Beardo.

I WENT OVER TO SPAIN a few months ago. I know what you're thinking, "Just what this mag needs, another article chronicling American pros hob-nobbing around Europe, hopping on now-famous handrails and looking oh so 'shabbychic' at the hot street spots about Barcelona and Madrid." Well uhh, nope. This here expose is nothing more than ode to the ups and downs I experienced during my 20 or so days of rolling through the north of Spain with friends, both old and new...

Los Angles to Madrid

Here I am, travelling across the Atlantic to Spain and for what? A different skatepark? A different ocean with different waves to surf? Maybe a little history to check out? What do I hope to get out of all this? Is this part of the big picture or is this just killing time 'til I figure something else out to do? Blah...I don't know, but I am reasonably sure that Mike Muir and the rest of the Suicidal Tendencies are on this plane with me.

Bummin' in Barcelona

Oh the joy I felt as I emerged from the Sants subway stop to the sights and sounds of skateboarding. The majority of my first day in: Barcelona had. been spent jet-lagged and lost downtown among the throngs of tourists and accompanying thieves. My wallet got ripped off no more than two hours after getting off the plane. Luckily a chance meeting wit Chico "Brenes right in the middle of all the downtown mayhem sent me heading towards Sants with hope in my tired heart. Upon arrival, I rolled around the plaza sweaty, tired and dazed, yet feeling the comfort that comes from being with one's own kind.

Los Hombres de Consolidated

Without these guys I would have been an assed-out-on-the-streets bum. I ran into Seth, Clint, Doug, and Roberto at Sants and they took me in. I'm talking a place to stay, a seat in their van for the daily skate missions, and full fundage (they paid for everything!) the entire time I was with them. The brotherhood of skate never felt stronger than during those few days.

Day Five-Barcelona: Catalonia

Street skating with the pros is strange. Gone are the days of zipping through the metropolis, hitting this ledge, those stairs, that rail, those red curbs... It's all about the footage once skateboarding becomes a job, so the session becomes spot and trick-specific. You stay at a spot for as long as it takes to get your special combo on film and caught clean. Only when those criteria are met do you move on. It might take two hours or it might take 10 minutes. Today at a particular spot it took about an hour and some minutes for Roberto and Clint to Set their lines down, while a Spanish photo dude clicked away amid multi-flash set-ups. Seth was holding up the follow-cam duties and Noro was shooting the long shot. I, on the other hand, just sat on the ground and shot some black and whites and kinda marveled at it all. Apparently, the day before, a disgruntled granny dropped a pail-full of water from the second floor of the apartments surrounding this spot, right in the path of the 10-stair, effectively de-raili ng the camera-fest sesh 'til today. Now that's what I call an old world version of a skate stopper...

Disaster Strikes

To make a long story short, let's just say that after a few great days of of skating, carousing, and exploring, the bottom fell out-and it fell hard. We got ripped off. The Consolidated guys were doing these demos with a bunch of other skaters in downtown Barcelona. Parked outside the demo site, the van got busted into and every bag that looked full of tech goodies got taken, I lost most of my camera gear, save my trusty old. Canon AE-1 that I had in my clothes bag. Bailey lost of his super-8. Clint lost a digital video cam and tons of footage from all over Spain and Venezuela. Crap loads of dough got taken too These guys really cleaned, up. There was getting shit stolen left and right and it's only day eight! I was so pissed off that it boiled over into this weird nonchalant attitude where I actually found myself f thinking; "Wow, now that's one less bag to lug around this place."

Bailing Barcelona

Despite my happy-go-lucky. attitude, it was time to cut town. I met some great people heard some incredible music (a late night of Flamenco I won't soon forget) and skated my ass off, but the thievery was just going ballistic. Bailey felt the same, so we split the next day over to the Basque coast and the town of Algorta where he had been living for the past several months.

Day 13: La Kantera Skatepark, Algorta

It gets dark very late here, thinking of this while I write. The sun still shines at 10:00pm. Sunset is in another 15 minutes or so. Peter Hewitt and Dan Drehobl showed up in town the other day. Sessions at the pool have been great-all the local rippers, and Peter and me skating til darkness. Even Drehobl, Whacked knee and all, has been hitting a wall or two; an amazing skateboarder even in injury mode. As I sit here on the bluff above La Kantera, Peter is just demolishing the transitions of the pool. So, so good; a ball of flailing energy. I'm the biggest lazy hippie right now-high on lire, just sitting. above it all and watching.

Nacho

America has got its Tony Alvas and its Greg Nolls, but the Basque country has Nacho. Living in a small stone shack tucked into the green hills just adjacent to the skatepark, Nacho is the benevolent godfather of La Kantera, the preserver of the scene. Now in his 50s, he was one of the original surfer/skater figures in the Basque Country. He still skates today, though a slowly healing broken wrist had him sidelined while I was there. A visit to Nacho's ad. for a bit of food, may be some smoke, and little conversation was daily activity for me and countless others who have travelled this road. It was like a prerequisite to going to the skatepark for the evening session-you've just got to stop by Nacho's first and talk story for a bit. On any given day I found him seated in a lawn chair outside the shack, basking in the late afternoon sun. Topless women, from teenyboppers, to grandmas, lay in clusters, dotting the hills. surrounding us as Nacho rolled a porro to share between us. One day we might have talked abo ut the local history, the next about skateparks and skaters, and the next day about the best time of year for waves at the nearby breaks. For admirers of the down-for-life lifestyle, Nacho is a prime example. His shack leaks profusely and during the winter it gets bitter cold right' there on the coast. But shit, it's rent free and the skatepark is right there, as well as the beach and-oh yeah, all those naked girls. Plain and simple, Nacho rules.

Day 17: Tarragona, Catalonia

Here I am back on the Mediterranean coast, wishing I had stayed over on the Atlantic in Algorta. There's really nothing to skate over here but I managed to get, hurt just the same. Ankle got twisted at this dorky makeshift skate spot by the beach; I've been hanging on the beach every day since and it's getting really boring. Once you've seen one pair of Euro-tits, you've seen 'em all. Just a few more days and I'm back, in America, but now I'm feeling a little sentimental about this place-the food, the wine, the fact that I'm very far from home and I'm skateboarding still... One thing I'll say about these Spaniards, they know how to hang out. I'm going to miss that aspect when I get back to The States. We just don't know how to relax in the US. Hopefully, I'm going to take a little of that home with me.

Skatboy

Cruising on the bus through the city of Tarragona, about an hour's drive southeast from Barcelona, I kept seeing the name "Skatboy" tagged on walls, dumpsters, phone booths, everywhere. Most often a skateboard was painted underneath the name, and that got me interested. I was in this town for five days, visiting relatives and relatively bored out of my skull. I went out in search of Skatboy, in hopes that he could fill me in on the spots. After a search of two days, I found him, or I should say, them. Skatboy was two or three kids from the dumpy street spot I hurt myself at. Paco and Tom were the two guys I met, but here's the twist: The original skatboy, was dead. How I don't know, and these guys were keeping his dream alive. It seems kinds silly when I think about it now, but when I found those guys I really felt like a super sleuth.