Lady luck is golden

This convoluted chapter in my life started when I went to Spain, specifically to the city of Barcelona; the plan was to sail along the Catalonian waters with friends from all over the world. The voyage was scheduled to last almost two weeks; 6 sailing boats in total, a blend of nationalities. It was a real melting pot: Danish, Scottish, Swedish, British, Germans. A dream come true for a sailing enthusiast like me.

My vessel was an exquisitely maintained Bavaria 32 that we rented for the occasion. 2 Danish, 1 Belgian, a well-mannered English lady and I as crew onboard. In a couple of hours, we began to work like a well-oiled machine while on duty. As the hours goes by, the sense of camaraderie was so strong that we began to behave like old acquaintances in a short amount of time.

A light breeze was our companion on our first day sailing the Mediterranean waters, our vessel moved smoothly with a steady course. Flanked by another Bavaria 32 and a Catalina 30, our bow was cutting through waves with the same precision as the knife of Sven inside the galley. It was time for our first meal on board this voyage; our designated chef for this shift made Swedish meatballs with rice, what a treat! The smell of spices travelled freely all around deck, making our stomachs groan with anticipation on this maiden voyage.

Back in the marina, the vibe was incredible. The six vessels docked side by side, groups will gather to enjoy the local cuisine, others, stayed onboard to cook their meals. Under dim lights, the sound of laughter was the herald of the good times ahead. A mix of different accents filled our conversations, our deck chats, a real multi-cultural exchange. The spirit of camaraderie was present in each one of us but the best was yet to come. In my mind, I was at the right place, at the right time, everything was in synch. Lady fortune was on my side, and she likes to show-off.

In one of the boats from the fleet, there was this gorgeous Norwegian lady; she was in her early 30s', slightly tanned skin and stunning blue eyes that glowed like beacons on her face. A few electric candles placed on deck gave us some sort of light and ambiance for the most rewarding chats you could ever had.

Now that I'm thinking of it, it was the quintessential setting for a romantic rendezvous. As the group drank at ease to the sweet sound of The Beatles "Something" on Martin's guitar, her blonde hair floated with such grace that it looked like dancing to the ethereal syncopated rhythm made by the waves that softly caressed our hull.

We began to talk about so many different topics, There’s no doubt that she was thrilled too, you can tell by the way she used any excuse to get closer to me, trying to find refugee from the chill wind right? We feel a deep attraction to what’s different, it’s in our nature, we can help it, it just happens. That’s what’s complicated about us, we know what could happen. We keep on going without thinking on the consequences of our actions, or even worse, we have an idea of what the outcome could be, but tend to leave it all in the hands of lady fortune to do its magic.

During my romantic interlude, days went by really fast, it’s true what they say, time does fly when you’re having fun. I remember one of my crewmates stopped me while I was leaving to meet the girl on a lovely park bench on the East side of the marina. For the occasion, I loaded some precious cargo inside of my backpack. (A bottle of Prosecco that I bought minutes earlier in the marina’s supermarket). He said, “You know those stories about mermaids? You got to be careful, those stories were made by people like us. Scandinavian girls are dangerous, they'll speak softly, really gentle at first, but it’s only to lure you into their chambers. Be careful, I'm Scandinavian, I know what I am talking about.” With a big laugh, we toasted in comradely as I abandoned my ship again, ready to indulge myself into another sleepless night tasting the sweet nectar of her lips. It was one of those moments when you think, nothing can harm you.

Pitifully, two weeks went by really fast, we sailed, laughed, discovered what Barcelona has to offer day and night. But it was time to say goodbye to my flaxen-haired girl and the rest of the crew. Hugs, kisses, promises followed one after another as we said goodbye, a wonderful adventure was coming to an end.

I had a couple more days in Barcelona until my flight back home. While walking towards my hostel to check-in. La Rambla was filled with colors and music; right by my side, an Italian couple was having a full blast discussion deciding where to stop to buy water and an ice cream to their son. The smell of sauté squid assaulted my nostrils near La Boqueria market; in my mind, all I wanted was to get quick to the hostel, check-in, leave my luggage and do the 5min. walk back to sit down with a beer and some fried goodness as partner in crime.

While my thoughts were circling around mussels with garlic and all those nights jumping from boat to boat, right in front of me, I saw a dark silhouette coming from above really fast. A guy jumped from the 4th floor of a small building to commit suicide; he waited for the right moment, for a whole in the crowd. Pitifully, the right spot was in front of me and the Italian couple with their 9 years-old son. I still remember the sound that his bones made while collapsing; he landed on his feet in a dreadful way. The vibration that I felt, travelled from my toes to my head like the passage of AC current. It was like time stopped for a moment, I could not hear any sound or music. Suddenly, the Italian couple began to yell to their boy to stop watching while covering his face with their hands.

All around people began to scream and run aimlessly. I stood there in disbelieve, thinking on how to help this amorphous shape of a man that lies right in front of me. I saw from the place I was standing perfectly still, that his head was severely damaged by the impact, his forehead was dented, forming an unnatural shape. Under all the noise, I could hear that he was trying to say something I was not able to understand, his voice was inaudible to me at only a couple of meters away.

Under the commotion, immersed in screams, a warm deep red substance began to fill the cracks and holes on the sidewalk. I heard the siren of an ambulance in the distance. Still shocked, with my heart still beating like a drum inside my chest I headed towards the Hostel...

I arrived at the front desk, checked without saying much, a medium size room with four beds was waiting for this pale and lost in thought being that I was. I went straight to lay down on my white sheet covered bed, but the image was still haunting me. I jumped out and decided to go for a drink; About one block away I found a small tavern, the place was almost empty, it was near 4pm. An old man reading a neatly folded newspaper and the bartender were the only ones inside, I ordered a beer and sat without saying much. The bartender asked me why I was so quiet, (I guess it’s a way of keeping you stimulated without leaving you too much time to dwell into your own problems). I began to talk about what happened, she knew; according to her, everybody was talking about the ordeal in La Rambla an hour or so ago, she said: “That’s normal, people often jump into the rails on the train station. Don’t overthink of it, it’s their decision, life is difficult. Bills, marriage, affairs, kids; not everybody handles well what comes their way."

As you might guess, I wondered for days what could have gone wrong to the unknown man at La Rambla. At the same place, at the same time, two strangers were living two different stories. One of us wanted for time to stand still, to live and revisit everything he went through with utter detail; the other one… To turn the page and get away from it all.

Not that long after the incident, I decided to read Niccolo Machiavelli’s “The Prince." I found an interesting chapter with something somewhat related, he wrote: “I consider that is better to be adventurous than cautious, because Fortune is a woman, and if you wish to keep her under, it is necessary to beat and ill-use her; and it is seen that she allows herself to be mastered by the adventurous rather than by those who go to work more coldly.”

I am no one to judge how the stranger at La Rambla lived his life or the decision he made, maybe Lady Fortune turned her back on him. Without any doubt, she was by my side during my “Catalonian Adventure” until she showed me the other side of the coin and the bitterness of her wrongdoings.