The Forty Third Blog Of Trig - Return To Barcelona Part 1

RETURN TO BARCELONA BABY! It's been a long time coming, but I finally made it back! As I write this I am sitting in the foyeur of 'Equity Gothic', a hostel not too far from Estacion De Franca. It is Saturday 3rd August 2013, which I think might be 2 years to the day since the end of my last visit! Not sure if that has any significance whatsoever, but it does feel like I've kind-of picked up exactly where I left off on some kind of solar/lunar cosmological basis. I have two and a half days left to play with, but I'm shattered from humping my bag round town looking for a hostel and it's always good to write about experiences while they are fresh in your mind, so I'll relax and describe the wonderful time I have already had in my short stay so far while I listen to some guy play some lovely guitar behind me.

I left London on a hot sunny Thursday afternoon, 1st August 2013. It was my brother's birthday a couple of days earlier or I would have come out sooner, but I wanted to spend the day with him so I put it off a couple of days. It was a last minute 'deal' from Easyjet, which meant I ended up paying double what I would have liked, but my heart was set on it, and my good friend Derrick from the CELTA course had told me that he was moving back to the US very soon, so I wanted to see him before he left. I had told him when I was arriving, and he had given me his number to call.

My flight left Luton at about 6pm London time and I arrived about 9pm in Barcelona. I had not booked any accommodation, intending to either chance it on finding a room in Barcelona when I arrived or hoping that Derrick or another friend could lend me a sofa for the night. If not, I considered the possibility of chilling on the beach for the evening, but that was not preferrable. The day of my departure I discovered that Derrick was the only one of my CELTA pals who was in Spain, that everyone else had left or just gone home to see family. Derrick kindly offered to put me up, but he was an hours train ride from Barcelona. He went to the trouble of checking train times and called me to let me know that there was one leaving at 10:20. Part of me wanted to just find a place in Barcelona then find my way to them Friday morning, but once I arrived I was pretty tired and had time to catch the train, so my decision came easy.

I took the bus into town and then took a short taxi ride to Sants Estacion, where I bought a ticket to Tarragona for about 15 Euros, which I have been told is expensive. There are different companies operating services on the railway and they have different prices depending on how fast the journey is. You can cut the cost in half if you are willing to add an extra 20 minutes to your journey. Sounds like a no-brainer, but when the last train of the evening is the faster, more expensive one, you take what you get.

I arrived in Tarragona just before 11pm, headed out of the station and lit up a cigarette, as usual wondering why the fuck why, and before I was half way through it, Derrick pulled up. I chain-smoked it down, again wondering why the fuck why, threw my bag in his boot and jumped in the car to give my friend a big hug, thanking him for being so kind as to pick me up, put me up, and go out of his way to help me get there. 25 minutes or so later we arrived at his home in a small town called Vallmoll.

The house was lovely, a nice family home. It sat right in front of a quiet road with a small pavement in front and fields opposite, with a backdrop of vineyards and typical Spanish countryside. There was a small front garden separated from the street by a short wall with a fence on top, and a gated driveway. The car parked in the small driveway and as I got out I was happy to see a very fruitful lemon tree above me. I thought they were limes initially as they were still green, but Derrick informed me of the former.

Derrick's wife Rosa welcomed us at the door. I immediately got a positive feeling from the warmth in her smile, and was invited into their home. Derrick showed me upstairs to the room they had set up for me. I dumped my bag and then went downstairs to meet their children, Amy, 6, and Aiden, 2. They were both gorgeous kids, and they soon treated me with the kind of affection that comes naturally to happy, innocent children. Derrick and I chatted until about 4am, remeniscing and catching up on the events in our lives, and just like when we first met, putting the world bang-to-rights. I went out for a couple of cigarettes during the evening, and was told to go out the front of the house so as to not disturb the dogs. I had an image of two loud rowdy beasts, but they turned out to be two lovely, friendly animals. Amy told me that they had rescued them from the street when they were puppies, which I thought was very sweet. Unfortunately they had to give them up before they returned to the USA, and I worried that they might struggle to find homes for two old dogs, no matter how friendly they were.

Before we went to bed Derrick and Rosa asked if I minded watching the children in the morning as they had to drop their car off at the garage and pick up Rosa's parents' car for the day. I was hesitant. I had no problem with watching a 6 year old. Watching a 2 year old who had only just met me the night before I was not too confortable with, but Rosa assured me that they would be asleep until late morning since they stayed up so late the night before. She was right.

When Derrick and Rosa returned, Derrick cooked us all a fried breakfast comprising eggs bacon and pancakes. Lovely. Rosa told me that they did not normally eat such a breakfast, so this was a treat for my benefit! They got more thanks for that. Rosa's sister popped in as we finished eating. She had numerous tattoos, and informed me that she was a tattoo artist. She stayed a short while, and after she left we all squeezed into the car and headed to Tarragona.

I was sandwiched in the back between the two kids, which with their kiddies car seats was not particularly comfortable. They both vied for my attention, Amy grabbing my left arm and hugging me affectionately and Aiden grabbing my left and taking bites out of me with a kind of childish feral excitement. Amy, only six years old, spoke to me in excellent English for her age, which surprised me as well as both her parents, as she did not normally converse in English. Rosa told me that Derrick usually spoke to her in English and she understood what he said, but that she would normally reply in Spanish/Catalan. It was quite amazing that she could speak English so well from hearing her father speak it, despite not having spoken it much herself.

We parked in Tarragona and went walking around the town. Tarragona was one of the major European cities of the Roman Empire, and this is very apparent as you walk around the town. Derrick told me how developers are afraid of starting building projects there as every time they dig down they find more ruins. Work then halts so that archaeologists can survey the area and judge what can be done to preserve the remnants of these historical landmarks. As you walk through the town you can look into many of the shops and see the original walls and sometimes the stone seats that once formed part of the enormous 14,000 seat amphitheatre. It is a beautiful town.

As we walked round the town, little Aiden rode his plastic motorbike, which he called 'Toto' (motorbike in Spanish is 'moto'), being chased by Derrick down every hill we encountered. On one of Derrick's longer downhill chases Rosa took me into the bank to change up money, as you had to have a bank account to do so. She deposited the English and then withdrew Euro, at a rate that turned out to be worse than that at the airport! MESSAGE: Don't trust banks.

As we approached lunchtime I offered to buy them all lunch to say thank-you for their lovely hospitality, but they told me we were going to the beach first since we had the late breakfast, then we would grab some sandwiches on the way to Amy's swimming lesson. I had made a mental note to make sure I did something to show my gratitude, but since they were being such gracious hosts and were politely declining my offers, I decided to make an extra effort to do so.

The beach was clean, the sand was soft, the water was clear, and the gradient in the sea was very slight so it was perfect for beach games. I had my frisbee with me (as I always do these days when the sun is shining!) so after laying my towel down I headed into the water to cool off, before grabbing my frisbee and throwing it deftly out to Derrick in the water. We must have spent at least an hour and a half throwing the frisbee across the waves, launching ourselves through the air and into the water to catch the strays. On one of these launches my sunglasses came off my head. They only cost a tenner or so, so I wasn't too bothered, but I walked a couple of sweeps along the stretch of water we had been playing in trying to find them, Derrick joining me. I had given up on them when a Spanish lad came over and asked if I had lost sunglasses, and that his friends had found some. I went over to the couple he directed me towards, said 'hi' and asked if they had found sunglasses, in the kind of pigeon English you find yourself speaking when talking to 'foreigners', making glasses over my eyes with my fingers. They shook their heads. I smiled. 'No?', turning to the lad who directed me to them and shaking my head, making a kind of 'I don't know' motion with my arms. He came over and spoke to them then told me their friend had put them on and gone up the beach to the shop. He came back shortly and returned them.
"Gracias!"

We left the beach to take Amy to her swimming lesson, stopping on the way at a lovely sandwich bar, one of a chain of restaurants that have won international awards for their food, and it was pretty damn good. I order burger with cured Iberian ham, and caramelised onions, eating it with difficulty when we were back in the car. Amy chomped through her food next to me while Aiden snored quietly on my right.

We get to an outdoor swimming pool about 50m by 30m, on a small hilltop amidst rolling green hills, very quiet and tranquil, with only a few houses nearby. Kids all swim lengths in groups of three or four as the mothers cheer them on or sit by and chat in Spanish. I relax and watch, popping out of the area for a couple of cigarettes. When the swimming is finished the kids play around and I go with Derek to pick Rosa's grandparents up, then we drive to the garage and pick up Derrick and Rosa's car. When we arrive we notice that thieves have stolen the covers from the side indicators on her grandparents car at some point during the day. The mechanic says he can easily get replacements.

We head back to their house, have showers and change. I ask if I can take them all out for dinner to thank them for their hospitality, but they are hesitant because of the kids. It seems as though they might decline for a while, but then they decide to take the kids to Rosa's parents place, which is an amazing country house converted from an old farm, down a bumpy rubbly dirt track. I meet Rosa's cousin and her boyfriend and say hello to her parents again. They have all kinds of mushrooms drying in the house, some of which Derrick tells me are very rare and sought after. I learn that the family have a passion for mushroom hunting, taking frequent trips to find them. I am told that they are frequently asked to reveal where they find some of the rarer ones, but they keep it a family secret.

We leave Rosa's parents' place and drive to the restaurant, after a short while heading down an unlit road much like the one that leads to their house. I feel like I am being let in on some local secret, as you would never find this place unless you knew exactly where you were going. We are driving for a good ten minutes down the dark track before we find the place.

Out of the darkness emerges a faint light and we turn into a rubbly car park with what I estimate to be at least 40 cars. This place is popular! We head through into the restaurant. The eating area is open to the sky and contained within walls covered with green foliage. I am happy to hear dub and reggae playing from an unseen speaker hidden in the foliage somewhere, loud enough to hear clearly but not so loud that I have to raise my voice in conversation. There is a lovely atmosphere.

As we enter, Derrick and Rosa speak in Spanish to one of the waitresses, who is surprised that they have turned up without a reservation. They know her as she is a teacher like them, but she also waitresses in the summer. We are given the choice of waiting for a table to become free or eating in the waiting area, which looked much more chilled. We sat down and it took Derrick to point out to me that the entire area was constructed of packing pallettes, even the seating, which had large cushions spread across it. I never would have noticed if he hadn't pointed it out.

We order a beer each and then look at the food menu. It all sounds very good, and we decide to all choose something and then share. I order 'coca bread pizza', which is a traditional Catalan pastry with raw pizza toppings: goats cheese, peppers, rocket and olives. Very tasty. I also order guacamole nachos for us all to share. I forget what Rosa and Derrick ordered, but I remember all the food being delicious.

When we have finished our meal I pick up the bill, which is surprisingly cheap given the quality of the food and the popularity of the venue. We only had a bottle of beer each and shared one after we finished eating, which probably explains part of that! We relax and chat about all kinds, I tell them what I have been up to in London the last couple of years and they tell me what they have been doing, and their plans for the future. It was a lovely evening and I feel happy that I have done something to thank them for their hospitality.

We leave and pick up kids, who are curled up asleep on the sofa. Rosa picks up Aiden, who is completely naked and out for the count. Amy wakes up and throws her arms up at me so I pick her up and carry her to the car. Makes me feel a strange sense of comfort, and I consider the idea of having my own kids one day. We drive home and all go straight to bed, ending a long but lovely day.

I wake up leisurely Saturday morning and start going through Derrick's large collection of E-books and copy a load of them onto my hard drive, everything from science, to languages, philosophy, cooking, gardening, and more. I spend a good hour and a half going through them, only getting about half way through before deciding I have enough for the time being.

I pack my bag up and tidy my room, then dump my bag down by the door and sit in the front garden with Aiden, who keeps picking his toys up and thrusting them towards me with a big smile, making sounds that appear to be randomly combined syllables. His happy confidence tells me that he knows exactly what he means, even if I don't!

Amy has been inside with a piece of paper and coloured pencils for some time, and she emerges with a big smile on her face, presenting me with a picture she has drawn. The page is decorated with delicate coloured swirls and red hearts, and has two people, a smiling man with a kind-of Tin-Tin haircut; me; and a girl with big black curls; her. At the top of the page is the message 'Ilofiu'. I cannot describe the feelings I felt at this sweet young girl showing me such affection. I can only say that it made me look forward to having my own children, and gave me a sense of how protective I would be of them, as I felt for Amy after less than 2 days in her company. I felt admiration and perhaps even a touch of jealousy for Derrick and Rosa having such a beautiful family. Seeing happy children really gives me hope for the future of humanity in this world.

I intended to catch the train to Barcelona at 12:40, but after a scramble to find their car keys, which Aiden had picked up and dropped behind a garden wall, I was aiming for the 13:20 instead. On the way to Tarragona we talk about the influence of the world's media upon children. We share a sense of disgust at the way children's social and emotional development is guided by television, and even if you have no television, by the other children around them, most of whom undoubtedly do. We discuss how a child can be excluded from social groups if they do not watch certain TV shows. This does not just apply to children. We discuss the influence TV has on children's perceptions of sexuality, which when you look at it, is hideous. Children grow up watching 'artists' such as Rihanna, Beyonce, Lady Gaga and others, parading their semi naked bodies in sexually provocative ways on TV throughout the day, and if you've seen the way young girls dance to western pop music, you cannot tell me it does not influence them. On the flip side, many young boys will hear some male Hip Hop stars speak of women with absolute contempt, glorifying the abuse of women as objects of sexual gratification no more important than a vibrating sex aid. People have been conditioned to accept these things as normal. If you don't believe this, consider how your parents or grandparents view such subjects, then tell me we haven't deviated from the morality they tried to instill in us. It didn't happen spontaneously. It was fed to us, and all along people involved in the decision making processes that determine what is fed to us have decided to allow all that is broadcasted. I think that is a very important thing to remember; that this is all a result of conscious decisions by people in positions of power. Follow that thought to its conclusion and you will find those conclusions quite disturbing.

We arrive at the station but are a bit early, so we continue our discussion at a park nearby while the kids climb about. We talk about how parents can guide their children and warn them about the things we have discussed without making them mistrust the world, and without breaking their innocence too soon or alienating them from you or the world. It is a difficult question. Not one that I feel I can answer, even if I was confident of one. I tell them I feel it is of paramount importance to be as honest as possible with your children. Every time they find our you have told them something that is not true, they trust you a little less, respect you a little less, and your guidance loses its influence. That is the best opinion I have to offer them.

We walk round to the station and I buy a ticket, before popping outside to smoke a cigarette quickly. Derrick joins me and I tell him again how lovely it has been to stay with him and his family, wishing them luck for the future and promising to try and get out to the US one day to visit. He tells me I will be welcome any time. I put my cigarette out, pick up my bag and head to the platform.

And so it's goodbye! I give Derrick a big hug and thank him again, telling him how lovely it has been to see him again. I kiss Rosa on both cheeks and give her a hug, thanking her for putting me up with her lovely family. I bend down to Amy's level and give her a big hug, thanking her for the lovely picture she drew, promising to come visit them in the US one day. Aiden looks like he doesn't understand what's going on. I give his hair a ruffle and say goodbye, then turn back to Derrick and Rosa and repeat.

I am leaving from the opposite platform so I head down the stairs and walk through a tunnel to the other side. The whole family waves goodbye to me from across the tracks and then walks out of the station. I feel quite emotional. The train arrives ten minutes late, and then I am on my way back to Barcelona again.

'Return to Barcelona: Part 1' - DONE!

The Sixth Blog of Trig - The Truth Teacher

I spent some time talking to my grandmother last night and I spoke of some of my school memories, specifically of my history lessons. When I was at school I had a history teacher by the name of Mr Oulton, who was also my head of year. He was quite a dominating powerful figure, tall and stern, but a very fair and decent man. I wasn't the most well behaved student, and I remember spending much time standing outside of his office. I wasn't a bad kid, but I was cheeky and mischievous and not particularly hard working, at all, so I spent my fair share of time in detentions, including the infamous 'Saturday Detentions'. I told my grandmother how, no matter how many times he found me outside his office for some misdemeanor, I never remember him speaking down to me, or treating me unfairly or contemptuously in any way. He treated me with unearned respect, and I hope that I returned that respect to some degree. I fear that in my immaturity I may not have.

Much of schooling these days is based around the learning of what we refer to as 'facts'. This is especially apparent in so-called 'history' lessons, where school children are often presented with a timeline of what are locally considered to be the 'important'/'relevant' events to be remembered. A good history teacher, such as was Mr Oulton, does not simply demand recall of these details from memory. Any good teacher should encourage and assist students in the practise of exercising a logical process to determine what is fact and what is not. A good teacher, a TRUE teacher, should teach and encourage the pursuit of TRUTH.

I remember Mr Oulton, possibly upon commencing his teaching of us, stressing to us the importance of questioning what is presented to us as 'fact'. We were taught to assess any given source of information logically, to ask ourselves to question who wrote it, what their background was, their political views, their personality, locality, and subsequently, what possible motive they could have had for producing that source of information. Then of course, you must then assess this background information for its own reliability and accuracy. If you can find discrepancies then you must question the information further until you have satisfied your uncertainty to the best of your ability. This is not just the study of history. It is THE PURSUIT OF TRUTH.

We are born with a powerful, inherent ability to assess and identify truth, and the ability to retain our findings as memory. Children naturally investigate their environment to the greatest degree possible, as this is the only way to properly understand the world we are born into. We grab at things in an attempt to understand the limbs we have been born with, and once we have established the truths of our physical abilities we can further analyse the association between ourselves and the world. The natural curiosity and inquisitiveness of children, this pursuit of truth, is what facilitates our growth and development. This is why we learn faster as children than at any other time in our lives.

Schools today all-to-often stifle our childrens' curiosity, for the sake of learning half-truths and sometimes blatant lies by rote, usually for the motives of the people bearing the physical power in the world. This is indoctrination; the bane of curiosity, enquiry, understanding and development. Indoctrination can be very obvious in some cases, and in others it can be very subtle. It is often very difficult to identify, as its very purpose is to restrict wider understanding and conceal truth. Indoctrination is to human beings what stagnation is to water.

There has always been division and conflict between human beings in the world. These divisions often arise from intolerance, which can be attributed to a lack of understanding, which itself is brought about by an indoctrinated unwillingness to understand and Empathise with anything outside of the doctrine. It has nothing to do with ability. As I have mentioned, everyone is born with a natural instinct to investigate and attempt to understand the world around them, but the enforcement of false truths upon enquiring minds forcefully occupies time and creates a distraction from our natural inquisitive instinct to search for truth.

Looking back, Mr Oulton was more than just a history teacher to me. I did not understand at the time, but he was teaching us to think for ourselves. He was teaching us to take in information, without being taken in by it.

Since leaving school I have discovered that many of the 'facts' presented to us in our history books were either half-truths or purely false 'truths'. Mr Oulton reminded us of our natural instinctive ability to question the 'history' he was forced to have us learn. He showed us the logical process by which we could assess the world as individuals, in order to form our own opinions and improve our understanding, based upon an instinctive logical process.

Mr Oulton was not just a history teacher. He was a teacher of truth.

This is "The Sixth Blog Of Trig", signing off.

The Second Blog of Trig - The SS (Social Services)

Okay, here we are, blog number two. I'm kind of nervous now, like I should be writing something profound, but nothing is coming to me. Thought maybe I'd make it a kind of diary, but my life isn't that interesting. Well, maybe it is, I don't know. Let's give it a try.

Yesterday I visited Mrs X. She has kids, one of which has a new kid, and they have all been on the child protection register for years, dealing with all kinds of Social Services (SS) bullshit because the father happened to get locked up for something. Now, I don't know exactly what he did, but Mrs X says that he never laid a finger on her. However the SS seem to have on their reports that he beat her up. She says this is complete and total crap. Regardless, they have for some time viewed her children as being in danger, even though the supposed threat is in jail. Because of this she must yield to one surprise visit and one arranged visit from the SS every two weeks. This means that once every two weeks some fresh, eager SS officer turns up at her house unannounced and can demand a guided tour.

Mrs X tells me of the smugness and contempt she has experienced from the SS, and the sneaky way they interrogate her, and when they can get them alone, her children. Her son comes home from school with stories of SS interrogations, much like Orwell's 1984! Her early-teen son tells me how they begin with innocent questions like, 'what sports do you like?', and 'do you have any pets?', leading onto, 'oh and how many dogs do you have?', because too many dogs in the house with young children is grounds to take them away. The SS officer will soon come out with it, 'so, how does your mum punish you? Does she hit you?'. He truthfully tells them that she punishes him by taking away privileges and sending him to his room. He says that they don't accept that straight away and push him further. The boy is a lot of work and gets punished a lot, but he is generally a good kid. He just gets very bored. He also has dyslexia, and he is overweight so sometimes gets bullied. He responds to the bullying and gets in trouble. The school has already labelled him a 'troublemaker' because of previous incidents, but the boy is not malicious. He is intelligent in his own ways, sociable, friendly and confident. It is worth noting that he goes to an 'academy'. This is a school run for profit, so, as I understand it, the government pays the private company for each child they teach. They get more money for children with learning difficulties and are supposed give them more one-to-one time. He gets none. Gotta love capitalism - schools for profit is what freedom is all about (SARCASM ALERT).

Mrs X is a good person. She is a thoughtful person. She is a kind person. She is a philosophical, almost spiritual person, with an ear for bullshit. She was young when she had her first child, not too much older when she had her second, and not long after her third she became a grandmother. She keeps her house clean. She teaches her children to speak properly, not to swear, and they know not to, although she herself slips up in the heat of the moment. She is, and has for some time, been under an enormous amount of stress on a daily basis; stress which might break some people, but not Mrs X. Every week she struggles to keep her children fed, clothed, educated and entertained. She tries to get work when the kids are at nursery/school. She tries to afford them the holidays, clothes, computers and mobile phones which our society demands of them. She tries to forget her own desires; for love, for romance, for a life without struggle; but sometimes I see the tears she fights back.

Every time I go to see her I do my best to be a positive influence in her house. Her children have not grown up with their father, but it seems like they have had many positive male influences in their lives through her friends. I try my best to be one of those. I have given her son free tutoring, spend time drawing and talking with her daughter, I do what little I can to be a positive influence in my friend's household with the time I have, but every one of her efforts and the efforts of her friends are overshadowed by the SS interference and intimidation. Mrs X is not perfect, but she is a good mother and tries to instill values in her children, and their politeness and sociability usually reflect this. Her house is always tidy but Mrs X battles constantly to get her children, her son mostly, to keep their own rooms tidy and maintain their own hygeine, but it does seem like an uphill struggle for her most of the time. She is simultaneously screamed at for attention when there is more than one of the children at home and it seems very stressful for her, but she just about copes.

Her daughter just turned 18, days before giving birth to her first son. Because her daughter is now 18, Mrs X has been told her rent has gone up £80 a week, since her daughter should be working. She has spoken to the housing association and they say they might be able to knock it down, but even if they do, they are sticking an extra bill on her when they should be supporting the family further, and are threatening to take the daughter's new son away because she has missed a couple of SS interrogations. Mrs X now may have to move house because of the arrears that have quickly built up with the new charge. She has been in the house for a few years and has decorated and made it her home, and now she may have to uproot the fragile existence she has built for her family and start fresh.

Who the hell do these SS people think they are? They turn up at someone's house and scrutinise their entire lives for evidence to use against them, seeming like their ultimate goal is to steal the children rather than help the family! When I picture the SS as an entity, using everything I have been told about them, I see it as an evil child-eating gremlin hiding just round the corner, watching my friend and her family, rubbing its' dirty hands together and smacking its' bile-dribbling lips waiting for my friend to slip up so it can steal her children and put them into 'care', where ironically, no-one will ever care for them like their mother ever again.

I recently watched a video on youtube of a 13 year old boy being held down, cuffed and taken away from his father to be put into care, three days before Christmas (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEUb9ZR_UD4). The boy said he did not want to go with them, so they said they would carry him out if they had to. They often use the old Nazi excuse of, "we are only following orders." No. They were not following orders. They are human beings who made a decision to kidnap a boy from his father because someone with a position told them to. An 'order' is an imaginary concept. Every person has the choice to refuse an 'order' made against them, so no matter who makes the 'order', whether it be the qUeen or a police officer, it is only EVER a request. Every person is free to decide their own actions. To relinquish responsibility for your actions because you are following orders is the most cowardly act. An 'order' is simply a well-dressed request.

This is "The Second Blog of Trig", signing off.