Night in Barcelona

The actual catalyst event for starting this blog was that something happened to me last night and I had to resist the urge to spam the CDB forum with details of it.

I went to the Gran Casino to play some poker. I like poker. I'm not terrible at it, like most people, so I like it more than most people. I don't get to play it enough. Anyway, I cycled down to the casino and marched in, looking forward to a pleasant night of taking money off drunken English tourists. Unfortunately, they refused to accept my ID. That's where the trouble began. I'm somewhat argumentative, to put it mildly.

They said that I would have to present a passport, which is their policy for non-European Union citizens. I was a bit annoyed at being inconvenienced in this way, and so I explained to them (somewhat indignantly) that Ireland joined the EU in 1973, a full 13 years before Spain did. The woman I spoke to received this remark with a degree of skepticism and then asked me if I was sure I was Irish (the problem for the average Spaniard being that when they are confronted with somebody speaking to them in a non-mainland Spanish accent, they assume the speaker is South American - possibly from Argentina! - and Spaniards are often, and historically, very racist towards their oppressed cousins in Latin America). After assuring her that I was, in fact, as Irish as my pink complexion suggested, she said she would not be able to let me in without a passport anyway.

At this stage, I should probably point out that I had proffered my Garda age card as proof of identification. For those of you not familiar with this particular accreditation, it is a simple ID that includes a photo, a full name and a date of birth. It is clearly marked with the logo of the Department of Justice and a hologram with a harp (not Guinness). It is primarily a proof of age, but it is as close as we have to a national identity card in Ireland, not including passports (I don't carry mine on me when I'm out and about) and driving licenses (I don't have one). It is reasonable identification in that it is clearly a state-issued document and it has a name and a photo on it. I made these points to the woman at reception and she looked at it with disdain and announced that she still couldn't accept it as it was not "official".

To a Spaniard, an official identity document contains a photo, full name, date of birth, current address, state identification number, details of current or past affiliations with the communist party (this is a lie), etc. and so they are not accustomed to dealing with people who don't consider this to be normal. Nonetheless, they asked me for proof of identification and I offered a document which identifies me in exactly the same way as my passport (except my passport also sates that I was born in Co. Down and gives a passport number (NOT a state identification number)). I made all these points to the woman, who simply said "No". Customer service is a non-existent art form in Spain, unfortunately. I insisted that my ID was as valid as anything else, according to the requirements they had stated, and she offered to bring the manager in.

The manager came over, didn't look at the ID and announced that it was not acceptable. I explained myself again. He asked me if I was sure I was Irish (what is with casino workers in Barcelona??) and then announced that he had seen the official Irish Identification document and that this was not it. Aha!, I thought. This man is clearly bullshitting me as he could not possibly have seen a non-existent document! I announced that he had seen no such thing, to which he took offence. He said that he had facsimiles of all the valid IDs in the European Union and that, if Ireland really was in the EU, which he doubted, he had an ID for it. I invited him to bring said ID out to compare it to mine, but he declined, citing "procedure".

At this stage, I asked him to give me a single reason why my ID was not valid and he answered that it did not have a state identification number. I told him that my PRSI number, which is probably what he wanted, was ********** and offered to show him my EHIC card, on which it is printed, along with my name, but not my photo. He then said "Aha! Another ID document" and announced that he doubted the legitimacy of either of them. I made the point that he could call the Irish embassy in the morning and ask them what they thought of the matter. He then asked me why an ID card issued by a state body wouldn't include an address and a state ID number. I replied that in Ireland we didn't have problems with fascist dictators who try to assign a number to each citizen and control them, as was the case in Spain.

At this point, he announced I was never getting in (Spain is sensitive about its dark past - when they wrote the constitution after Franco died, they included a clause which basically said that everybody would agree never to talk about the fascist dictatorship years. They are only getting round to amending that now) and so I said I would like to make a formal complaint to the body which governs casinos in Cataluña. He said that I would have to make a "denuncia" to the local police and that he would be happy to call them to eject me from the premises.

It was at this point that I felt it would be prudent to leave, as the Spanish police is notoriously heavy-handed, especially with foreigners, and especially with foreigners who have referred to the fascist aspect of Spain.

So I left, and went for a cycle around the port, which is very nice at night time. My brother called me as I arrived home and told me to come and meet him outside his house for a street concert.

This is the opposite end of the Spanish spectrum, away from the bureaucracy and the uptight, prudish upper class. There was a stage erected in a "plaza", which was really just an area with some trees and some benches. A ska band was blasting out tunes until 3am, in the middle of a residential area. There was a bar with cheap drink, run by grungy looking people in dreadlocks openly smoking joints and enjoying their night. Up at the stage, people were skanking away to music which was not the ubiquitous Hip-hop/RnB/DrumnBass pop disco-bar bullshit. There was no apparent reason for this concert. Presumably there was some sort of feast day, but these things are quite regular in Barcelona.

You just don't see either of these things in Ireland, and that is both good (less fascism) and bad (less fun).