The Dating Game

by Susan Buchanan

  ‘You’re kidding,’ Lisa burst out laughing.

  ‘No, I’m not, and it has practically no wardrobe space,’ Debbie pointed accusingly at the large walk-in wardrobe, next to the girls’ en suite.

  Gill felt bad, as Debbie and Angela obviously had a raw deal. ‘Do either of you want to swap with me?’

  Angela shook her head and Debbie said, ‘It’ll be fine. We’ll be out and about all the time. We’ll probably be too pissed when we get back to care, anyway.’

  ‘I knew there had to be a reason to get pissed,’ Lisa’s face brightened.

  As they were so hungry, having eaten nothing since a quick bite at the airport that morning, they decided to eat somewhere close by. Avoiding the main drag, with the aid of their map, they soon found Plaça Sant Josep Oriol and headed for Bar del Pi, which was thronged with people. All of the tables outside were taken, so they ventured inside to see if a free table could be found. On the verge of giving up, they spotted two couples coming downstairs and quickly nipped upstairs to nab their table. Bar del Pi was decorated in dark wood and not a lot of light entered, but it was an institution in Barcelona and much frequented by Catalans and tourists alike.

  The excited chatter of Catalans and Spaniards assailed their ears as the four girls studied the menu which lay on the table. None of them spoke any Spanish, except for gracias and por favor. Fortunately there was also an English menu. To their dismay, they noticed that it didn’t actually contain any proper meals, just tapas.

  ‘Oh well, we’ll just have to order lots,’ Lisa’s cheerfulness cut through the rumbling of Gill’s stomach.

  ‘What have they got?’ Debbie pointed as discreetly as she could to a couple a few tables away. ‘As the waiter walked past with it, I got a whiff and it smelled delicious.’

  Lisa, ever the unsubtle member of the group, craned her neck to see. ‘I think it’s baby octopus.’

  ‘Yuck, I’m not having that!’ Debbie grimaced, as she hurriedly returned to perusing the menu.

  They decided to copy their Spanish counterparts, and share several tapas.

  As they waited for their food to arrive, the girls structured the rest of their day. They agreed that they just wanted to wander around, get their bearings, nothing strenuous.

  The waiter brought their wine and after Lisa tasted it, he poured them each a glass.

  ‘This is the life,’ said Angela.

  ‘What, being inside, when it’s glorious outside?’ came Lisa’s sarcastic retort.

  ‘We’re not all sun-worshippers like you,’ Angela replied curtly.

  ‘Right you two – quit it,’ Debbie intervened to keep the peace. ‘We’re on holiday. Yes, this is the life, Angela, and yes, it would have been better, Lisa, if we could have sat outside, but we’ve just got here, we’re thirsty and we’re starving, so drink up!’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Gill.

  Soon afterwards, their first round of tapas arrived. Debbie, of course, steered clear of the baby octopus, so Lisa magnanimously said she would swap her chicken croquette in exchange for Debbie’s octopus.

  ‘Hey, don’t look now, but five o’clock,’ Debbie winked at Gill. Gill’s back was to the room, so she had to make do with the others’ description of the gorgeous Spanish man with the floppy black hair and gleaming white teeth, who had just walked in, alone, and now stood at the bar. From their position upstairs, they could see him, without his realising he was being observed. Gill turned round, just as he glanced upwards. He saw her watching him and smiled. Mortified, she quickly looked away.

  ‘He just caught me,’ she hissed.

  ‘He could catch me anytime,’ Lisa never one to be slow at these things, had no issue in expressing her obvious interest in him.

  ‘Excellent, we’ve already spotted some talent,’ Gill grinned.

  ‘That’s true. Anyway, cheers to an excellent time in Barcelona!’

  Lisa’s toast prompted them all to clink glasses again.

  They requested a second round of tapas, this time plumping for Pan Catalan – garlic bread rubbed with tomato; Montaditos with Jamón and Queso – mini cheese and ham baguettes; Tortilla de Patatas, and Queso de Cabra al Horno – grilled goats cheese with Seville orange and chilli marmalade.

  Soon after their tapas dishes had been cleared away, Lisa said, ‘Hey, there’s a free table outside. I’m going to grab it,’ and she legged it outside.

  They ordered another bottle of wine and sat in the sun, sipping wine and catching up. Gill was already beginning to feel a bit tipsy. The mixture of sun and wine always did that to her. She would have to pace herself. Thank goodness for the little shade the tree next to their table afforded them.

  After an hour, they decided to move on, so they wandered back through the streets of the Gothic quarter and onto the Ramblas. They paid particular attention to their belongings, since Barcelona’s reputation as a notorious hunting ground for pickpockets preceded it. Sauntering down the thoroughfare, they peered at the newsstands and watched the performing statues, as well as musicians from Russia and Peru. Soon they came across several open air cafés, where virtually everyone appeared to be drinking huge copas of sangría.

  ‘We’ve got to have one of those,’ Lisa pointed to the mammoth goblet from which a tiny, Japanese woman was drinking.

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Debbie agreed, and the others traipsed behind Lisa, already intent on sorting them out a table. It was busy, but a little flirting from Lisa, a toss of her long blonde hair and they had their table.

  They ordered four copas, which arrived quickly, and were soon enjoying the delicious fruity alcoholic concoction, as they sat watching the motley crew which made up Barcelona’s visitors and locals pass by.

  ‘Hey, we never did vet those new dates Gill received,’ realisation dawned on Lisa.

  Gill carried her tablet with her, probably not a good move in Barcelona, she knew, with its theft problems, but she always carried her bag slung across her body. Even when seated, she wrapped one of the straps around the leg of her chair and sat with her bag between her feet. Her precautions might have seemed extreme, but apart from general pickpockets, teams of seasoned criminals from Colombia and other parts of Latin America, came to Barcelona simply to steal from unsuspecting tourists who let down their guard.

  The girls pored over the tablet and readily accepted that James didn’t sound right for Gill, except for Lisa, ‘Sounds a bit of a tosser, but so what, he’s loaded. Think of all the places he could take you.’

  Gill shook her head and they promptly stopped talking about James. Mark, however, was a different story. In the time it took the girls to finish their three quarters of a litre copas of sangría, everyone had given their opinion, and the conclusion had been reached that despite being only five feet seven, Gill should meet him, as he was cute. Debbie even went as far as to say she liked ginger haired men. The others stared at her in shock, until she said, Paul Bettany in Wimbledon. Her friends conceded the point.

  So, Gill sent a brief e-mail to Caroline, already buoyed up by a copa of sangria, saying she’d like to meet Mark, but regrettably didn’t think she and James would be suited.

  After two sangrías, plus all the wine they had necked at Bar del Pi, the girls were positively squiffy. In an attempt to sober up a little, they went for a walk down the Ramblas.

  According to the map, Plaça Reial was just off C/Ferran, and Plaça Reial was the ultimate square in which to be seen. C/Ferran swarmed with Catalans, most likely returning from work. Debbie pointed a little way up and said, ‘That’s the Ajuntament or City Hall, where the action all kicks off tomorrow night. Maybe we can go for a walk up there later, before we head back to the hotel?’

  More mumblings of agreement, before Lisa once again managed effortlessly to secure them a table at the absolutely heaving Plaça Reial.

  ‘I’m hungry again,’ Debbie’s stomach emitted a low rumble of confirmation.

  ‘I could eat again, too,’ Gill chipped in.

  ‘Wel
l, we did only have tapas,’ Angela reminded them. ‘No harm in getting a few more.’

  The girls whiled away a few hours, drinking some of the lovely rosé wine which the restaurant recommended, and devouring patatas bravas, aceitunas, albóndigas and croquetas de pollo.

  ‘Those chicken croquettes are to die for. Would it be really bad if I ordered some more?’ Debbie asked.

  ‘You’re a pig!’ Lisa said.

  ‘They are pretty moreish, though,’ Gill stuck up for her friend.

  ‘Am I the only one that’s still hungry?’ Debbie wanted to know. ‘I just love the food here. Juicy, fat olives, those spicy chips are fantastic, and as for those meatballs…’

  ‘Stop it! You’re making me hungry again,’ Gill berated her friend.

  They ordered another round of tapas and talked about their game plan for the next day.

  A quick detour to check out Plaça Sant Jaume, venue of Friday night’s festivities, then the girls threaded their way through back streets, chock-full of people, until finally they arrived back at their hotel.

  ‘That was a long road for a short cut,’ said Angela, as they said goodnight to each other outside their rooms.

  ‘What time we meeting tomorrow morning?’ Debbie, ever the practical one, asked.

  ‘Nine?’ Gill suggested.

  ‘Sounds good.’

  As Gill brushed her teeth, she realised she hadn’t thought of Anton all day. Now, however, she found herself wondering what he was up to tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Friday 23rd September

  Their room rate didn’t include breakfast in the price. The friends were happy enough with this, as they quite fancied trying several of the little cafés close to the hotel.

  Ambling onto the Ramblas, they headed up towards Plaça de Catalunya and stopped at a little café about fifty metres from the metro station. Tables set for breakfast greeted them and a few tourists were already sampling the continental breakfast. Marmalades, croissants, and fruit-filled pastries, as well as bowls of chocolate with churros, covered most surfaces. Diners held the obligatory café sólo or café con leche in their hands, as they chatted to their companions.

  This time, Debbie secured them an outside table. They ordered their coffees and pastries and sat in the early morning sunshine, content. Today they would go to Parc Güell, quite a distance from the centre.

  After breakfast they took the metro to Lesseps. When they exited the station, they didn’t see any signs for Parc Güell.

  Angela, ever astute, said, ‘I reckon that’s where everyone else is going. Look!’ and she pointed out a group of German tourists, with a guide in tow. True enough, some of them were holding maps. As inconspicuously as possible, the girls fell in line behind the group.

  Soon they turned left and saw a steep incline ahead of them, complete with escalators.

  ‘That’s bizarre,’ Lisa said aloud what the others were thinking. ‘Escalators outside? What happens if it rains? Would you not electrocute yourself?’

  ‘It doesn’t rain here much, I don’t think,’ Debbie said, wishing the same could be said of back home.

  ‘But it must rain sometimes,’ Lisa quickly refuted Debbie’s reasoning.

  ‘Who knows? Anyway, hurry up, they’re getting away from us,’ Gill chivvied them along, as the Germans strode ahead.

  Eventually they saw signs indicating Parc Güell and Casa Gaudí. Once they entered the park, the path forked in different directions, so they decided to ditch the Germans. They passed Gaudí dragons and lizards, in the colourful and unmistakeable mosaic pattern. Soon they came to a café area, where they ordered soft drinks. It was baking hot. From up here, the entire city of Barcelona spread out below them. The Sagrada Família rose up majestically in the distance.

  Drinks finished, they wended their way down the paths to the Casa Gaudí museum.

  They listened to the audio tour and read the boards which depicted the history of Parc Güell.

  Lisa who was less interested in the cultural aspect, but quite liked the Hansel and Gretel appearance of the houses, appointed herself group photographer, snapping away in unison with the Japanese tourists.

  They were almost ready to leave, but Debbie wanted a photo of their little group first. Lisa went down below to take the shot of the other three, standing in the window of Casa Gaudí. On the other side of the main gate stood another colourful building, similar in style, which housed the souvenir shop. The girls bought Gaudí themed souvenirs before leaving the park.

  ‘Why don’t we try walking back through the city?’ Angela suggested. ‘I’m sure it’s not as far as we think.’

  No one put up much complaint, so they meandered out of Parc Güell and down the road, back down the escalators, marvelling at just how many people were coming up.

  ‘I’m glad we did this in the morning,’ Debbie said.

  ‘Me too,’ Gill agreed. ‘Can you imagine how hot it’s going to be up there now?’

  Angela checked her watch. ‘That’s half one, must be time to eat soon.’

  ‘Well, why don’t we just wander down until we see somewhere that catches our eye?’ Debbie said, struggling with her bag, which kept falling off her shoulder.

  ‘Good idea,’ Lisa led the way.

  The streets they took were empty. Any self-respecting Catalan was either indoors or still at work. Usually they ate lunch between two and four – already very late by British standards.

  The girls happened upon some chairs set out in the street, but no sign of a bar or restaurant. Thinking they could at least sit there to study the map properly, they sat down. Their bums had barely touched the seats when a waiter materialised brandishing menus.

  However, it was a bar, not a restaurant, and again, they didn’t serve meals, only tapas. Deciding a small bite would do for now, the girls chose a mixture of aceitunas, rollos de atún, patatas bravas and pan Catalan. The wine wasn’t as nice as the night before, but it was wet and it did the trick.

  Once lunch was over and they were preparing to leave, Debbie had a brainwave. ‘Why don’t we go back down into the city, stopping at little squares on the way? We could have a drink in each of them, and then go back to the hotel and get changed for tonight.’

  ‘Now, that is a great idea, Mrs Orr,’ Lisa put her arm round Debbie’s shoulder. ‘So, which direction do we need to go in, to find the first square?’

  They checked and identified one only a few streets away. They got lost a few times, ending up at a tiny church, then a row of old shops, but no square.

  ‘That map’s faulty,’ Lisa was irate.

  ‘No, I just think it doesn’t have all the streets marked on it,’ said Debbie.

  ‘We really should try and buy a better map, when we get a chance,’ Angela said, propping her sunglasses on her head and wiping her forehead. ‘Jeez, it’s warm, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thirty-one degrees according to that big clock we passed earlier,’ Gill added.

  Just then, Gill heard chatter coming from their left. Sure enough, rounding the next left turn, then a right turn, lay the square they sought. It was tiny – just one café, but it overflowed with Catalans, not a single tourist in sight.

  The girls quickly grabbed a table and deciding that it was time to really celebrate their holiday, they splurged on cava, instead of wine.

  ‘Our heads will probably not thank us in the morning,’ Angela warned, ‘for mixing our drinks, but right now, I don’t care.’

  After two glasses each, they prepared to move on to the next square.

  Again with Debbie in control of the map, they wove their way through the back streets of the Gràcia quarter and ended up, after a few failed attempts, in the Eixample district. They had to stand for a little outside the café, as no seats were available straightaway. They weren’t the only ones either.

  ‘This is a bit bizarre,’ Lisa complained, ‘queuing to get into a café.’

  The others agreed, but Gill said she supposed it was no more
unusual than waiting in line to gain entrance to a busy nightclub.

  Thankfully the queue dissipated very quickly and soon they had a seat with a prime vantage point over the small square. School was clearly out for the weekend, as children in uniform walked past with their parents. A few small children played on scooters; one drove a little car across the square, squeals of excitement emanating from him, as his father pushed the car, making it go faster. Aside from the children’s laughter, the overall atmosphere was one of tranquillity.

  Two Spanish men, one dressed in a pink striped shirt and the other in a blue shirt sat down at the next table but one from them.

  ‘Psst,’ said Lisa. ‘Check them out,’ she waved her sunglasses indiscreetly in their direction. They were handsome, if a little on the short side.

  ‘The Spanish speak so fast,’ Debbie said.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t help that we can’t speak Spanish,’ said Angela.

  ‘Or Catalan,’ said Gill.

  ‘Can you tell the difference?’ Lisa was intrigued.

  ‘What do you think?’ Gill smiled at her.

  The men must have felt their gazes on them, as one of them turned around and stared straight at Gill. The other, listening to what his friend leaned forward to say to him, then sat back and smiled at Debbie, who appeared flustered.

  Lisa chose this moment to go to the toilet, making a point of going past their table, brushing lightly against Pink Shirt’s chair and continued towards the bar. She knew their eyes would be on her.

  Lisa freshened up, sprayed on some perfume and sauntered back out, only to find an empty table where the two men had been sitting. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. Where were they? She looked over in bewilderment at her friends, who had dissolved into fits of laughter.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Gill wiped the tears from her eyes, and then said, ‘They’re gay. Pink Shirt just kissed Blue Shirt full on the mouth, then as they left, Blue Shirt felt his arse!’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Lisa was gobsmacked. ‘They didn’t look gay.’

  ‘Obviously Spanish gay men look different to Scottish gay men,’ Angela choked.