I am the last of our team to shoot Free Pistol today, the other two go through on an earlier detail. Nothing startling shot by our guys, and I fail to be the exception. I drop probably twenty points on an average training score, which is a little disappointing for me as I normally hold together well in competition. My target printout shows I peppered 8.9s in all directions. One of those days when they group opens up enough to badly affect the score. Only one poor shot (outside the 8 ring) to end on a 527. Our team coach is pleased that I fought right to the bitter end and didn't give up. I'm at least fifteen points shy of making the final relays tomorrow so will have a couple of days to sightsee.
We hang around to commiserate with the girls who have shot their Sport Pistol Precision. Our whole team is performing below par. While at the ice cream stand between the ranges I witness a scene reminiscent of a Monty Python sketch. An English woman is asking for an ice cream. She points to her selection on the poster and the attendant shakes his head. She points to another one. He says "No". This goes on for five or six repetitions. I'm waiting to buy some bottled water. I ask the woman if she's ever seen Python's Cheese Shop rountine, as this is panning out to be a carbon copy. I almost expect there to ne NO ice cream. Instead of volunteering what he does have, the guy insists on waiting to turn down each new request. He looks less than impressed as I describe John Cleese's attempts to buy some cheese, ANY cheese at the cheese shop and the woman laughs. Serves him right for being such an unhelpful bastard.
We dine at the University restaurant where students are given practical experience in waiting and cooking. Our waiter may have to stay behind and write lines, as he forgets something for most of our party and gets a few orders completely wrong. No, his name is not Manuel, and he is helpful enough. Just a little inexperienced. I suspect the maitre'd will make his life hell after we leave.
We take the train for the centre of town in search of gun shops. We learn by trial and error how to use the metro underground system and successfully locate our first port of call. Unfortunately it seems to be an apartment unit with nobody home. Second attempt is more successful, but lack of Spanish and a lack of target pistols makes it a little lacking somehow. The next two shops are also set up for hunting rather than target shooting. We find a flyer advertising another pistol club in Barcelona. This annoys us a bit as we have been told there are no other clubs in the area. Some of this dead time could have been put to better use, since the range at Mollet del Valles is out of bounds to us except for a short session the day before our competition.
We visit a Gaudi building. Gaudi was an architect who had an odd way of looking at things, having the effect that when you see one of his buildings you feel as if you're looking at an odd thing. They are easy to pick around town, you'd swear he was stoned when he designed them. Eccentric and brilliant at the same time.
For lunch we stop in a Burger King. After waiting for ten minutes at the counter with nobody in sight we decide to try elsewhere. The table mat at Maccas is so entertaining I carefully avoid spilling any of my chicken burger on it so I can bring it back to Australia with me. I have loaded its image on a seperate page; be warned it is large and you might as well make a cup of coffee while it downloads. I think it's worth the effort. McDonalds have such a family values image here in Australia I doubt that they would use anything like this. The beach scene is not crude exactly, but the lineup of perverts ogling a topless bather and the blind guy accidentally goosing another one makes it a little over kids' level. Still, it's great fun to pick out the minor details.
A day of intense negotiations between many of our shooters and the tent traders. Yes, that's right, two of my team mates decide to buy Walther tents. Then they set them up in their rooms. Strange but true. One of the team buys a Feinwerkbau P30 in sexy red. Our coach is not impressed, he imports another brand. Then he catches the same shooter soliciting coaching tips from a Russian. The mouth works but no sound comes out, I think he is a little upset.