No sooner on the street the next morning, someone offered hashish for a price. Advised to be wiser than their age and desires, "no thanks" was their prudent reply. After a jaunt through the great cemetery of Barcelona with its white vaults piled high like apartment buildings shining in the bright sun, shoeshine boys hustled them into a foyer off the Ramblas, tapping cleats on desert boots without permission, grabbing more pesetas than the job was worth.
There’s nothing like being taken for a fool in a foreign city to make a day long recalled; another lesson learned for our young innocents abroad. Egos and wallets bashed about, our pilgrims would’ve headed for what served as home, save for the appearance of another American son; call him “Esquire,” for his name is long forgotten. Staying at the Francia, a few years older, and free to travel Europe on his father’s money, he was like an angel sent from heaven, bringing renewed incentive and cash to our wary travelers.
This is good. Not fun to be taken advantage of, for sure. So once in a lifetime one can honestly say thanks to the divine for the rich. Think I'm going to continue this ride along.
No wonder you're telling this story! Great capture of pertinent details! Love your developments. It's fun how, back in the day, wandering types ran into other wandering types & formed traveling units! *wink! wink!* Fondly, Margie
we can be so duped in a foreign country...my parents lived in Trinidad...so i relate to this...they acted like they loved Americans, Brits, and Scots...but when the back was turn...they were in our pockets.
No angels there...but still such an interesting country.
j.
Ah you rotter! You give us a tantalising short extract of this continuing saga, introduce a most interesting character then roll the credits! Still an interesting read sir.
Started reading and writing poetry while in the Army many years ago. I picked up a book of poems by Leonard Cohen in a bookshop on Monterrey CA's Fisherman's Wharf and went on from there. I've had a n.. more..