Chicken curry, fireworks, and a series of unfortunate misadventures.
Yes. Things happened in roughly that sequence.

Sunday was such a blast for a host of reasons—misadventures included. I was invited to lunch by a very kind Singaporean family living in Barcelona. By some stroke of God-given blessing, I was introduced to Lenard Pattiselanno—a Singaporean doing his Masters here, a week before I left Singapore. We kept in touch via facebook and over the week, he and his wife invited me for lunch over at their humble home. It was nice getting out of the Academy and getting exposed to a real Spanish neighbourhood and speaking Singlish with fellow Singaporeans, all on the same day. Oh, and I needn’t forget mentioning the smackalicious chicken curry and fragrant white rice Leanne whipped up for lunch : ))

The company was fantastic. Lenard and Leanne were unspeakably warm and helpful answering questions and sharing more about the finer intricacies of getting by in Barcelona. Zachary, their cute little two year old made me feel at home almost immediately, showing me his toys and reminding me very much of my own adorable nephews and nieces back home. So we talked, ate, watched the Singapore F1 on telly, and what was meant to be lunch continued with an extended invite to dinner  As shy and hesitant I was about imposing on them, they were so chill with their “Oh no, no laaaa!” “Don’t worry!” chillness. I really enjoyed hanging out in their living room, just being around people who were from… home  To think that I’d asked Jesus to hook me up with Singaporeans in Barcelona, He really answered my prayers above and beyond by giving me a Christian family to connect with.

Misadventure #1: Close Shave With Determined Pubes
In the interim between lunch and dinner, Leanne and I took a stroll to the supermarkets in the neighbourhood to get some groceries I needed for the Academy. Talking on our way back, we stopped at a pedestrian junction, waiting to cross. It was lovely light afternoon: think Singapore-in-aircon weather, the leaves were rustling in the breeze, calm streets, the body naturally slipped into relax-mode. Standing there, I turned my head to the right to look for oncoming traffic. Unfortunately my view was somewhat blocked by huge recycling bins that were parked by the side of the curb (recycling’s a big initiative in Barca). I noticed a small old man with grubby stubble and shabby clothes, sorting out trash, and while I gave him a cursory glance, our eyes somehow met. He looked like a grim old man, hardened and made small by a long life of grind. His heavy lids were rimmed with that undeniable sick pink that fatigue often brings. His mouth was lined with wrinkles, and the lower lip pursed itself with a sort of obscene, grim, determination. To my surprise, as all this flashed through my mind, this old man in contrast, started unbuttoning his pants with a sick sort of nimble, furious dexterity…

Too focused on the strange way he was returning my gaze, I ONLY realized what was happening when my peripheral gaze registered the sightings of a pale lower abdomen and a brazenly held out, unzipped fly.!!
Thank God I only saw the beginnings of his pubes (pronounced “pew-bb-s”, i.e. slang and short for pubic hair) before I immediately turned my head in the opposite direction. Leanne was on my left. “Oh my God!! I think that guy just flashed me!!” I exclaimed, shocked and eye-balling her to look in the other direction (probably a wrong thing to do, in retrospect…). Thankfully she was the more experienced of us two. She held my gaze, smiled calmly and said “Yes, every neighbourhood has a couple of these old weirdos.”
We briskly crossed the road and right after the initial shock registered, I started laughing really hard at the ludicrousity of it all. No wonder he looked so determined! I just got flashed!!!

*****
After a hearty dinner, Lenard and Leanne sent me off with a big paper bag filled with the 1101 essentials to successful Singaporean living (abroad version). Leanne’d packed me a big bag of milo sachets, 6 packs of Koka and Cintan maggi mee, a red twin pack of Bee Cheng Hiang lap cheongs, and a Barcelona guidebook “on long term loan” :). To balance that off (health-wise), they also passed me a carton of milk and nectarines for everyday healthy living at the Academy. Hahaha. Trust me, it felt like Christmas!
I left their place at 9pm, and by right, it would’ve taken me, perhaps, slightly over an hour to get back to the Academy (it’s actually not very far away—probably from City Hall to Commonwealth by MRT. It’s just that public transport is painfully sparse). Unfortunately, what I didn’t know was that Plaza Espana, the square where my bus stop was, was also centre stage for the final leg of celebrations for the La Merce festival. When I got there, the place was thronged with crowds eager to catch the final fireworks display.

What was cool was that I managed to catch (entirely by fluke, mind you) the final firework display for the festival. By and large, it was a breathtaking display of musical and astronomical genius—the fireworks danced to music played over a massive square-wide sound system. The entire performance lasted for about half an hour, and in a sense it numbed the 2 hour waiting episode slightly. I’ll attach pictures soon, and in advance, sorry if they’re not that fantastic—my mind was preoccupied with avoiding pickpockets and looking out for my bus : S

Misadventure #2: 11.20pm, Shady Streets, No Taxis. Stranded alone.
It’s remarkable, how different a place can look and feel, just by a simple change of light and temperature.

After the fireworks ended, I resumed my position at the bus stop and waited for the throngs of people to clear the square. “The bus will come eventually,” I was staring at the gps display screen at the bus stop:

Bus 94—2 minutes
Bus 95—38 minutes

And so I waited. Faithfully. The elements though, weren’t so kind. The wind started coming in
(think: dipping temperatures),

I started clutching my arms harder
(think: “I’m feeling cold”),

and the buses continued to roll by
(think: damn 94 and 95 weren’t there).

By the time I realized the bus was never going to come, it was two hours past, my teeth were chattering and there were only a few stragglers left at the bus stop. There were a lot of pockets of people sitting in the shadows, just “hanging around” when Leanne’s recount popped fresh in my mind. Some guy had stalked her, then attempted to get her to Plaza Espana with him

I started to get edgy.

Cab. –I thought.
CAB!

Unfortunately, the bus stop was in the direction of traffic was moving out of the city. The cabs were no where in sight—so I crossed the road and tried to hail one in the opposite direction. No luck. The bulk of traffic going city-inwards was taking the expressway underpass about 50 metres up, and to get there, meant trekking through a stretch of poorly lit residential blocks. Not so good either. But what was I going to do? I was tired, cold, and feeling alone. Entirely alone.

—No, Sarah, you cannot freak out now.—

I decided to walk towards a posh-looking hotel down the street, in the hopes that reception might be able to give some advice on where to hail a cab. Sticking out my chin, big grocery bag in hand, and haversack slung close to my body, I started taking long strides, as if it was my place and I knew where I was going. It was probably my best bet against looking vulnerable and uncertain.

As I neared the hotel, I spotted a cab five metres into a dark alley to my left, free and totally available. Immediately, I thought, "CAB!".  And yet, instinctually, something told me not to walk towards it either.  There was a man standing a metre away from the taxi, lurking in the shadows drinking in the last dregs of his beer, and a bike rider on the other side, waiting with his motor running.  Clothed in shadows and pale streetlight, it all looked kinda dodgy.  Not surprising for the area—but none too cool for a young woman to venture towards, either.  So I stood at the main corner, looking into the street, and waited for the cab to drive up. Just as it was edging nearer, an elderly tourist couple waltzed right past me and started hailing the cab.

“Oh nooo…. NOO!”

If I were back home, I would’ve walked right up to them and told them off. But no, I was in a foreign city, I didn’t want to walk into that dark alley, and I certainly had no mind to get into an argument just then.  So I continued waiting like a dumbo, hailing the cabby furiously in my corner—standing pathetically on the light side.

It was Jesus. Or one of His angels that guided the cabby—because the taxi ignored the tourist couple and rolled slowly, but surely right up to me. Teeth chattering, fingers freezing, I was close to tears and relief as I opened that door. Got home in one piece (two detours included), and the cab fare set me back by EUR23. Still, I could only smile and squeeze the taxi driver’s arm just before I got off. “Gracias, tio, gracias.”

A small price by far, just to feel safe.