By Josh Samman

It starts with a missed flight. It's more of a self-delayed one, rather than missed.

I'm at a best friend's wedding in Jacksonville, and the reception has just begun. The time is 9 p.m. My flight to Spain leaves at noon tomorrow. The problem? My flight is out of Miami, a six hour drive away. I’ve toasted more than a few glasses of champagne, which means I won’t be driving tonight, and it's not looking practical to drive all the way across the state in the morning to make it in time. I opt to buy a one-way ticket to across the Atlantic a day late in order to travel in comfort.

My trip to Europe this time is more business than pleasure. I've been called on by the “Big Slow” Luke Barnatt for fight camp assistance. Luke and I shared a house on The Ultimate Fighter season 17, and trained together on occasion since then. I ring Luke to tell him I’m at a wedding, and will likely be postponed a day. He’s recently tied the knot himself, and probably remembers (or doesn’t) remember his marriage night festivities, so he understands where I'm coming from.

The ceremony is amazing. I spend time with people I haven't seen in years. As I make the drive to Miami the following day, I’m happy I gave myself the extra time.

I get to sunny South Florida, hang out with my dogs and roommates for a couple hours, throw my stuff in a bag, and prepare for the long flight ahead. I arrive at the airport to find the booking has "complications” (don’t use justfly.com), making me two days late. It’s the 10th, and a week of training is supposed to kick off with a seminar I'm scheduled to teach across the world in less than 24 hours.

I begin to panic a bit that I’m not going to make it, but manage to find one final last-minute ticket. The 14-hour journey from one sunny coast to another begins.



In Malaga, Spain, training camp for Luke has already begun.

He and a friend recently opened an academy at his new home in the Costa del Sol, and it’s not a place that many professional MMA fighters have passed through. Luke is among the best to don the 4 oz. gloves in Malaga. While that's a good thing for his gym business, it does not make for having many other training partners to sharpen his tools with. Hence the call for help from his fellow TUF 17 cast mate.

His bout is in less than two weeks, against UFC and Strikeforce veteran Jason “Mayhem” Miller. Miller has been arrested several times in the previous months, with the most recent charge carrying a one million dollar bail. Shortly after my ticket is bought, Mayhem appears to acknowledge it on twitter. But like the rest of the general public, I assume the American judicial system won’t be allowing him out of the country.

I agree to join Luke in Spain, although I presume that the opponent will not be the one he has been preparing for.

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The promoter betting on Mayhem to make it overseas is Frank Merenda, an Italian who is spearheading the latest emergence in European MMA through a promotion called Venator FC. Venator is only on their third event, but Frank’s promotional practices and online interactions has gained him notoriety in the MMA realm worldwide.

It began with his response to Mayhem’s initial arrest, continued with the signing of Rousimar Palhares (while under contract to WSOF) and crescendoed into the hilarity that was this interaction with the website Cage Potato.

The combination of events has led the MMA world to wonder how the circus will unfold.

Luke’s experience in the Octagon has earned him the status to face Miller, as well as prestige in Spain amongst his prizefighting contemporaries. The more I meet people from different MMA circles from across the world, the more I realize it is not just United States fans that crowns the UFC king. The same holds true everywhere. If a fighter has competed even once inside the Octagon, it raises his or her value drastically in comparison to those who have not received the call from Zuffa.

Luke’s business partner, Santeri Lillius, is not so easily impressed.

He doesn’t give as much weight to having stepped in the Octagon, because he is no combat slouch himself. Santeri served as an MP in the Finnish military, and while I don’t know if that counts towards any badassery points, it certainly should. His source of pride is the thing he wraps around his waist: At 25 years old, he is the youngest practitioner under the Roger Gracie lineage to earn his black belt. That is no small feat, but his talent on the mat matches the prestige attached to his name.

He is the other half of Lilius Barnatt Academy. While he is appreciative of the pedigree of MMA training my arrival means for his gym, he comes across with a bit of uncertainty for what a potential swinging-dick-type UFC fighter might mean for his alpha on the mat.



Santeri is non-confrontational, but rather sarcastic and dry, which might be unpleasant if it weren’t done so wittingly and behind a thick Finnish accent. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered this dilemma. I’ve found any disconnect is best resolved by training together, which we do. We prove our worth to one another on the mat, and I disarm him further by poking fun at his unsaid concerns with good-natured humor.

He gives me a mild look of revulsion at handing him a sweat covered phone to take a photo after training, and I joke with him that it is okay because it is “UFC sweat.” Later in the day, I spill a bit of blood on the mat from training, and he quips back not to worry, because it is “UFC blood.” We are going to get along just fine. There is something primal about training with folks from around the world. It is hard to describe.

Training in Spain is not unlike training in my home of Miami. Much of the communication in the gym is done via combat, simply because martial arts is the only common language many of us share. While that makes things a bit more difficult for something like seminars, getting rounds in requires no speaking. The bell rings, the round begins or ends. Punch hard, get punched back hard. Tap, and you are freed. These are very simple codes for us to live by in the cage, ring, or on the mat.

As for the foreigners we are able to have dialogue with, there is always a meeting of middle ground. The visitor avoids alienating themselves by adjusting vernacular. While it is said to be a sign of social intelligence, it doesn’t make me feel like any less of a sellout when using terms like “mate” to describe a friend, or “fancy” to depict a want, while in daily conversation with Luke and his wife Lucy. It is a balancing act.

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Many of my adjustments while traveling are made to feel less of an intruder in someone else’s home. My presence is made more evident by my messy nature. "Hurricane Josh" is a term affectionately coined by more than one friend. I’ve offered to stay at a hotel, but Luke insists otherwise. Lucy deals with it well, knowing I am here only to help further her husband’s success.

My function in helping Luke is in my sense of competitiveness. Though many of his hard sparring sessions have been done in my absence, I am still able to use physicality to push Luke in strength and conditioning with iso and plyometrics for some last minute muscular endurance gains, or by chasing on the heels of his 6’6” frame while we sprint on the boardwalk of Malaga.



In between training sessions, I make time on my own to take in the culture. There is something so ubiquitous and inherently voyeuristic to me about beachside towns like Malaga. Cities by the sand are where civilizations began, and the contrast between the shores of South Beach and those of where I am now are refreshing.

The Lamborghinis and $20 margaritas back home have been replaced here by men in huts selling sardines over an open fire, or an occasional fisherman with a pole in the sand. Inside the city, the blocks are at no shortage of museums, and the town takes creative pride in being the home of artist Pablo Piccasso. It has an allure, and it's easy to see why Luke and Lucy settled here.

Malaga's paradise isn't the only thing that drew the Barnatt family here. The other is the presence of Luke's mother. Carol Barnatt is a character too flamboyant to not mention, even in a fight blog. I soon realize that she is likely the source of any combativeness in her son. She joins us for my first ever soccer match, and as I meet her for the first time, I realize that culturally, there are just too many ways to say hello.



Common Americans shake hands. Southerners hug. Hispanic folks in South Florida kiss on the cheek. In Spain and Italy they do a double-cheek-kiss-thing. Add to it that different age groups shake hands differently, and that different time periods dictate cultural trends, and shit gets really complicated. College students are more likely to bro-handshake. Folks that train choose fist bumps. High-fives used to be cool.

It all makes it very hard to guess. Carol and I do a mix of the Spanish and American hello, leading to a funny, awkward introduction.

She is a delightful lady, and I’m sad to hear she won’t be joining us for Luke’s fight. Carol is a Jehovah’s witness. While it is easy to imagine her knocking on people’s doors with unabashed boldness, it may also be the reason for her aversion to violence. She instead opts to just listen to the commentary, and to later tell Luke whether or not the men with microphones were nice or not.

After the game, we eat lunch at a Spanish restaurant. Carol is explaining Spanish labor laws and why they make for poor service. For one, tipping is not customary, which disables any incentive to be timely. The service is indeed poor, so much so that she refuses to reinforce such behavior by paying for her food. We try to insist otherwise, and she obliges for a moment. It lasts until she gripes to the management. They tell her that everyone there had the same service, and she was the only one to complain. Following that, it was hard to argue with her.

Santeri and I pay for our meals, although we are all on the same check, and the rest goes unsettled. I spend the rest of my time in Spain looking over my shoulder for Malaga police. Santeri assures me that I am now deemed an international criminal.



Later in the evening, as we are getting into a cab, a Spaniard asks Luke if he’s an Englishman. He says yes. We are told we should show some respect and give up our taxi to them. I am reminded that I am not the only visitor here, in this unfamiliar territory. Soon we will be guests in a different land, and I hope it is one with more customer-friendly labor laws.

We manage to finish camp without committing any more crimes and pack our things for Milan. Venator FC awaits.

Josh Samman is a UFC middleweight, the author of The Housekeeper and owner of Combat Night MMA.