leave a message with the receptionist. I sat there like an idiot for three hours until I decided to leave a note of my own. Last time Jim didn’t even show so I considered myself pretty stupid for investing any time at all.
My hair had grown relatively long over the past month or so and had begun looking a bit unruly. Actually it had been unruly for quite some time and the sun had given me a pretty nice tan. May time when I was in the vicinity of a train station, English-speaking tourists would commonly mistake me for a local. Initially I would refrain from saying anything until I could no longer tolerate the destruction of the English language. Then I would respond with a precise direction in English.
I smoked the roach left from the previous night and crawled off into late afternoon nap. It felt as if I was asleep for just seconds when I was awakened by a knock on the door. Jim had gotten my message. I got dressed and we wandered into the night in search for food. Eventually we settled on Chinese again. It didn’t take long for Jim to get on my nerves. While he was complaining about the service I sat there listening to him and wondering what possessed me. Why am I back in this same situation? Yet, the other side of my head kept me reminding me that friends forgive friends. That’s what friends do. But please change the fucking subject, I could care less. Okay. You had sex so let’s change the subject. When he finally did change the subject he chose another sour topic comparing his unlimited funds to my dwindling budget. It’s like he shot an arrow at a barn and then began placing circles around it. Why did I always have to remove the second domino to keep the rest standing?
The cry rose high, the dimness of the woods, me, me, me
evidence almost reaches the sky, we know it by, hear say, what a day, what a day
I was still a bit burnt out. My mind continued to waste the present on yesterday’s thoughts and I just meandered around Valencia until a mid-day trek towards Barcelona. I had been reading a travel guide and came across the description of a nice hostel about midway along our route which worked out great because I didn’t think either one of us wanted to arrive in Barcelona late into the evening. It was a nice place right on the sand with a view of the sea. It had both a basketball court and a swimming pool. There was only one problem. There were two of us and only one bed available. I offered Jim the bed on the condition that he would lend me his sleeping bag and I’d take the floor and he agreed. Once we got ourselves settled we made a b-line to the pool, shot a couple of baskets and actually met up with the two young ladies that were kind enough to finance a portion of my meal debt on that unforgettable train ride.
When it came time to sit down to a meal Jim began sporting his cart-blanche attitude. “I’m not eating in this place, I can afford much better”. I can understand wanting to eat in the best restaurant in town but my budget wasn’t open to every desire and we have already rejected four restaurants, see there was no Chinese food. When I refused to join Jim he threw a little tantrum and stormed off. It didn’t bother me at all to eat in separate places. I spent the rest of the evening along the sand with a beautiful view of the sea and the food was excellent. Not expensive but excellent. When I arrived at the hostel Jim was already there. He had spread his possessions atop the sleeping bag he had promised I could use. When I reminded him of his agreement he welched. It was like taking something away from someone else’s little baby. His crying was embarrassing to be associated with. I came real close to beating the shit out of him and would have felt good doing it but instead I decided that was it. The moral last straw. He was on his last chance and that all I needed for justification. The next time he made a wrong turn that road was his and I’d be gone. I wrapped up in my jacket and tried to get some sleep. From that point forward I started keeping one eye on the road ahead looking for just one more sharp turn, and then I would leave everything in the intersection because Jim chose to be a fucking asshole.
