In a twist about Tie-dye

Welcome back to vol. 3 of Half a Bottle of Pisco and a Cactus!

To begin this story, it is necessary to make a confession: I am eternally struggling with the tug-of-war between a bohemian heart and a bourgeois brain. For example, the desire to travel and explore, but also catching a bus to the airport nearly four hours before my flight to avoid any possibility of missing it. And also having Speedy Boarding to be able to choose a good seat (you do eventually build up resistance to the glares from the ‘mere mortals’ in the other queue). So, when I saw a pair of tie-dye hareem trousers in a back alley in Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter, I found myself in a dilemma which digs down to the roots of my identity. My hippie heart gasped ‘Colours! Cotton! Something akin to pyjamas that I can wear outside!’. My more pragmatic head countered with the reasonable argument that I have a long and chequered history of impulsive decisions, which have had varying degrees of success ... Best ask Mum. Only she would have the wisdom, as mums do, to tell me if these trousers would keep me cool and help me fit into the achingly relaxed and eccentric Ciutat Vella (El Gótico, El Ravel, La Barceloneta and El Born), or make me look like a faux-hemian version of my friend X. 

(Just to show Barcelona's bohemian credentials, please refer to the nun I photographed skateboarding through El Raval.)

This is where my ramble requires a bit of context, so allow me to provide a quick backstory. At university in Canterbury, I made the acquaintance of a girl who I will henceforth refer to as X. She could best be described as a nomadic hippie dream. According to her Facebook photos, she seems to be constantly saving the animals in South America, leaping about in a Southeast Asian jungle, or participating in a mud festival whilst learning the ways of a country’s indigenous tribe. On a practical level, I am just not cut out for this sort of life - I struggle with humidity, bugs, and/or lack of plumbing. But, I do have a soft spot for the aesthetic.   

(Pictured above: me embracing my full inner hippie)

Back to the story: As I was still floating awkwardly in the alley, my mother, to whom I turn for all matters, told me to try them on and see. A practical solution, except for a small oversight: I didn’t particularly want to enter the shop, try on the trousers, take a picture and send it to her, only to explain to the shop assistant ‘sorry, I just have to wait for my mum to tell me if I look like a bourgeoise version of a girl I know who spends her time taking care of elephants and bathing in waterfalls’.

I turned around and walked away like the scuttling, awkward creature I can become. Then, two days later, I learnt the temperature was going to hit 34 degrees Celsius, walked straight back to the shop and bought them there and then. A true free spirit I may not be, but I make the tie-dye work for me … I still don’t want to go to the rainforest, though.

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