More info on last night

So with the help of our friend Patrick Sweeney back in Portland, I've been able to piece together a few more details on what was behind all the chaos in our neighborhood last night.

You can check out the news link here, but essentially the government throughout Spain is aiming to take away one of the young people's favorite kinds of partying. It's called a "botellon" and it is pretty similar to what we in the U.S. refer to as rave. Bunch of kids with nothing better to do on a Friday or Saturday night gather at some public place and just start binge-drinking. The police here have been planning a crackdown on botellones and the kids got wind of it. None too happy about The Man trying to take away their weekly good time, the kids staged massive "macrobotellones" throughout the country yesterday. In some cities, chaos ensued.

Apparently the worst of it was right here in Barrio Gothic, our neighborhood. So tonight, Barrio Gothic and the adjacent Plaza Catalunya, which is Barcelona's version of Times Square, are on lockdown. Police are out in full riot gear, accompanied by helicopters hovering overhead. I guess the police are hoping a serious show of force will prevent a repeat of last night's "festivities."

The funny thing is, despite the huge police presence, everyone throughout the city has gone about their business today as if nothing unusual happened last night. For example, the lingerie shop right across the street from our apartment was one of the stores that had its floor-to-ceiling window completely smashed. By noon today, the entire storefront window had been replaced and bras and nighties were flying off the shelves like a normal Saturday.

I suppose I should point out that Kate and I are in no danger whatsoever. Our apartment is six stories up, so watching all the action from above is very much like watching a football game on TV. In fact, there is even the same kind of battle for field position. Twenty or 30 kids gather on our street and creep toward the police gathered on La Rambla, the major pedestrian boulevard that intersects with our street about 80 meters away. When they get close enough, they start cursing the cops and throwing bottles and whatnot. Eventually the police get tired of playing defense and decide its time to get some field position of their own. So 10 or 20 cops lock arms, march down the street, fire off a few rubber bullets, and the kids take off running down the myriad of side streets. When the police reach the other end of our street, they turn around and march the 200 meters or so back to La Rambla. Ten minutes later the kids return, and the whole process repeats.

So unless one of those cops last night firing the rubber bullets had Dick Cheney-like aim, Kate and I were quite safe poking our heads over our balcony every few minutes to check out the Super Bowl below.

It's actually quite a fascinating cultural experience to have right on our doorstep, literally. No one has been killed or seriously injured, so I kinda just chalk it up to kids being kids.

As I strolled across Plaza Catalunya today, a smile crossed my face and I chuckled thinking to myself that somewhere in this world Mike D. and the rest of the Beastie Boys have got to be smiling. Fore here in Spain, the kids really do fight for their right to party.

It's no soccer riot, but it's close

I doubt this is CNN worthy, but we've got some fun little rioting going on in the streets of Barcelona tonight. Not related to St. Paddy's Day at all, but we've got the your everyday friendly cops firing tear gas/stun grenades at some mad-about-something local youths. We duck inside every time they pull the trigger -- just in case they're errant shots find our balcony -- but I'm sure the misdeeds in Barca tonight pale in comparison to what's going on in France.

Sleep tight.

Happy St. Paddy's Day

Happy St. Paddy's Day to everyone back home in the U.S. I trust you all are looking forward to finding your way to your favorite Irish pub today, but I thought y'all might enjoy the story about what happened to Kate and I last night over here on this side of the pond.

We were walking home from dinner, when the church bells here in Barrio Gothic clanged away marking midnight. Realizing St. Paddy's Day had officially begun, the Irish blood in me perked up and I turned to Kate and insisted we duck into the next little watering hole we pass and have a pint of Guinness to celebrate.

Ten steps later, we are in a local little pub. I step up to the bar and ask for two pints of Guinness. No luck. They don't have Guinness. Any Harp? "No Senor."

The bartender then excitedly points to the sign on the wall behind me and explains the have a very special beer for a very special price. I turn and read the sign... "Tecate 2 for 6 euros"

Being born and raised in SoCal, I've spent enough time in Mexico to know just how awful Tecate is. All of you from the SoCal crew know Mexicans don't even drink Tecate! However, the pints the barkeep is pouring of various Spanish brews are sizeable so I figure, "What the heck, it'll be St. Paddy's Day Barca style"

I am immediately dissapointed when the bartender reaches below the bar and pulls out two 12-ounce bottles of Tecate. Warm.

So my luck of the Irish found me paying way too much money for horribly warm and awful Mexican beer in Barcelona on St. Paddy's Day. I guess that's just how they do Leprechaun holidays here...

I hope you all have fun tonight and don't forget to throw back a few Tecates, hopefully cold, for your friends in the BCN.

The Kindness of Strangers

Well, I thought I had a wild night of soccer fun last week in Germany. But the experience Kate and I just had here in Barcelona still has my head spinning.

Let me set the scene a bit. My favorite soccer team in the world is FC Barcelona. A very close second is Chelsea FC. Of course, these are two of the top 5 or 6 teams in the world, so rooting for them is pretty easy. Right now, the biggest club soccer competition in Europe, the Champions League, is in full swing. This morning, there were 16 teams left. After games from tonight and tomorrow, there will be only eight.

Because the Champions League knockout round pairings are drawn randomly, the teams ranked No. 1 and No. 2 in the world could theoretically be chosen to play each other in this, the Round of 16. Some people would say that is exactly what happened this year when it was announced that FC Barcelona would be matched up against Chelsea FC. I can still remember sitting in my home office in Portland back in December when the pairing was announced, thinking, "Wait a minute... Barcelona vs Chelsea in Barcelona on March 7? I'm gonna be living there by then!"

Daydreams of actually attending the game entered my mind almost immediately. Those daydreams were put to rest over the ensuing months when a bit of research on the Internet indicated the cheapest ticket for a decent seat would cost 500 euros. Now remember, that's euros, so we are talking like $600!

As the weeks passed by and Katie and I made the move over here, I always had March 7 marked off on the little calendar in the back of my brain. Even when the teams played each other in London for the first leg of the home-and-home series, Katie and I made a point to soak up some of the local soccer culture and head to a pub to watch it.

Over the past few days, I checked various CraigsList type web sites here, and still nothing good for less than 500 euros. Seats in the absolute nosebleeds were fetching 350 euros. Nevertheless, Kate and I decided this morning we would head up to the stadium before the game to see what the atmosphere was like. We had no hope whatsoever of actually getting cheap tickets, but we just wanted to see what the scene would be like when two of the world's best teams got together for the rather heated second game of their series. Barcelona had beaten Chelsea 2-1 in London, and the players and particularly the coach in the Chelsea camp were not happy about it. Lots of trash talk and the like in the papers over the past two weeks. Not to mention, it was Chelsea that eliminated Barcelona from last year's competition.

I got caught working a bit late today, so when I finally logged off at 8:15, I was uncertain we'd even have time to make our way via the subway to the stadium in time for the 8:45 kickoff. Even after we walked down La Rambla and were at the top of the steps to the metro station, we asked ourselves one last time if we should really waste our time going to the stadium, or if we should just hit our local pub.

"I've been waiting for this game since December. I know we are just gonna end up watching the game in a pub by the stadium, but I at least want to be nearby when all the fans spill out onto the streets after the game. Let's go," I said.

Sure enough, we got to the stadium just as the teams were being announced. There were still a few tickets being sold by scalpers, but let's just say it was a seller's market. The cheapest ticket I saw sold went for 400 euros; Kate and I had 100 euros between the both of us.

Nevertheless we hung outside the gate just people-watching. Kate has never really been in a ticket-scalping environment, so she thought the whole thing was just the most fascinating social sub-culture. Me, I was more entertained by the pathetic Chelsea fans getting turned away at the gate because they were too intoxicated to be allowed into the stadium. I kept thinking of a sort of sick and twisted MasterCard commercial.

Tickets to the Chelsea-Barcelona soccer game: 500 euros
Flight from London to Barcelona: 200 euros
Hotel room in Barcelona: 150 euros
Not being allowed into the game because you are too drunk to stand: PRICELESS

So after about 15 minutes of this scene, Katie and I were seriously considering leaving for the nearest pub we could find. Afterall, the game had started, and there was no way we were gonna get any tickets for the measly 100 euros we had.

I suppose it might be fair to mention here that it was Kate who said we stay a few more minutes. "I'm having fun watching all this chaos," she said with glee.

Well it's a good thing she insisted.

A minute or two later, a middle-age guy walked up to me with an inquisitive look on his face. I honestly couldn't understand for a moment or two whether or not he was trying to buy tickets, or sell me some. Then I heard the magic word... Carnet.

When I came to Barcelona in 2001, I scalped a carnet from a guy outside the stadium. Carnets are the season passes that the regulars keep all season long. Its a great thing if you are the buyer, because the seller wants it back once you are inside, so they walk through the gates with you, as opposed to some guy handing you a paper ticket, then disappearing before you get the bad news from the ticket-taker that you just bought a fake.

This man proceeded to explain that he was waiting for two friends with their carnets, but that they weren't there yet, so he was going in. I asked him how much he wanted for the carnets, but couldn't understand his answer. Kate's Spanish is better than mine, and even she was confused. I'll never forget what happened next.

The man said he didn't want anything for the tickets at all. "Son gratis." Then he motioned for us to follow him inside.

Once inside, we offered again to pay him something, but our new friend, Simon, wouldn't take one euro from us. He just wanted us to enjoy the game.

Unbelievable.

Then we got to the seats. They were awesome. Lower level, close enough to see the rubberbands in Ronaldinho's hair.

The game was exquisite. This is the second time I have seen Ronaldinho play in person, and he exceeds the hype. The goal he scored tonight has to be one of the best I've seen, not because of just his genius, but because of the brilliance of the entire Barcelona side.

The stadium, which is known as Camp Nou, went bonkers. Everyone around us was howling and hugging. Kate thinks I blew her eardrum when I celebrated by squeezing her tight and accidentally screaming in her ear.

For all my soccer friends out there, find a tape of the goal. I'd say half the team touched the ball as they strung together 10-12 passes bringing the ball up the right side. Henrik Larsson, Samuel Eto'o, and I believe Deco got in the mix and swung the ball across the field about 35 yards away from the Chelsea goal. Suddenly, Ronaldinho knifed in at top speed against the flow of the players and the ball. He took the ball on his foot, fought off a challenge from John Terry, then hammered a shot that Petr Cech barely got a piece of before it found the back of the net. Amazing stuff. I honestly want to find a video of it just to admire the build up and everything.

Chelsea managed to get a penalty in the dying moments to level the game 1-1, but Barcelona's 2-1 victory in London two weeks ago means they won the series 3-2 on aggregate goals.

So Barcelona moves on and I still sit here amazed by the turn of events that have been bestowed upon Kate and I tonight. When the game ended, Kate and I hugged Simon and thanked him profusely. He was humble right to the end, but I think somewhere inside he was happy to see us to ecstatic. He could have easily sold the seats we had for 600-700 euros EACH, but something inside him moved him to give them to us, complete strangers, for free. His generosity had given us something our money could have never bought, for the thrill of the night was magnified by the circumstances and kindness that he had displayed.

It is my hope that we will be able to post a picture here to illustrate this McVenture, but we didn't have the camera with us. The blame for that lies with me. Upon leaving our apartment, Kate asked if we should bring it. "It's not like we are actually going to the game. Plus, I don't want to have to worry about carrying it around a crowded pub," I replied.

We did, however, ask a complete stranger after the game to take a picture of us with his camera and e-mail it to us. He seemed a sincere enough fellow, so we'll see if he actually follows through and delivers. After encountering the kindness of one stranger tonight, I'm pretty sure people are full of generous surprises.

USA 1 -- Poland 0

So last week was quite an amazing week. My old buddy Steve Mraz and his wife Sarah live 20 minutes away from Kaiserslautern, Germany, where the U.S. men's soccer team was slated to play Poland. After the proper amount of teasing and taunting from Steve, I booked a flight for the morning of the game to go check out my very first U.S. game on foreign soil.

After arriving at Frankfurt Hahn airport, which absoultely the most remote airport I have ever seen, Steve and Sarah took me to lunch in K-Town (Kaiserslautern), where I sampled some tasty schnitzel and began waht Steve affectionately referred to as "a steady diet of German brews." We then walked the streets of K-Town for about five minutes before deciding it was far too cold to be out walking around in the cold. We had a few hours yet left to kill before the game, so we went back to Steve and Sarah's amazing home outside of town and relaxed for a while.

When it came time to set out for the game, we knew it was going to be freezing cold, but we had no idea what was in store for us. Properly outfitted in layers and layers of clothes, and with Steve clutching a not so tasty flask of Pushkin vodka, we caught the train back into K-Town. Upon arriving in K-Town we hit the beer stands as quickly as possible, bought a couple for the road and began the walk, I should actually say climb, up the rather sizeable hill to the stadium. Surrounded by a fair mixture of U.S. military personnel and flocks of singing Poles, the hike was quite entertaining.

A few moments before kick off, we settled into our seats and assessed just how cold we were going to be. Put it this way, I had four layers of pants on, and the seat, which had been exposed to the cold for the hours leading up to the game, pierced all my layers of clothing and chilled my buns straight away.

The first half of the game was honestly rather uneventful. Aside from Steve commenting repeatedly about how good one of Poland's players, "Mullet Boy," was playing, not much of mention really happened. The second half was when things went a bit nuts.

The snow began as mere flurries. Hardly noticable and not much of a distraction to the players or fans. The intensity increased a bit, until suddenly, about 20 minutes into the second half, the skies opened up and dumped nothing but white on everything. At one point, the entire crowd erupted in a roar over the simple thrill of being a part of the miserabley enjoyable conditions.

To top it all off, the U.S. got the victory on the back of an Eddie Lewis cross that took a couple of fortunate bounces before finding the foot of Clint Dempsey, who slotted it into the back of the net. I'm still not too sure Dempsey wasn't off-side, but hey, I guess Bruce Arena and the lads will take the wins when they can get 'em.

Enjoy the pics!



Steve pre-gaming at the train station.


Steve and I loving the atmosphere.


Steve and Sarah looking not too warm.


A look at the frosty field.


We had to stay warm somehow!


To illustrate just how much it snowed over the course of the second half. This is a pic of Steve and I hamming it up among FC Kaiserslautern's famous Starting XI statues outside the stadium before the game...


... and immediately after the game.