Bakersfield.com

By: Heather Ijames

 

     I found the place online and the price was right. Too right. The pictures showed a clean and quaint little studio apartment. The price could mean only one of two things. Either the landlords, in a cooperative effort with some fair housing for poor students initiative, kept the rent at a below average rate or, it was a clean and quaint apartment in a crummy area. I decided to take it anyway. How bad could the area be? Surely Barcelona could not have its Compton comparable area. I was sure I had seen worse in a line at Magic Mountain than anything I could find in Barcelona.

 

     My new landlord insisted he pick me up at the airport; and although my suitcase was bigger than his car, I was grateful for the ride. The first time I caught a glimpse that something was afoul was when my landlord had wild and darting eyes once he told me we were only a block away from the apartment. For a fifty-five year old man, I was plumb shocked at how quickly he managed to unload my bags and lock us inside the apartment for my tour. 

 

     He gave me the run down of the apartment. “Bed here, fresh sheets there, TV doesn’t work but you wouldn’t understand it anyway, bathroom, kitchen, and this is your washer/dryer/dishwasher.”

 

     It was a small machine that only looked like a washing machine. “No!” I said in disbelief.

     “Yes.” He reiterated.

     “No.” 

     “Yes.”

     “Nah….” Still in disbelief.

     “Yes, okay.” He said firmly.

 

     I still don’t know if it actually did all three. I was not going to try. I washed my clothes in it, hung them dry and did my dishes by hand. 

 

     He stood by the doorway and prepared himself to leave. “There is one more thing. Ah, first…thank you for paying in full up front. I really appreciate that. Ah, second, try not to go out after sunset. It’s a bad area and bad things could happen to you. So vulnerable, so young, so alone. I would feel horrible if something happened to you. Ah, so make sure you have lots of fun in Barcelona but make sure you are home before dusk. And if you are out after dark, then make sure you don’t walk home. Take a taxi. Most won’t come out here, but take one anyway. Thank you, good-bye.”

 

     I spent my first evening double latching the front door, pushing the armoire in front of the porch door and curling up reconnecting my communication line with God. My landlord was right though, no taxi would come that way. For fear of being robbed. The few times I stayed out after dark, I was dropped off at the barrier of the ghetto by my taxi driver and was forced to make the one mile trek to my front door alone. One time, I even resorted to barking while walking. I was willing to try anything. But, for the most part, I did all my sightseeing in the daylight and rediscovered why it is important to be comfortable with oneself when all one has until dawn is…oneself. 

 

     The potential for a mugging in that neighborhood was no joke. I, luckily, survived unscathed. Although, as alluded to earlier, I could not even count on one hand the times I was walking home after dusk. A fellow student in my building, however, was not so lucky. Despite the fact I warned my building co-occupier we should forego the end of the Sangria party to arrive home in safety, he told me that I should lighten up and enjoy myself. The next morning when I came knocking on his door to walk to the subway together, he finally opened the door with a swollen and red face, wearing the same clothes he had on the night prior. His left back pocket was ripped off and dangled by a few threads from his pants. He had been jumped, mugged, and punched by seven men when he finally came home at three in the morning. They had taken his wallet and, regrettably, his sense of security. He moved out the next day. 

 

     The next chapter is Park Guell. A world famous park designed by Barcelona’s beloved artist, Antonio Gaudi. A place where I habitually watched the world go by.