Thorn Around the World

Estrella Adam
The next few days in Barcelona were a blur of new discoveries and darts, as the city began to feel more and more like home. I'd wake up, usually late, in my short-term apartment on the tenth floor of the Saint Jordi Sagrada Familia hostel. Coffee and croissants would get me going, and me, my camera, laptop, dartscase, and tourist map would head out to explore more of the sights to see.

The weather continued to be warm and wonderful, and I was more than happy exploring on my own, quietly mingling through the hordes of more typical tourists.

I took a closer look at the original Estrella Damm Brewing factory, an ornate building serving as a museum more than a brewery these days, which was right next to my apartment. This lovely little lager would be a staple for me over the next week. I also walked by the Torre Agbar, a unique bullet shaped building whose glass windows change iridescent colors through the night. Finally, I pounded the streets down to La Monumental, the now closed bull fighting ring where millions of rabid fans watched hundreds of matadors tangle with mighty bulls.

Of course, I also took another look at the Sagrada Familia, the fabulous cathedral designed by Antoni Gaudi, still under construction after more than a century. And there were countless arches, sculptures, and buldings of historical significance, whose names I've forgotten but not their beauty. The people watching was always epic as well-the locals in cafes, the lines of tourists and tour buses, the college students congregating in the plazas between classes.

By afternoon, I was back at the George Payne to play darts. I had already started making friends-not just Keith, the manager, and the rest of the staff-but a growing cadre of university students who liked to linger in the bar for happy hour and a good football match. They were returning to see me too, and play more darts on the George Payne's new dartboard.
As I sat there early evening, enjoying another fabulous customized meal from the cook, Lee, I checked my email. Tony Gregara, manager of Catalan's national dart team and a friend from the WDF World Cup, had responded to my query. "I'll be down at the George Payne to play later tonight," it said. I smiled, closed my Mac, and went back to bombing away with the guys or any other loungers I could encourage to try some tungsten.
Tony showed up an hour or so later, wearing the same plaid green and black vest and kilt he sported at the World Cup in Ireland. In no time we were becoming fast friends, and I introduced him to Keith. Long after I'd be gone, it would up to Tony and Keith to keep the momentum going and get a new darts league started in the George Payne. They hit it off as well-as all good dart players do-and I could tell that I had helped bring together two of the biggest darts supporters and promoters in town. We had so much fun playing that night, time-and Estrellas-flew by and I got home later than usual, hours after midnight.

The next day was a late start. My inner clock was quickly adjusting to my new schedule of sleeping in and staying up late. On this day, I didn't do too much sight seeing, other than another pass around the Sagrada Familia. Instead I headed straight for the George Payne, and once again started a long night of new friends, foods, and beverages. This time though, Keith wasn't working all night, nor was Lee, and at some point they invited me to visit Lee's apartment for some post-work legs on his home board. As we left, the bar was starting to swell with youth, eager to enjoy the highly popular Karaoke night at the George Payne.

It's always special being invited into the real lives and homes of people in other countries-in many ways, far more interesting than seeing the tourist targets. You get a much more real sense of what life is like.

It was a bit of a walk, probably thirty minutes, and Keith and Lee told me stories and pointed out interesting things all the way. Lee's apartment was in a hip part of town, a perfect two bedroom bachelor pad for he and his roommate, who joined us for several legs of doubles. Keith, and his heavily tattooed arm were the star that night, hitting several nice shots and a ton-eighty or two. I, on the other hand, was almost cross-eyed from Estrella. The beers were flowing as fast as the darts were throwing, and before I knew it, another ultra-late night of darts in Barcelona was coming to an end. Once again, I enjoyed an intoxicated and happy stroll home through the dimly lit city of Barcelona.

Again, the next day, I had to take it easy, sleeping in well past noon. By now I had mastered the subway system, and bombed around underground to get to the George Payne. I must not have been in a picture-taking mood because I don't have a lot of photos from that day. But, I still had plenty of friends and newcomers joining me on the oche. One band of brothers, especially a fellow named Romo, took a keen interest in the darts and in my mission to see the world while spreading the game. Before the night was over, in that classically hospitable Spanish way, Romo offered to let me stay a night in a vacant apartment he owned on the Mediterranean, in Canet de Mar, a small town up the shore from Barcelona.

At first, as an American, I was a little unsure about this unexpected offer, but I mustered the courage and faith to trust him-too many wonderful adventures have come my way by believing in the kindness of strangers. And, I certainly didn't want to miss a chance to dip my toes in the seas of the infamous Spanish Riviera. By night's end, he had given me directions, and handed me the key.

Sometimes it seems like my luck never runs out.

Over and double out.









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