I have never written anything about my time when I lived in Barcelona, which covered a period between 2001 and 2003. First time I went to Barcelona was in 1993 although that was only for 10 days. I didn't know back then that I would fall in love with this city where I would find dear friends that grew close to my heart and are like a second family to me now. In 1993 Barcelona was freshly out of the olympic games and the city presented some renewals in their infrastructure. I was 21 back then and to be honest like every teenager I only cared about having a good time and did not pay any attention to the cultural values of the city. 8 years later I was a student of the University of Vic at the faculty for translation/interpreting, which was approx. 70 km away from Barcelona. That chapter of my life deserves a different blog as I got closer to the Catalan culture through a girl I had met at the University. It is a typical story of a long-distance relationship; you know, one that never works out in the end.We couldn't get enough of each other but it also presented some difficulties as I had to fly back and forth. In the end she chickened out and I was heartbroken.But as I said, that is another story.
Check also my guest entry at : http://littleguiltythings.wordpress.com/2014/06/06/el-convidat-murat/ which will tell you about some other failure of mine.
After my studies I had a brief stint working at the insurance company back home in Cologne. I'd would work enough to earn money that would get me through some time in Barcelona until I found a job there. So you can see, after my studies I had my mind set to return to Bcn. During my studies I enjoyed the friendship of an italian who also wanted to live there. We had exchanged phone numbers so we could stay in contact. I remember how hard it was to adapt myself to Germany once you had that Erasmus-virus in your system. It felt like a depression. I couldn't fit in. Anyways, one day I received a phone call from my Italian friend who offered me to share a flat with him in Sabadell. I said yes immediately. I quit my job and told my parents that I would go back to Bcn. They weren't suprised. I gave up my appartment in Cologne and took the next plane to Barcelona. I had some money with me but I must admit that I did not calculate the costs wisely. After a couple of months I ran out of money and couldn't find any job. I had met some Turkish friends who would work illegaly with no papers in a döner restaurant and I would translate for them whenever there was some necessity. In return I could eat there for free. One of them guys was from Antakya, which is the south-east of Turkey where the population speaks both Turkish and Arabic. He knew about my job situation and kept telling me to see a guy who would own a translation agency and was looking for translators all the time. To be honest, I thought the guy knew shit. If he had the connection he would have used it himself instead working in a döner restaurant, right? I was some pretentious dick. But I had reached a point where I started to evaluate every possibility. I just didn't wanna go back.
Anyways, I visited the guy, some Hispano-Palestinian who welcomed me with such warmth that I was taken aback for a second. I thought he had confused me with someone else. He explained me how much he liked the Turkish culture (I was born and raised in Germany by Germans but I didn't say anything) and that his grandfather used to fight with the Turks against the British. I didn't care then. All I knew was that I needed a job. He offered me to work as a translator for his agency. His company was providing translators for the Court of Barcelona. You know, whenever a tourist was robbed or conned, which happened a lot in Bcn, his agency would provide translators. It sounded very exciting. I would attend court cases and get to see lockups and court rooms. I have seen it all. Rape, robbery, theft, cons, drug trafficking, sexual abuse, child abduction etc. No murder though. I had to translate practically for everyone: some times for the victims, some times for the state, sometimes for the criminals and sometimes for the witnesses. I was confronted more than once with racism, ignorance or arbitrariness either by the police or the district attorney, or the underpaid lawyers or even the judges themselves. I guess I could write a book about it. In my next post I will write some more about my experience as a court-translator in Barcelona.
