The Two Days It Didn’t Rain in Spain

Photo by Will Robson-Scott

If you follow any venerable New York skate institution on social media, you no doubt caught on to the fact that the entire city was in Barcelona for the second half of January. Thanks to some fluke in the system, round-trip flights were running about $350 direct, so what would have been high season for Puerto Rican getaways turned into a citywide exchange of Tompkins for MACBA.

For us, the first day and a half were fine. Then came the rain. And more rain.

On day seven, we went to sleep with a 0% chance of precipitation on the forecast for the next day. We woke up: 0%. Half-hour phone stare sessions, showers, breakfast, board set-ups — we were ready to go.

An aggravated “Fuck!” emerged from Andre Page’s room.

“What?”

“I don’t want to say it.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to say it.”

“Dude, what happened?”

“Look outside.”

Desperate for a rout of good luck, our zero-percent chance of precipitation day became a failed Hail Mary mission a thirty-minute trainride outside of downtown Barcelona.

Some people drank their way out of despair, some tried to skate at night, others skated marble banks while they were only half wet during an hour-long dry spell, while a select few got #cultured. It has been said that the only way to deal with New York is to get the fuck out of New York — so there’s no time ever lost in not being here for a week-and-a-half.

…even if you come back with a minute of footage from the two days it didn’t rain ;)