Thorn Around the World

"Dart Barcelona"
I knew Barcelona was on my itinerary. One, it's a world famous city. Two, it was October 14th and I had a flight leaving from here on October 26th, taking me to Palma de Mallorca, an island in the Mediterranean. Three, my father always talked about the Sagrada Familia, a huge unfinished cathedral in Barcelona-and he's been around the world more than me, so I had to see it. So, I thought I would scope out Barcelona for a few days, and maybe slip over to Madrid or Portugal or Gibraltar. What I didn't realize was how much I would love this city. I didn't know it, but my first full day-and entire stay-in Barcelona would be magic.

It didn't start out too easy though. I was still frazzled from the last day's travel, and had no firm plan on what to do with the next twelve days. So, I started the day like I ended yesterday, getting some food at Mo Te Magno, some delicious pesto pasta the owner made me. I spent an hour or so online, trying to find signs of a dart bar. I emailed Tony, the manager of Team Catalonia, who I met at the WDF World Cup back in Ireland, hoping for some help.
I googled up a couple bars nearby that looked hopeful. After eating, and studying my map, I started walking the streets, heading for my targets. Right away I noticed how familiar Barcelona seemed. It reminded me so much of Montevideo, Uruguay, a city I called home for over a year. Maybe it was the long boulevards and thin side streets, lined with buildings flavored in Italian style architecture hiding behind rows of tall broad leaf trees with camouflage colored bark-tall thin doors, lots of wrought iron balconies, and plenty of ornate stone. It was also the rhythm of daily life, the way people walked and talked, carrying groceries or chatting outside a cafe, the way drivers honked and the buses churned, the way the bread smelled at the bakeries or the markets full of produce and cheese.

Eventually, I found one out of the two pubs, but it was closed, and didn't look promising for a dartboard anyway. So, I walked on aimlessly, adjusting to and mastering Barcelona's massive maze. I was basically heading for the Sagrada Familia, but twisting around here and there to see other sites and buildings, mostly all of them designed by Anotni Gaudi. Gaudi's imprint and influence on this city is everywhere, one of the most powerful ingredients of Barcelona's rich culture. But, I was also getting the feeling I wouldn't have much luck finding darts.
Somewhere on La Diagonal, a major avenue bisecting the city, I stopped at a money machine. Two young college guys, clearly American, were in line and I peppered them with questions about possible dart bars. "Yeah man, we're from Colorado, doing a year abroad at Barcelona University. I think they have one down at the Payne, you know, on Plaza Urquinaona, yeah they gotta have one, George Payne, cool Irish sports bar." I was a little confused, but had the key info-George Payne, Plaza Urquinaona-and that was enough to go on. "Thanks guys," I said. "Yeah man, try taking the Metro.," and they proceeded to rattle off some subway numbers that were still meaningless to me. Nonetheless, I was excited to have another lead.

So, still early in the afternoon with low chances this 'George Payne' would be open yet-or so I thought-I decided to see the Sagrada Familia in all its acclaimed glory. I thought of my father the whole way there.
It's an epic sight, under construction over 130 years, and still more than a decade from done. Towering spires connected by a mosaic web of stone arches, sculptures, friezes, and columns, binding into a massive basilica that almost looks other-worldy. Antoni Gaudi's greatest work is just one of dozens of architectural contributions the artist sprinkled throughout Barcelona. I took pictures from every angle, over the crowds of tourists and tour buses, and walked around the fortress of a foundation as a half dozen cranes loomed above. Satisfied, knowing I could return for closer inspection later, I thought of my dad one last time and then thought of myself-it was nearing 4 o'clock, maybe an Irish bar would be open by now. I checked my map, twenty blocks this way and that and I'm there. Then, I was walking the streets again.

I wasn't quite ready to try the Metro, the awesome subway system below. It's always a little daunting to figure it all out the first time, from tickets to turnstiles to trains. Besides, I was still soaking up the strangely familiar feel of Barcelona, people watching, and thinking to myself "I could live here someday." Just for fun, I'd ask directions and dust off my Spanish, such a wonderful language, or buy a treat off a street vendor.
Finally, I arrived at Plaza Urquinaona, a tree filled trapezoid of a park, apparently on a busy hub of transportation and commercial activity. People darted everywhere: up and down the Metro entrance, on bikes down the bike lanes, on foot along the walks, into and out of stores, hotels, banks, and businesses. It took me a minute to spot it, but there it was, The George Payne, its entrance partially hidden by the scaffolding of construction next door. It looked classy, with had an open entrance set back from the street. I pulled open the glass door with great hopes.

It turns out, the college chums were wrong-there was no dartboard in the GP.at least, not until I arrived. As soon as I entered, down the sloping ramp, I saw a tall man in the nook on my right, marking off a line on the floor. A dartboard was sitting on the side counter, about to be hung. I couldn't believe it.
I introduced myself: Adam, writer, darts around the world. So did he, Keith, head manager, from Ireland, love darts. We quickly talked and finished dialing in the dartboard, and I could tell Keith and I shared a special kind of enthusiasm. And, of course, no one is more kind or hospitable than a true Irishman. I soon realized what a chance this was to play and promote darts right here. I decided then and there that I would stay in Barcelona until my flight to Palma de Mallorca, twelve days from now. Keith said, "Are ya ready to play?" but before I could nod, he added "Hold on," and promptly returned with some Estrella beers. We flighted our shafts and raised the glass bottles with a clink, and then, me and Keith were throwing, happiest two dudes in town.

Soon, I met Lee, the cook, wearing his pirate bandana and matching smirk, also an Irishman with a powerful thirst for the darts. He too would come out on his breaks to play. I started meeting the whole staff-Diego, Mark, Kristina, Karl, and many more among those I can't remember-and several of them warmed up the new board too.
As I sat there all night, getting drunk, the place filling with people, meeting other folks and encouraging them to play, with a steady supply of beverages from Keith, I couldn't fathom my fortune: I stroll into Barcelona without a plan, find a brand new dart bar, and the perfect chance to promote the sport. Keith even offered to get me a discount at a great short-term apartment much closer to the heart of town.

As I headed home that night, inebriated with Estrella as much as excitement, down long streets through plazas filled with people and glittering fountains and sculptures, I swear, even the statues looked like they were playing darts that night.

Over and double out.









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