The day I got a tattoo and accidentally stumbled into a revolution

So there I was, fresh out of a tattoo shop in Barcelona, sporting a brand, new sword and shield on my right arm, a warrior’s mark after a two day bender that had left me feeling like a medieval knight, ready to take on the world (I’ll mention more of that another time, that’s a whole story in itself)

Or at least ready to tackle the nearest ice cream stand.

As I strolled out of the local park, still basking in the glory of my inky masterpiece (I’ll upload a picture soon), the atmosphere shifted damn whole dramatically. Suddenly, I was engulfed in chaos. I glanced to my left and saw a throng of 100,000 demonstrators marching fiercely, waving flags like they were in an epic battle for independence. Oh shit, I thought, a mass riot!

My heart was proper racing as I stood frozen in the middle of the street. Mobsters (just simple people really) were milling about to my left, looking like they just walked off the set of a gritty crime drama, while to my right, squads upon squads of riot police. And here I was—just a boy with a fresh tattoo, caught in the crossfire of a political uprising.

All I wanted was an ice cream. Instead, I found myself teetering between two opposing forces, contemplating my life choices right in the damn middle of it all. Was this a dramatic twist in my travel story, or was it just my hangover playing tricks on me?

With the sound of chanting rising to a crescendo, I realized I was going to miss my flight out of Barcelona after saying goodbye to the two women from the hostel (one hostel and one her friend) I met out there. Taxis were absolutely NOWHERE to be found; they’d either joined the revolution or fled in fear. Panic set in. I was trapped between demonstrators and the entire Barcelona riot force, that looked like they’d happily draft me into their ranks.

I pictured myself as an unwilling recruit in a struggle I had no part in, merely because I couldn’t resist a post tattoo ice cream.

As I scrambled to find a way out, I felt like I was in a poorly scripted action film, just add dramatic music and a close up of my bewildered face. With my heart racing and my new tattoo throbbing as if it had its own heartbeat, I ducked and weaved through the crowd, hoping to find a way out of this surreal mess.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I spotted a taxi! I practically dove into the back seat, shouting, “To the airport, please!” as the driver looked at me like I was a madman. And just like that, I escaped the chaos, leaving behind the shouting protestors and the threat of being caught in a political storm.

So, lesson learned: next time you get a tattoo while on a bender, check the local events first. And for the love of all that’s holy, get your ice cream before the world turns upside down. PS, did I mentioned I was getting high in the park? That definitely added to the chaos