Last year, I spent approximately 35 days in Barcelona. When I arrived, my brother picked me up with a bottle of Rose wine & a challenge. “if you last the whole month without having something stolen from you, I’ll buy you a gift at the end.”
Paranoid as fuck, I lasted - I won. I clutched onto my bag most days, other days played music on my earphones so that if my phone was slyly taken - the music would stop and I would know.
Everyone talked about how common pick pocketing was in Barcelona. “It’s almost like an art” you’d hear them say. “They’re that damn brilliant at it. Like someone will come and ask you for directions and while you’re answering, their partner will take something out of your wallet. You think you’re so alert, till you don’t know any better.” However scary, I couldn’t help but be fascinated. A strange thrill. A city with less crime rate in relation to physical abuse yet more pick pocketing - you find yourself worried sick that your phone, wallet, or even home - may be stolen.
What was it about this that was so fascinating? I do not know.
Maybe, for a change it was liberating to walk out into the streets and be worried about something - anything other than sexual abuse. About rape. About being touched. Instead I was worried about materialistic things. I finally knew what it felt like, to not feel like a woman, even if it was for a little while.
...and before I could blink to that thought, a voice from the corner of the street yelled “Baby, cmon, wanna have a drink?” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
#memories #barcelona #spain #europe #eurotravel #travel #cathedral