I lost myself in Perpignan, France. I know, seems like I shouldn't know where I got lost, but it's kind of hard to avoid the center of the universe (according to Dali).
My traveling companion and I had just left Amsterdam, where a blizzard was underway in the middle of February, only to emerge from a short train ride from Paris into what could only be described as perfect weather: a slight breeze, warm climate, and friendly people enjoying the friendly atmosphere. So of course I left my passport, ipod, and digital camera on the train. Of course.
My friend Bobby had to go - his medicine was running out and his adventure had wrecked him already. So I bid him farewell - he wasn't so unlucky with the passport.
Turns out in order to get a new passport, I'd have to travel to Spain. Unfortunately, no money. I managed to rent a night out at a local "hotel," if you could call it that. The streets were desolate. Beautiful during the day, Perpignan has several "dry canals" that cut underneath the main plazas, run down the main streets, and are full of palm trees and peculiar grasses. At night, the place is quiet. The city is small, and a historic fortress sits comfortable along its border, almost as big as the city itself.
The next day, I got in touch with my parents, and magically some amount of money manifested itself into my accounts, and I had enough money to get a train. Unfortunately, there were no trains left... nothing. Nothing was leaving the "center of the universe," Perpignan Train Station, at all. While I was waiting to see if anyone had found my passport, a drug-sniffing dog with two heavily armed soldiers patrolled the area. I kept thinking about those reports of dogs who smell fear, and being far from any metropolitan centers, I was a little nervous.
I managed to find a taxi driver that would take me to Barcelona. Not cheap. As we drove south, through mountainous regions of red and white cliffs, I felt the air open up to me. It wasn't just warmer, it was - more ideal for me. My grandfather was born near this region, far to the northwest, deep in the mountainous regions of Spain. (Asturias)
My dad's dad was born in a shack where the animals on the first floor kept the family warm on the second floor. They had to deal with Franco, the fascist dictator of Spain, and after saving enough money as a successful businessman, he moved them all to Cuba, where my father grew up.
Before that, I can't imagine my family ever having moved from somewhere else. They were too poor, but the records just aren't there to prove anything. This region of Spain was famous during the medieval ages for being the very last bastion of Spanish culture. The Muslims from Africa had taken over the rest of the country, converting it's cities into their own, transforming technology and adding their crescents to the churches. A statue somewhere up there commemorates the last King of Spain, before the Reconquest.
Replacing my passport took a trivial matter of 3 days, and while stumbling around aimlessly through the city that breathed through me, I found a poster for my favorite band, NIN. They were playing the very next day, and I managed to find a ticket for face value online. Now having spent the rest of my dough, I grouped up with some rambunctious hostelers and hit the Barcelona night life. Not to be confused with any other city's nightlife, Barcelona truly won over my heart with little Pakistani men selling individual cans of beer and homemade hashish on every street corner, the nightclubs pouring out into the main strip all night long, and the strangest of people calling the city their home.
Unfortunately, this was my last trip to Europe, until I can afford to save up a couple thousand dollars and have at it again. Just to head out, into the aimless wonder of European culture, to say "I feel like traveling South, today," and not to fear that you might end up in somebody's basement, or lose your passport, or god forbid, make friends that last you a lifetime, even if you never talk to them again.
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