What sort of person am I?

I came out here knowing this was out of character for me.  I knew that I was the sort of person that needed the security of a secure job and that if I didn't have that then I start to panic.

Why then did I jack my job in and leave home for the city of Barcelona?

I think it's because that although I'm someone that may need that secure income I'm also someone that is a little on the creative side. I'm a photographer, I write, I create pictures on photoshop and in my last job I created a parody Twitter account taking the piss out of the place.

The mundane 9-5 Monday - Friday was killing me.  I know that I'm certainly not the sort of person that does that, I'm not a cog in a machine that is largely ignored by my superiors.  I'm not a robot that fills a position that anyone can fill.

I recognise that I'm an individual, that the pattern of my day can be shaped by the decisions that I choose to make.

So what was I hoping to find in Barcelona?  Was I expecting it to be a place that hands out jobs to people that qualify themselves as a "creative person"?

No, that's not what I was expecting to find.  I was expecting to find a city with 50% youth unemployment, a city bustling with people looking for work, a city that doesn't need an English man who can speak little Spanish getting in the way making the place look untidy.

For the first couple of months I was expecting a job that just about covered my rent, cleaning maybe, a bit of bar work, something that benefits from the booming tourist industry.

But from there I was hoping to find a job that would pay me well enough to do what I wanted in life, whatever that is, it changes each day.

So this time last week you may remember I had an interview for a job?  Yeah, that finished.  I was working for a company that sells bar crawls to people.  They pay 15€ of which I get 5€ and that entitles them to enter all the bars for the night plus the club they’re going to.  They get a free beer and free shot in the first bar and then a free shot in every bar thereafter. 

Plus they can use it every night they're in Barcelona.  It starts in March and runs until October so if you happened to be in Barcelona for the entire time then paying 15€ for a deal that runs for seven months is a bargain.  However most people are here for the week, if you can catch them on day one you can really sell it to them.

It was commission only, I'm fine with that.  You can live in their digs at about 70€ a week and it doesn't matter how much you sell, for me as long as I was covering my outgoings.

On my first full day of working alone I was approached on the beach by a guy who, ironically, was wearing one of the t-shirts we were giving out as part of the deal.  He told me he was a police officer (working undercover) and that selling on the beach is illegal and if he caught me doing it again then he would fine me 150€.  

From this point I had a decision to make, I could carry on and risk paying 150€ without making any money or just stop there and then and concentrate on finding other work.

I chose the latter.  I was finding out what sort of person I was, I'm not the sort of person that is willing to take that much of a risk.  We'll never know if it would have worked but I feel more confident that I've done the right thing.

I didn't really have a problem with the illegality of it, it's a victimless crime and to any Spanish law officials who might be reading this if you really wanted to clamp down on it you would do.  You know who the clubs and bars are that obviously benefit from this "scam", let's not make out that this is morally unjust.  I couldn't carry on doing it with no guarantee of success and the possibility of a fine.

Another thing that also had me jumping for joy last Sunday, sort of, was the promise of a meeting with a woman from a postcard company about selling her some pictures for postcards.

We were contacting eachother via email, we arranged to meet each other in a cafe on La Rambla and she asked for my phone number.  I told her that there was no point in her having my phone number as my phone had been stolen.

She told me that she regretted that I had not included my phone number, but again I told her that my phone had been stolen, she didn't reply.  I emailed her later that day but said in Spanish that my phone had been stolen.  That was a week ago and received no reply since.  I was at the cafe on Thursday when she said to meet but again nothing.  What have I got to do, eh?

She wants to meet but then all of a sudden she doesn't just because she can't speak to me on the phone?  It pisses me off.  I've sent her samples of my work, even that I normally do football photography so if she could get me into the Camp Nou , that would be cool, I could do pictures of the Barcelona players for her to sell, still nothing.  I'm glad I'm not the sort of person that gets people's hopes up like that.  I'll gladly admit that I'm the sort of person that wants to smash her in the face with a large plank of wood though.

Oh, speaking of violence I was in a club on Friday night.  I was sat down minding my own business when a girl sat next to me.  I said hello and asked where she was from then suddenly out of nowhere a hand pushed my head away from her.  Her boyfriend wasn't happy that I was talking to something that he considered to be his.  I tried to apologise to him but he wasn't having it, he told me to go and stand out of his way so I went and bought a drink. 

Hopefully he'll do it again to someone who he misjudges the size of and gets the kicking he deserves.  To be honest I was honoured he considered me to be a threat but he obviously didn't trust her if he won't allow a guy to talk to her when she was only two feet away. A happy relationship.

After buying my drink I returned to the scene of the crime but they'd gone.  I sat down where I was previously and a guy was sat nearby.  I checked that wasn't a threat to anyone and started chatting to him.  He was originally from Saudi Arabia but grew up/lived in Preston, England.

We chatted for a bit, I hung around, danced, drank, had a good time and noticed that up on the stage next to the DJ, Philip Bader, was a photographer.  It was the flash that caught my eye.  "I bet I could do that job without using the flash" I thought to myself.  Then it hit me, a possible flaw in the market?  Take pictures of people in clubs and sell them to them?  Something I need to explore.

Saturday afternoon/evening I did a free walking tour, I gave the guy 10€ at the end. I learnt a lot about Gaudi and Catalonia.  Afterwards there was a BBQ on a roof terrace at the top of a hostel.  5€ for a beer and a burger.  I chatted with a number of English people all of whom are living and working around Barcelona.  The guy who was doing the best for himself was a guy who is teaching English.

He earns 50€ an hour from some clients.  He has five students from the Catalan Parliament, he teaches them all at the same time so for that hour makes 250€.  That's most of your months rent paid for over here.

The two things he told me were that the TEFL (Teach English as a Foreign Language) thing is useless and you don't need it.  If you were going for a job in a school or institution maybe but generally not and he's never been asked. The second thing was, this counts for anywhere, the good people will find work, the shit people won't.  Those were he's exact words, if you're good enough you'll find it, it all depends on what sort of person you are.

Those words have stuck with me ever since.

I'm thinking about the TEFL thing and still thinking about doing it, it's just that little bit of security that I need.  With that I just think I'll get more contacts etc.  I'll need funding for it but I'm working on that and have a few ideas.

I went and asked for work in an Irish bar today.  It's right near the Segrada Familia.  While I sat waiting for it to open I thought about the story of my adventures in Barcelona.  I can see the early foundations of a book in the making.

The sort of person I am is the sort of person that likes to tell stories.  Everything that happens in my life I think about incorporating it into a story somehow.  I'm not going to enjoy life by climbing any career ladder but what I can do is tell a story.  If I can fund that by living, working, teaching in Barcelona then I'll be happy.

One week I've been here.....

.....and I found a job!  I'm working as a promotor for a Bar Crawl company, it's commission only and while I may not make mega bucks it's a start.  I'll be meeting loads of great people, it will fund me for a while out here, I can learn the language etc, this basically gives me a foundation for creating a life for myself out here.

Some of this was written on Tuesday and some was written on Thursday evening.

Okay so what did I spend the week doing?  I've not really done much touristy stuff, doing a lot of walking around but it is hot, I don't think a day has been below 30 and there has been no rain.  Hard for you to be reading this as I believe it's been raining a lot in the UK?

Everything over here is just amazing.  I love the streets, the architecture, the marina, the statues, the different nationalities of people.  Go to the beach in the day time, spend a bit of time gawping at Gaudi's works of art and then in the evening go to a bar and get pissed.

I spent two hours on Sunday evening in a bar called Cheers talking to a Scouse bloke, he was over with his misses who was from Blackpool.

I've left the first hostel I was staying in and I'm now in a new hostel, it's bigger and more well known.  I preferred the old hostel if I'm honest, no-one seems to talk to each other here as much although there are one or two that make the effort.

Tuesday I had my job "interview". It wasn't that really.  I'm working as a promoter trying to sell a bar crawl to people.  It's hard, you have to keep going, again and again and again despite the rejection after rejection.

I'll find something better and more permanent soon but for now this will do.

I went along on Tuesday night after the promise of a pool party at the end.

I got into the first bar where everyone meets and got talking to some people.  We left the first bar and were on our way to the second when a sweet innocent voice from behind me said "where are we?"  

I turned and replied "On La Rambla".

As I turned I saw a sweet innocent face to match the voice.  

I got talking to her only to find out that she was 20 years old, from Holland and here by herself.  Not just on the bar crawl by herself but actually in Barcelona by herself.  

Knowing what kind of car crash night we were in for I took it upon myself to look after her.  As we made our way around all the different bars and talking with her extensively I wondered to myself why on earth is such a bright and intelligent young woman out here on one of these nights where you're encouraged to chuck as much alcohol down your throat as possible?

We both watched open jawed as we saw people with a long tube in their mouth funnelling beer down their throats.  Literally the other end of the tube was connected to a funnel and beer was being poured in.  Obviously you weren't allowed to take your mouth away until it had all gone.  And this is what I now do for a job.

Shortly after we saw this we left, we never made it to the pool party.  We were both tired so I offered to walk her back to her hostel.  We she said that wasn't necessary I said that if I didn't do it and my dad had found out that I hadn't he would beat the shit out of me.  A slight lie but I needed to let her know that I wasn't taking no for an answer.

I walked her back to her hostel and we agreed to meet up the following day so that I could take her to see the sights.  

We met at 11am.  First I took her to the Sagrada Familia, an obvious must, but as we'd both seen it and there was a long queue we didn't bother going in.

Next up was mount Tibidabo, it's a journey of metro, tram and funicular.  Then once you're at the pretend top there are stairs, then a lift, then many many more stairs.  Then you're like "oh, I finally made it to the top" only to find out there are more stairs.

But once you do make it to the real top the view of Barcelona below is simply breathtaking.

"You were right, it was worth it" she told me.

After this we went back to La Rambla and got a bite to eat, I had a Macdonalds while she had some fruit.  By now it was 3pm, we'd both had little sleep and had walked up about one billion steps.  We knew we wanted to do something together in the evening so we decided to spend a few hours maybe having a sleep or whatever and meet back at 7:30pm.

We did just this and in the evening went to visit the Olympic Stadium and Mount Juic.  Again simply breathtaking views.

Back to La Rambla for some pizza and we went our separate ways.  She flew home on Thursday and I went to start my job signing people up for voluntary alcohol poisoning.

This is my life now, people passing in and out saying goodbye before I've had a chance to say hello.

Hopefully I've made a friend for life.

Does luck happen by chance or does it happen through asking enough questions?

So I arrived safely, after a four hour delay, got through customs swiftly and then waiting watching, with everyone else, an empty motionless carousel as we waited in baggage claim.... for thirty minutes!!

As I'm obviously on a budget (buzz word of the day) I decided that I was going to get to Barcelona city centre for as cheap as possible, which meant railway and then changing onto the metro.  The railway station for Barcelona airport is in terminal two, I was in terminal one *sigh*.  By this time it's getting on for 11pm, 10pm UK time and I'd been up for 17 hours. I had some stuff to sort back home before my departure so was up earl you.  Fine don't worry, onwards and upwards, life is journey.

Bought my ticket for one journey, eventually, into Barcelona knowing I would need another for the metro.  Got on the train and was on my way.  I changed at the first station that I could see had a metro, Bellvitga, as I thought it would be pretty simple.  A ten minute walk between the two stations though so  Google maps came in handy, I don't get charged extra for using my phone in Spain as I'm on Three.  I was on 4% battery though.

The station I thought I was looking for to get off was Arc de Triofm, don't start, I was in the correct European city, look it up if you don't believe me but then I looked on my iPad and the station was actually Glóries.

I got off the metro at 12:12 Barcelona time, 23:12 UK time, exactly 12 hours to the minute when I left Gravesend on the train and I was finished with transport networks, I would be doing the rest on foot.

I walked around for a bit but my iPad, also on Three, was not picking up the network.  I had google maps on so I could work out where I was but it wasn't showing me anywhere that I wanted.  No hostel and no street name.

I asked in a few hotels, got sent down one street, and then down another.

It turns out I had slightly misjudged where exactly it was.  The metro station I needed was the Arc de Triomf, I should have guessed, the hostel was called aRC hOUSE, the reversal on the capital letters is deliberate.

I walked back to Glóries metro station to find it all locked up.  Walking at 1am local time wasn't all bad.  Okay so I had all of my shit, a 15KG rucksack plus my hand luggage, it took about twenty minutes to walk to the area.  I spent another ten minutes looking for the exact location but when I found it I was cursing under my breath, pissed off, tired and alone.

It was like someone up there, I'm definitely not religious, threw me a life line when they could see if had enough of pacing the streets of Barcelona in the wee small hours.

I walked into the hostel and despite carrying all that weight I felt like I had some of it lifted off my shoulders.

The journey wasn't quite over yet.  I walked up the stairs to two locked doors.  There was also a wall of that thick rich crystallised glass, I could see someone through it but wasn't up for a row with someone convincing them that I had a room.

There was a message on the door saying to people that for out of hours check-ins please call.... but of course my phone had died.

Check-in closed at 10pm, at that time I was waiting in baggage claim waiting for my bag.  Cheers Vueling Airlines, a Spanish low budget airline company.  You feel like it was a long time ago reading that on my blog, think how I felt at that time.

Back in the street, about thirty feet from where the hostel entrance was I remember seeing a cafe just closing up, I made my way there, charged my phone, got a drink and had a bit of a refresh. 

Once he was done I had to go, but where too?  Worst case scenario I would stay on the floor.  Just as I got to the top of the stairs the door opened, there comes that "end of my tether life line again".

I chatted with the girl that opened it, she'd arrived late too.  They'd sent her a code to a box on the wall with a key in it that opened the door.  Thankfully she remembered that code and what do you know there was a key, number 10,  in there for me.

I thanked her and made my way.  I found the spare bed without waking anyone else up, in the bunk above a girl was watching something on her iPad.  We quietly introduced ourselves and she confirmed the bed was mine.

I dumped my stuff but weirdly wasn't quite ready for bed, I was relieved.  I made my way to the kitchen where there were two guys and two girls.  One of the guys and one of the girls were chatting cooking spaghetti while the other guy and girl were sat chatting.  

When their meal was ready I made my way to bed.

This was my first couple of hours in Barcelona.  I'd portly planned the journey from the airport to the hostel but twice when I needed a helping hand from the universe I felt like I'd got it. See below for my opinion on this.

Have I poorly planned this I thought to myself this morning.  Will I return to Britain in a month with my tail between my legs having failed to crack Barcelona?

Once up and wide awake I had a shower and a shave.  Half way through shaving my electric razor broke.  I now had a half shaven face and a broken razor.  I think it might be water damage.

I got dressed and made myself look as presentable as I could with a face half full of hair and made enquires at the desk about somewhere I could buy a razor.  He directed me to the supermarket and off I went.  I saw plenty of the ordinary manual razors but I've always had a bit of a problem with those.  I lack confidence so never tried one.  After trying to see if they sold electric razors and finding out that they didn't I went all out and bought a manual one instead.  I got the shaving foam and went back to the hostel.

I've never done this before so I was completely out of my comfort zone.  I'm not sure what it is but I think I just don't trust it.  You've got a blade next to your neck for crying out loud.  I've always felt a lot more confident doing it with an electric razor, there's a sentence I never thought I'd hear…..

I've done it now though, not perfect, I cut myself a few times but I look okay, I missed a few bits but I'll have another go tomorrow.

I'm more upbeat now than I was four hours ago.  I'm sat in an Irish bar having a couple of pints of beer watching the Ashes.  We also watched the final of the Australian Rugby League Super Bowl Cup Final Champions Cup Extravaganza thing.  Some Old team beat New South Wales by 52-6, I think.  Some fans of the winning team were sat in the bar, loudly, watching the game.

It's just off La Rambla.  I came here because I know it's touristy.  I think I can do something in that field.

If you've been to La Rambla and if you've been to Barcelona then you've been to La Rambla then you'll know that it's a normal street, pavements at the side, the road in the but in the middle of that  is one long pavement, quite wide and this is Barcelona’s Covent Garden, it is where the street performers go but the trouble with this is there's no shops.  They're at the pavements to the side.

I went into one straight away.  A tourist shop selling all the usual tat. Postcards are what I'm looking at and who supplies them.  If I can get some pictures, send them on then perhaps they'll hire me as a photographer?  This is the kind of thing I'm aiming for but if I also see a sign in the window that says cleaner required I'm there.

I tried a few shops and as I made my way up La Rambla I saw a guy handing out leaflets.  At first I wasn't interested, I told him no, I then changed my mind and said go on then.  I took one and walked off.

The leaflets were advertising an Irish pub just around the corner.  I went back to him and asked him where exactly it was.  He gave me directions and I made my way. I'm there now, writing this on my phone.

I have the email so I can send them my CV.  

The point is I said no and then said yes, a lifeline perhaps.  I'm not resting on lifelines. When I woke up this morning I was ready to come home thinking it wasn't going to work, it may still not but I'm very up and down.  As long as I continue to plough on.  Whenever my head drops I will do something constructive to make it work.  Every time I ask "have you got any work" I have 50/50 chance of making it work and getting a yes.

Once I get that yes I'm away.

This is my opinion on whether I got a helping hand from the universe.  I didn't, I made it happen. The only thing that was really lucky was that the girl was coming out of the hostel just as I was coming in. I made the rest came off because of my perseverance.  I found the hostel because I didn't give up looking, I got the lead about the job in the bar because I made it happen.  If Barcelona works or not it will be down to me, I can do it but I'm the one that needs to make it happen.