Rain in bcn=Chaos

my roomies and i

This is Susanna and Sergi; this is us at Sant Pol's Festa Major, taking a break from all the dancing. Susanna and Sergi have to be two of the most informed Barceloneans I know. You can ask them just about anything and they either know it or find out. As an added bonus,I consider Susanna one of my greatest friends here. She is worth gold.

The rain pattering on my window this morning is taking me back to last week's storm and I can't help but jump out of my bed and write about that "memorable" experience. Weeks before, while having a clara somewhere on a terrace in the stifling humid heat, Susanna informed me that when it rains in bcn, everything falls apart. I nodded and said, "I bet," with little interest. "Everything" she repeated, "the metros stop running, the streets flood, the electricity goes out, wait, you'll see." I have learned that Susanna is never wrong when it comes to what she knows about this city. She was born here, she's curious, she finds things out, so when it comes to a warning, I should listen. And then it rained. No, it thunderstormed non-stop and I went to sleep, dreaming about sugar plums and fairies. The next morning, I had to be up at 6am to go to work, out by the airport. I woke up to a dark dark sky, as if forecasting the destiny of that day. I pattered my way to the kitchen to make my coffee and yougurt with papaya and honey, when I suddenly found myself in a small tide pool. In my kitchen. The kitchen was completely flooded. It was too early to care. I made my coffee and left the water.

7am, I headed to the metro station. The closest entrance was shut, it was flooded. The train was late, the tracks at another station were flooded. The metro I had to transfer to wasn't running, it was flooded. I opted for Renfe, the train train, I had to be outside of bcn, near the airport in less than half an hour. One of the stations was closed, the power had gone out so the train simply didn't stop there. Mind you, a train full of wet stressed out men and women in suits trying to get to work. No fun. On the way to my next class, after the chaotic morning I had experienced, I found myself facing the same issues. Everything seemed to have gone wrong, the city was falling apart and it was only the first day of rain...they forecasted four days of storms! And then life slapped me on the face.

In one of the stations, as I'm trying to find the quickest way to work, taxi, bus anything, I hear a voice breaking in English and I see a grandfather and his grandson trying to make words out in Spanish to the lady in the ticket booth. I stopped and asked if they needed help translating. The grandson, relieved, quickly replied, "Please." And the grandfather, tears in his eyes, tells me he just got in with his grandson from England, for the first time to bcn, and they stole his wallet in the train. He was devasted. My heart tore into a million pieces to see this man, humble, trying to show his grandson a new place and some heartless creature out there had stolen his travelling money. I tried to console him with the fact that he still had his passport which was the most important part and we spoke to a security guard who told him what to do. But that old man's voice, his anger and sadness, ate me alive and it no longer mattered that I was late, that everything in bcn runs on threads. This man had probably saved up months for this and in a second it was gone. Just like that something can get taken away from you, especially if you're not watching. And if I have learned something, it is to always be aware of the beauty and danger. not to miss out on that that surrounds me. And that when it rains in bcn, nothing works.

The rain has started again with thunder and all. Luckily, it's Saturday and I don't have to go anywhere if I don't want to. This is the romance of living abroad, nothing is easy, but it always makes a good story.