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7Ply Epic

Stories & thoughts of a traveling skateboarder.

En Barcelona

10/31/2017

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It had been three days. Only three days, yet it seemed as if we’d finished half of a semester studying abroad in Barcelona. Every new city block & each human interaction was an opportunity to uncover what was next, which was always a mystery. The air was humidly warm, the epitome of summer upon our skin’s pores. An annoyance to the comfort-driven yet a pleasant reminder of its fleeting season to others. The sun was out early, bright in our district of the city. The previous night’s adventure had delayed our inevitable rise. Nevertheless, we awoke to bold faces -  mostly those of our newest friends, some of new acquaintances, their first night at the hostel.

We walked eastward, toward La Sagrada Familia. “The Sacred Family” Cathedral was and is famous for its impressive height, age, and cultural significance to the Catalonian (and Spanish) culture(s). The streets were bustling with a smorgasbord of business-oriented residents, lightly clad nomads, and eclectic characters of the surrounding areas. The day had only just begun for us but was well under way for the organism that is Barcelona. We, I will admit, did the touristy thing and purchased tickets to see the aforementioned cathedral. The lines were insanely long and arduous, and possibly more varied and interesting than those you might see at Disney World. The structure itself was gigantic, like a desert monolith, firmly set in the center of an international city. Just seeing it from the outside, if you could drown out the public chatter and pitching street vendors, was an awe-inducing experience. The air stunk pleasantly of delicious street food, the music changing twice each block. The tourism of that place was peaking, and it was apparent. Yet, there was an oddly sure sense of meaning to that place.
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Inside La Sagrada Familia
The interior was flooded by lights of all colors, patterns, and intensities. It was difficult to actively look down and navigate through the omnipresent crowd in the chapel. First-world cultures from all around the world seemed to be equally represented - an infinite mixture of dialects, complexions, and religious predispositions were weaving amongst each other as in a jar full of “sand art” that hasn't yet been inevitably mixed together into a color of odd beauty. Observing each human’s take on this special place - their first reactions, their raw expressions - I think, was the most intriguing part of the deal. A deal that I’m glad we paid “too much” for. I will admit that I have seen more beautiful cathedrals, especially after traveling through much more of Spain, so after a short while we were ready to continue our day’s walking. North.

With a quick consultation to the map and a general direction of attack, we made the adult decision to buy ice cream. Like I said, it was HOT. And with those delectable minimart-bought ice cream treats in our stomachs, we continued our walk uphill to Park Güell. Antoni Gaudí, well-known for his most admired (and also very hated) architectural work, is the creator of the Park Güell. This place was an artful maze of tile-laden structures, pillars, towers, and seating, complete with… … more tourists, of course. As breathtaking as it was (and the views of the city from atop were to die for), we began our descent back through Barcelona, wandering for food after about two hours observing Gaudí’s masterpiece.

Walking through yet another new region of the Catalonian capitol pulled a bit of adventurous energy from our tired selves. Walking for who-knows-how-many kilometers had taken its toll, yet the legs will keep moving when the appetite is impossible to ignore. Two or three kilometers later, and with no particular direction in mind, we found a literal whole(s) in the wall which seemed to have a decent pizza selection, tapas, beer, and wine. This is exactly what we were naively hoping for.
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Park Güell
Walking into the restaurant, our greeting was boisterous and genuine. I replied in Spanish, but after Chloe’s slow-to-speak-English response, they gladly showed their bilingual capabilities and presented us each with cold beverages. An Estrella Galicia beer for me and a sangria for ma' lady. After taking a second to settle in with each other and with our respective chairs, we tok our first few sips of well-deserved alcohol and then realized that every person in the restaurant was extraordinarily attractive. Also, many of them were smoking cigarettes. So when in Rome... I lit one to a full flavorful drag. Trying to ignore the death-suggesting image on the nearby pack of cigarettes, Chloe and I felt as if we were in a movie set without knowing. Maybe some sort of reality television show? As if waiting for the confirmation of that notion to be served to us with our pizza, we probably gave a strong vibe of enamor to anyone people-watching nearby. But it was not a television set, and there were no cameras. Only tobacco-smoking Spaniards enjoying the tasteful beginnings of their respective evenings.

A beautiful meal & another tasty drink eventually prompted us to settle the bill and continue on our unknown trajectory. Something in our street-wandering reminded me of the day prior, in which I went solo from Chloe for a long skateboarding session through the city - something I demand of myself just as much of each new city I visit. After skating at MACBA (Museum of Contemporary Art in Barcelona) for an hour or so, landing a few manual tricks and meeting a few fellow skaters (all with different countries of origin), I’d decided to push through the city, giving up the temporary experience of skateboarding “grail spot” for the uncertainty of new finds on other city blocks. Skating MACBA, for those that skateboard, was like skating LOVE Park in Philadelphia. People travel from faraway places for the opportunity to roll on that familiar ground. The same we’ve seen in skate videos for decades and the same that have rendered some of the biggest moments in skate history. The international camradery of skateboarders was apparent, and the vibes were good, but I had expected to see more local skateboarders… The local Barcelona skateboarder was definitely the least common of the skaters that I saw, which is what tempted me to venture outward.
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Skating the Streets
Meanwhile, heading south toward the Mediterranean coast, there were familiar ledges, pole jams, and stair sets galore. Some were worthy of stopping to skate alone - others showed signs of too much risk or harsh security which waned the attraction. The push and coast of those urethane wheels on the tiles, slabs, bricks, and raw concrete of the city was to die for. The visceral feeling of connection to a city by using it more deeply than most, the feeling of making your own path and all the while navigating the crowds and car traffic more efficiently than a bicycle ever could - it was the classic kid-in-a-candy-store scenario. Stopping for photos in the city became secondary. I just didn’t want to stop. Cruising through Barcelona on those four wheels is the perfect compromise of adventure between walking, taking in every sight, and cycling, whizzing by them to catch that stoplight or miss the pedestrian. Not wanting to pause, I was skating along the harbor when I glanced at three skateboarders together.

These three French travelers and lifelong skateboarders were my new companions for the rest of the day. Each of a different age, each from a different city. One from Carcassonne, one from Bordeaux, and one from Lyon. they were all very friendly and just as excited to roam the city as I was. Already cruising along a picturesque harbor, we continued along the ground of large slab tiles. We constantly found obstacles to skate that seemed directly pulled from a skatepark of our dreams, sometimes being kicked out but more often being oogled at by tourists of all types.

Albeit a bit awkward to be at the center of attention, it became a lot of fun. Despite the circus-like feeling of a performance, the routine became as entertaining for us as I imagine it was for them. One particular “spot” inspired us to record our tricks. What can I say, the Instagram culture fueled us to document our moves for posting so that our friends back home could see, and it all went very well. Feeling as alive as ever, we pushed south along the ground of Barceloneta toward the beach… 

 - 7Ply Epic

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Arriving in España

10/19/2017

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It was a heavy step through those narrow Customs gates. The passport stamp implied, “Welcome to Barcelona,” as if to assure me of my acceptance in Catalonia. I knew it'd be soon that I’d see Chloe again for the first time in two weeks. The baggage claim area was hot & humid, the currency exchange shit, yet I was more hyped than I’d felt in a handful of years. Hearing Spanish being spoken in every direction, like an impromptu symphony of humanity, was making me feel at home, all the while letting go and drifting into the present moments.

Café con leche was my first tangible piece of an experience in España; little did I know that it would be the first of many, dozens… And as I took my third sip of coffee, I remember this clearly, I look up to see Chloe smiling at me. Clearly and with excitement, we were together again for weeks abroad, on a journey unprecedented for myself.

On the public bus, headed toward the city center from BCN, I was constantly recognizing skate spots from the magazines I study. As if the tricks I’d seen captured in the past were happening live in front of me, I imagined those moments with more clarity and stoke than I'd realized I could. Probably to the dismay of Chloe, my eyes were locked on the outside world. The landscape of a brand new city, an international skateboarding hub, no less. The graffiti walls lining the freeways began to transform into a mish mosh of storefronts, homey stoops and foot traffic … people watching. Granted the 10-hour flight had me feeling in an odd mood, the stoke was real and that bus was not getting to its destination quickly enough! It was time to battle off the jet lag with partying. A solid meal and several glasses of wine.
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first views of the city, en route from the airport
We made the transfer to the metro and the walk to the front door of our hostel - our home for the next five nights. Close to La Sagrada Familia and clearly affected by its architecture & energy, the neighborhood was casually stylish and authentically Spanish in appearance. I felt like I’d walked right into the movie sets I’d seen over all the years of life thus far. The hostel itself was an enthralling maze of good people and comfy furniture - a perfect place for us to come back to for the next several days. Immediately meeting Americans, Brits, Chileans, and Germans, we felt the hostel life in full force and were ready for the good times ahead.

A friend Chloe had previously made, Kaevon, met with us for (a much-needed) dinner, so we wandered off to find a good-looking restaurant offering tapas. For that first meal, we were not being price-conscious, and we ordered whatever the fuck we wanted. A couple bottles of nice wine, six or seven tapas, all delicious, maybe a few more after that… The meal was a celebration of my arrival and of Kaevon’s last night in Europe. A bittersweet acknowledgment of human experience, both budding & concluding.
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Chloe and Kaevon a la cena
And then, the only stiff rain we experienced during our two weeks in Spain, happened. Loosely headed in the direction of a bar with live music, we were thoroughly caught in a downpour. We were becoming unbearably wet yet loving it. It may have only been after a few drinks that night, but we found ourselves emotionally and literally singing and dancing in the rain. At some point, my body told me to go home and go to bed (I’d been awake for about 24 hours) and so we made our way eastward, back to Primavera Hostel.

The air conditioning was non-existent in the dorm, so each night was a new game of "which position is most pleasant to sweat in?” Waking up was always alarming until you realized that you’re in Barcelona with a full day ahead of you! Finding a place that would exchange my dollars for Euros was an adventure that first full day we had together in Spain. It led us to seeing a lot of the city, specifically the Gothic Quarter for quite some time. Tourism in Barcelona in late July is about as hot as it gets, so our objective became to see the coolest the city had to offer while avoiding as much tourist mass as possible. It became a game, something that we knew we would never win but that we could improve at over time. A valuable skill used throughout the rest of our time in Europe.

Stumbling across MACBA was amazing. I knew the general direction but forgot about it for a few hours when I saw that gap over the trash can (skate nerds will understand). One of the “holy grails” of mainstream skateboarding culture was right there, under my feet. Seeing the skaters from all over the world (I’d confirm this later in the week when I returned with my skateboard) was a truly cool experience, and it quickly made me feel anonymous in a real international city (which I like). There was a moment when I realized, these guys are from all over the world, none of them is better than any of the others, we’re all here for the same reason, and I’m nothing without the greater group. The community there was robust and unique, like the exotic species of fish you might see in an fish tank together. You hope that they’re all friends, even if they don’t speak the same language. They’re in it together for the sake of that passion (for skateboarding in this case), and the language barrier is barely a barrier at all.
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MACBA (Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona [Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art])
We continued onward, in search of some shade & a cold beverage. It was the plan to not drink alcohol during the day, but there were just way too many cool places to have a beer in Barcelona. Our plan was fortunately foiled. Riding a buzz, I ordered a pizza somewhere (not always the best choice of food in Spain), and we sat in a plaza enjoying our surroundings. A light breeze, the light murmur of playing children at a nearby playground, and the content laughter of fellow customers at nearby tables. Looking into Chloe’s eyes seemed like a good thing to do in the moment… for the rest of the day… Yet we had much more daylight at our disposal and a thirst for the unseen in that wonderful new city. The ensuing stories were only beginning to lay themselves before us.

The unknown was all around us, and our hunger for all of it was as strong as I’d felt since I moved away from home at 18 years old. It was time for at least 50 more days of this, in at least five different countries, together.

This is a whole new volume.

 - 7Ply Epic
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