Something you’ll notice as you walk around Barcelona are all of the scooters zipping around between the cars. This is a very common mode of transportation in Europe and very prominent in the cities of Spain.
The scooter, or moto, is popular with residents from all walks of life. You’ll see teenagers riding them on the way to school, men in suits with briefcases at their feet, and my personal favorite, bad ass girls riding around in skirts and stilettos.
Motos are an easy, convenient way to get around the city and obviously more cost-effective than a car. The only time they don’t make sense is when it rains- and even then, I’ve seen some pretty fashionable waterproof ponchos.
It’s no big deal to those who live here, but to someone who grew up in the suburbs of Eastern Pennsylvania, riding on one of these things is like a movie-scene fantasy; especially if it’s done while holding on to a handsome Spanish man.
After living here for a year without an offer of a ride from even an old or creepy man, I decided to take matters into my own hands. The other day, a friend and I went to a place in the Born neighborhood where you can rent a Vespa for 9 Euros and hour.
There were signs at the outset that should have told me this wasn’t the best idea. When we arrived, the manager said we needed an international driver’s license. Neither of us had one- the best we could do was Jersey. No problem, he could bend the rules, he’d make a photocopy of the Jersey license. Next, he needed a 300 Euro deposit in case we damaged the bike. We didn’t have 300 Euros on us. No problem, he could bend the rules, he’d take whatever cash we had on hand.
After all the business was settled, we were given helmets and a tutorial on how the bike works. Since I had no interest in actually being responsible for operating this machine, my friend was the one really getting the lesson. I was trying to sneak glances in the side view mirror to make sure my hair looked okay coming out under the helmet.
We collectively decided that it would be best for her to take a little solo spin to get comfortable before I hopped on the back (with my eyes closed, pretending she was a 28 year old, square jawed, dimple chinned architect named Javier) for the real ride.
As I watched her take off, with the handle bars wobbling and the speed alternating in quick spurts between 5 and 30 miles per hour , I started to wonder if this was really going to happen. As I waited for her to come back my anxiety grew. Just as I was about to go look for her I saw her coming up the street, walking the bike. It was because there wasn’t a quick way to get back due to one way streets and things, but it still didn’t make me feel better about hopping on the back of the thing.
I tried to get over it and got on, clutching the metal handles on either side of me. We took off in a quick shot and then slowed down to almost a standstill. I was fighting the urge to put my feet down for balance. We made our way around a corner and then stopped. Started again, stopped. I instinctively put my foot down on the street, which totally threw off the balance. We made it another 20 yards, drifting towards a parked van in the process and then a big truck tried to pass us on the tiny street. “I’m not comfortable with this!” I shouted. “I don’t feel good about this, this isn’t going to work.”
My friend agreed and we got off and walked the bike the half a block back to the rental place, trying to congratulate ourselves for at least trying, but really feeling a little foolish. We paid the nine Euros and I put the dream to bed...for now.
If you think you might have better luck with one of these hogs, the place where we rented it was called Via Vespa and is located at Carrer Princesa, 56 in the Born area near Ciutadella Park. Rentals are 9 Euros an our or 59 Euros for the day and they offer guided Vespa tours upon request.
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