The Pickpocket's Choreography
What does a book called Frommer's 500 Places to See Before They Disappear have to do with hanging out this evening with a bunch of writers? Simple. Writers' creative brains fire off questions, challenges, ideas which bounce off any object lying in sight. Lidia -- one of my writerly friends -- begged me to tell her about Barcelona, and I jotted off a quick story, which I will tell you in a moment. But, then there was more story to tell, and when I got home, I saw Frommer's book sitting on my desk.
Inside Frommer's book -- under Barcelona -- is La Sagrada Familia. Architect Antonio Gaudi began the church in 1882, and although he died in 1926, the church is not due to be completed until 2026. Regretably, I did not have a long enough package of time to see Gaudi's creation...but I did, serendipitously, see one of his other works.
I shadowed three students for a podcast about ESADE Business School. The two guys are married, with children.
But, Tilde is single and ready for adventure, so we go out for Tapas my last night in Barcelona. We follow every impulse -- music signals us to dive down an alley and we find street musicians and folk dancers.
Then we dash into Church where Tilde shows me how to tell how popular the saints are by the number of candles on the table before them. This was one of the loveliest:
We try Tapas, enjoying the wonderful concoctions -- many unknown ingredients -- and head for coffee. At one point, I notice how Tilde's impulses and mine are completely aligned, and I say, "Tilde, are you a Leo?"
"Yes,"she replies.
"A July Leo?" I ask.
"Yes," she says, "July 27th."
"I'm July 28th!" I say. And as we open the door to the coffee shop, there are no empty tables, only two tall velvet red stuffed chairs one on each side of the front door -- looking very regal, as if for two Leo's.
But then the table right in front of the window empties, and we grab it. We sit in front of the plate glass window as if we are seated for a performance. And we get one.
A group of guys probably in their mid-twenties stand in front of the window on the alley, their backs to our window, letting the women go by, but cheerfully swinging their arms around men who walk by, and chatting them up. What's up here. We are missing something. The third time this happens, we see the fingers pull bills and a gold credit card from a man's wallet, which flies into the air and lands on the sidewalk. The guy points it out, and we think, "That's nice, he's letting him know his wallet fell out of his pocket." We think, "Did we see the wallet open? Did we see money and cards taken out?"
You know what's coming, don't you.
Two men, who had been seated near us in the coffee shop leave, and suddenly there's a bit more investment in our watching this street theatre. The guy -- with a grown-out mohawk and a striped shirt -- has to reach up to swing his arm, friendly-like, around the man's shoulder. The man is cordial, polite. But, then we see the guy swing his bent leg around the man's left leg. Our man gets what these guys are up to -- why did we not notice this before. The friendliness is an illusion. The guy flips the wallet out of the man's pocket, slick and fast slides the bills out, and drops the wallet on the ground. The man gives chase. His friend calls the policia. Suddenly, there is no one in the alley. No one at all. Tilde and I are dazzled by the pickpocket's choreography, the speed, the skill, but also the predictability -- once we got it. Policia dash by. Then our man comes back. He comes into the coffee shop.
"Girls, watch out," he says to us. "Did you see it? Could you identify the guys?"
"Yes," we say.
"I got my money back," he says. "I left all my credit cards in the hotel. Careful of your purses." And he is gone.
Tilde and I hug our purses, and get on the subway for her home and my hotel. It is windy, and I tell her I am so sorry I had to miss Gaudi's work. She smiles, and points. Just ahead is one of his architectural works:
Check out the gargoyle on the right, and the fascinating tile work on the building. It's pure confection. I still want to see La Sagrada Familiar -- and this trip has reminded me how much I dearly love to travel. I'll keep Frommer's book for reference.
Windblown and exhiliarated, Tilde and I stop by Hotel Sansi where I am staying, and accidentally wake up the night manager who snaps this photograph for us:
Tilde -- from Denmark -- on the left. Amazing original artwork behind us.
Hasta Luego, Espana de la corazon.
Inside Frommer's book -- under Barcelona -- is La Sagrada Familia. Architect Antonio Gaudi began the church in 1882, and although he died in 1926, the church is not due to be completed until 2026. Regretably, I did not have a long enough package of time to see Gaudi's creation...but I did, serendipitously, see one of his other works.
I shadowed three students for a podcast about ESADE Business School. The two guys are married, with children.
But, Tilde is single and ready for adventure, so we go out for Tapas my last night in Barcelona. We follow every impulse -- music signals us to dive down an alley and we find street musicians and folk dancers.
Then we dash into Church where Tilde shows me how to tell how popular the saints are by the number of candles on the table before them. This was one of the loveliest:
We try Tapas, enjoying the wonderful concoctions -- many unknown ingredients -- and head for coffee. At one point, I notice how Tilde's impulses and mine are completely aligned, and I say, "Tilde, are you a Leo?""Yes,"she replies.
"A July Leo?" I ask.
"Yes," she says, "July 27th."
"I'm July 28th!" I say. And as we open the door to the coffee shop, there are no empty tables, only two tall velvet red stuffed chairs one on each side of the front door -- looking very regal, as if for two Leo's.
But then the table right in front of the window empties, and we grab it. We sit in front of the plate glass window as if we are seated for a performance. And we get one.
A group of guys probably in their mid-twenties stand in front of the window on the alley, their backs to our window, letting the women go by, but cheerfully swinging their arms around men who walk by, and chatting them up. What's up here. We are missing something. The third time this happens, we see the fingers pull bills and a gold credit card from a man's wallet, which flies into the air and lands on the sidewalk. The guy points it out, and we think, "That's nice, he's letting him know his wallet fell out of his pocket." We think, "Did we see the wallet open? Did we see money and cards taken out?"
You know what's coming, don't you.
Two men, who had been seated near us in the coffee shop leave, and suddenly there's a bit more investment in our watching this street theatre. The guy -- with a grown-out mohawk and a striped shirt -- has to reach up to swing his arm, friendly-like, around the man's shoulder. The man is cordial, polite. But, then we see the guy swing his bent leg around the man's left leg. Our man gets what these guys are up to -- why did we not notice this before. The friendliness is an illusion. The guy flips the wallet out of the man's pocket, slick and fast slides the bills out, and drops the wallet on the ground. The man gives chase. His friend calls the policia. Suddenly, there is no one in the alley. No one at all. Tilde and I are dazzled by the pickpocket's choreography, the speed, the skill, but also the predictability -- once we got it. Policia dash by. Then our man comes back. He comes into the coffee shop.
"Girls, watch out," he says to us. "Did you see it? Could you identify the guys?"
"Yes," we say.
"I got my money back," he says. "I left all my credit cards in the hotel. Careful of your purses." And he is gone.
Tilde and I hug our purses, and get on the subway for her home and my hotel. It is windy, and I tell her I am so sorry I had to miss Gaudi's work. She smiles, and points. Just ahead is one of his architectural works:
Check out the gargoyle on the right, and the fascinating tile work on the building. It's pure confection. I still want to see La Sagrada Familiar -- and this trip has reminded me how much I dearly love to travel. I'll keep Frommer's book for reference.Windblown and exhiliarated, Tilde and I stop by Hotel Sansi where I am staying, and accidentally wake up the night manager who snaps this photograph for us:
Tilde -- from Denmark -- on the left. Amazing original artwork behind us. Hasta Luego, Espana de la corazon.
Labels: adventure, Barcelona, book review, FROMMER'S 500 PLACES TO SEE BEFORE THEY DISAPPEAR, Gaudi, Hotel Sansi, pickpockets, Tilde, Writers
posted by Diana Page Jordan @ 10:10 PM
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