The Twelfth Blog Of Trig - The Barcelona Diaries (Part 3 - 02/07/2011)

Okay, I'm catching slowly up with the present, day by day. It's the fourth of August now, and I am about to write up my notes from my third day in Barcelona, 32 days ago. I might have to do a brief summary of the course itself when I finally get around to it, otherwise I worry that my backlog will get worse and I'll spend the rest of my life writing about the past, which is just a horrible idea. So anyway, Saturday it is...

I woke up fairly early as always, a bit of the 'morning glory' keeping me face down and smiling for a while before I noticed the light in the room, and my mind ascended into reality. I opened my eyes slightly and then quickly shut them tight, pulled a sheet over my head, put my arm over the sheet blocking my eyes and went back to sleep. Very soon the sound of the birds outside had gotten the better of me and I was up.

I went downstairs and had some cereal and then a cup of tea, which I took up to the roof terrace with me to smoke a cigarette. Once I smoked I did a couple of exercises, couple of press-ups, then went downstairs to my room and surfed the net a while.

I heard Alan call my name and I answered. He asked if I fancied going out to grab some food and get a little orientation round the area. I gladly accepted and we left soon after, heading up to the local food market, then on to the local shopping centre. Now, I hate shopping centres. I walk into Brent Cross and a migraine appears and I want to break shop windows, but this was a nice place. Expensive, but nice.

We sat down at a sushi counter and Alan ordered two glasses of Cava. Very nice. We sat there and chatted, and, almost inevitably when you are talking to me, we got onto discussing the banking system and how corrupt and detrimental to society it is. I somehow got onto conspiracies of all kinds such as 9-11 and 7-7, telling him about all the evidence that points to conspiracy and my theories on it all. We talked of various issues in the world for some time, before we finished our glasses and left to get some food. We wandered the Barcelona streets for a while before stopping at a cafe. I had a very mediocre chicken and chips and then paid for lunch since Alan had bought me dinner the first night. Then we headed back to the house.

After we got back I decided I was going to go and see the 'Neucamp' Stadium a couple of miles away, and I set off with my map and not much else. I bought some beer on my way, thinking it would be nice to have a couple somewhere. It took me a while to get there, but it was one road all the way so no risk of getting lost...and I actually didn't.

I arrived at the Neucamp stadium and was a little disappointed. It is a hideous building of grey stone from the outside. Still, took a couple of pictures and carried on round to the far side of the stadium where I found some cool graffiti. I took a few pictures and then walked on to find a large concrete playing ground the size of a medium sized football field, with a number of Asian guys playing cricket and sitting around.  A high wall went around the perimeter of the playing ground, saturated with what from a distance seemed to be very nice graffiti. I wandered in as a group of them were leaving, saying 'ola' to one who seemed to want a stare battle with me, took a couple of photos, and left straight after, feeling slightly out of place.

Looking at my map I saw that I could walk down one main road and be a couple of blocks from where I was staying, and there was also a park on the way that I could check out, and maybe stop for a beer.

I set off, eyes all around me soaking up the noises of the city. As I approached the park I noticed a couple in wedding dress outside the park, looking like they had just been married. I knew I had seen something appropriate in my little Spanish book so I pulled it out and flicked through until I found the right page. "Felicitaciones!" I said with a smile as I passed them. "Gracias senor."

I walked into the park and wasn't too impressed. There was some nice fountains but the water in the pools was very dirty and the park looked un-maintained in general. It was nice, but could have been much nicer with a little work. I did not spend long in there.

As I approached Les Corts a little further down the road I recognised the shopping centre I had visited earlier with Alan. I knew my way home! I was deciding to go and have a beer or two on the balcony back home when I suddenly heard drums coming from the side roads. I had to stop and investigate and was fascinated to find children running down the road in fireproof demon costumes, with catherine wheels on sticks, stopping running when the wheels stopped spinning as they exploded above their heads. I later learned this is called 'Corre Foc' by the Catalan people, or 'fire running'. They were being led through the side-streets slowly by the drummers, cycling back to their group leader to have new fireworks attached to their sticks. I got my camera out and started filming. I had to avoid the white-hot sparks as they ran past, and as I was crouching filming one runner, his firework flew off, and without me noticing, landed next to me. It then exploded a couple of feet from my head, sending my head spinning and my ears ringing (see video at the top).

After an hour or more watching the show it finished, and everyone watching cheered and clapped. I did likewise and then left to make my way home. As I passed another road I heard more drumming, this time more accurate and professional sounding, so once again I followed my ears to the source and found another two groups of older, more experienced drummers hammering out great rhythms. There was a crowd surrounding them as they marched through the streets to their beats, with older, more adventurous fire-runners ahead of them. These guys did not shy away from the sparks and the fire, they attacked each other with it. They ran at each other with lances like 'Roman Candles', covering each other in sparks. After following them for twenty minutes or so we came to a busy square full of many more drummers, locals, a stage and a bar. I sat down to watch the party.

The drummers and fire-runners performed for a long while on-and-off, stopping at around 11pm (a guess), when a band started playing on the stage. I had already had a couple of my beers at this point, and I cracked open a few more and just sat on a bench watching the festivities around me.

A photographer documenting the party sat down next to me and spoke in Spanish. He looked about 55 at a guess. "Ingles", I said, pointing to myself. He acknowledged me but his silence told me that he did not speak any English. We both sat there checking out the scene in front of us silently, when I caught a whiff of rotten eggs. He tapped me on the shoulder and made a smoking motion while saying something I did not understand, pointing at the group of people sitting on the floor near us. I did not understand him, and motioned this to him. He made like he was injecting something into his arm and then the smoking motion again. I understood. He was telling me that the egg smell was heroin and that they were smoking it.

The party went on as I finished my beers, soaking up the atmosphere happily, smoking far too many cigarettes. I looked up at the clock tower above me and it was midnight! I had been following the fire-runners, drummers, and sitting watching the party for almost five hours! I was a little tired and decided it was time to leave. The photographer had left a while back so I left the party without a goodbye and vanished into the side streets. Within ten minutes I was in bed.

Saturday over. One more day until I start my CELTA course, and really, it would have been stupid not to make it a beach day.

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

The Eighth Blog Of Trig - The Barcelona Diaries (Part 2 - 01/07/2011)

Okay, Barcelona blog part two! As I write this I am sitting on the roof terrace of International House Barcelona, the school I am studying at. There are students all around me chatting, smoking, drinking coffee and eating. I have drowned out the background with headphones pumping Beck's album 'Odelay' into my ears (special thanks to Davey Bee for the great times we had trying to decifer the lyrics). I think I left off on Thursday night after meeting my host Alan. So I guess Friday morning is a good place to continue...


So, I wake up Friday morning and have a shower, hot then cold, taking care to pick all my failing hairs out of the bath afterwards (yes, I meant 'failing', not falling). I go downstairs and say hello to Alan and he offers me breakfast. We have Bran Flakes with a sliced banana, OJ on  the side. I'm out of cigarettes so I decide to go out and find a shop. Should be simple, but it doesn't work out to be. I head out into the streets and wander in what seems to be a promising direction, but the promise turns out to be broken. I didn't take my map out with me, assuming I wouldn't need it, forgetting of course, that all of Miss Assumption's children are named 'Fuckup'.


I failed to find a shop that sold cigarettes for some time, and by the time I did, I had no idea where I was. I wandered the streets for over an hour, sweating like a pig on a spit, pumping my legs faster and faster in frustration until I finally found my bearings again, realising that I had pretty much been walking circles round the block I was staying on. I also did not feel I had any better idea of the surrounding area. Lesson learnt - always take a map.


Alan greeted me when I arrived back, laughing as I told him my survival story, in  the manner of a man who has just crawled his way out of the desert. We had a sandwich for lunch and then I grabbed my bag and set out towards the Metro station. I was on my way to the language school to say hello, and then have a wander round the town and maybe the beach. At the Metro station I bought a ticket which gave me 50 journeys on Metro or buses, within 30 days, for 31 Euros. That's three days' travel in London, if you're lucky.


The underground Metro reminds me of the one in Budapest, but more modern. They both have similar '80s-computer-game' sounds on the train to announce arrival, departure, and doors opening. I prefer it to the aural torture inflicted on London commuters. I have on many occasions been very close to unleashing my fury upon the speakers on the London trains. I have envisioned myself running at the things with a biro-bayonet, sending the little beeping bastards straight to silicon heaven with a calculated stab through the tweeter, while commuters drop dead from shock upon hearing my horrific war-cry.


The Metro stations are all absolutely sweltering, being too large an area to effectively air condition, but the trains are nice and cool. I left the train and walked into the heat outside with a smile. It was bright outside, and I didn't have to look in the direction of the sun to be forced into squinting.

Getting off at Catalunya station, I found myself in Placa De Catalunya, a big square with water-featured monuments dotted about. I walked around taking a couple of photos and soaking up the atmosphere, trying to recognise the different accents around me. I heard lots of American, lots of Australian, and of course lots of Spanish. I gazed around me for a while, being reminded of Trafalgar Square a little (Spanish style, without Nelson), then I headed for the far corner of the square, which my map told me was where I had to go to begin the short walk to the school.

I arrived at the school 5 minutes later, and was directed to the first floor where I met Gloria, the Head of Administration. She had a bright smile which made me feel comfortable immediately. I was hoping for a tour, but her assistant was at lunch and she had to stay at her desk. She told me to arrive at 8.30am Monday and she would introduce me to my fellow students and show me to my class. Before I left she introduced me to another Sam, who holds a senior teaching position. He was also smiling and friendly, making me feel very positive about things.

 

I came out of international house and I walked towards the 'Ramblas', but I got distracted by the interesting alleyways cutting off of the main roads, and decided to investigate. A part of me echoed the warnings I had heard about the crime in Barcelona, but I wanted to see as much as the city as possible, not just the busy tourist areas, so I headed off the beaten track into the side passages, which were made slightly ominous by the tall buildings that created them. Some looked less inviting than others, with sombre faces staring out from the shadows, and the smell of urine and sweat wofting through the channels. I chose my alleyways carefully using the criteria of piss saturation and ominiscity. Is that a word? It is now. 'Ominiscity'. You heard it here first.

After wandering through the passages a while I came across the cathedral. I guess it was one of Gaudi's creations by its beautiful architecture. In front was a market with all kinds of antique curiosities, which I expected to be expensive by the looks of them. I browsed a while and then headed up the side of the cathedral where I found a couple of guys playing Indian music. I stopped a while, took a video (at the top of this page), and then headed off in some random direction. Maps are useless in these maze-like streets.

I had decided earlier to visit the port and the beach, so I headed down the Ramblas (once I found it by complete fluke) towards the ocean. At the bottom of the Ramblas is Columbus' column, very much like Nelson's, but for CC. Behind this is the port. I headed over and watched as two enormous Scottish guys were told off by police for jumping into the water in the port half-clothed for a swim. Then I sat on a bench and read my Spanish phrase book a while, then my English teaching book. I decided to walk round the port to see how far the beach was, but it was pretty far and I had already walked a long way so I decided to head back in the direction of home.

Shortly after leaving the port area I came across a small park by the main road with some amazing graffiti art. I stopped and took some photos, and then for the next few minutes, every corner I turned I found more (graffiti blog shows more pics). Then I came to the foot of Montjuïc (translated in Catalan as 'Jew Hill), a hill which begins the 'Port Vell Aerial Tramway', a 1300m long carriage journey on a 45mm rope across the harbour to Barceloneta Beach. I started walking up the hill to get a view from the top, passing a man painting the scenery on the way (below), before making it up to the top fifteen minutes later, covered with sweat.

At the top of the hill I found a lovely bar with a cliff-terrace overlooking the ocean, the whole of Barcelona, and even the mountains to the north-west. I ordered a beer and sat down to admire what I guess to be a 270 degree panoramic view of the city and surroundings, got out my laptop and started typing. I finished off a piece of writing about my history teacher, Mr Oulton, and what he taught me about analysing information to find truth.

I had a couple of beers looking out over Barcelona, feeling very comfortable about where I was (or WHEN I was - the one and only real moment of time - now) and the course I was about to embark on. I thought about light rays and the false wave-particle duality of reality. I read my English Language Teaching book. I read my book, 'Dope International', about the international heroin trade and how it was run after WW2 by the the Sicilian/Italian MAFIA, Corsican gangsters, and others. I read how the author suspected the 'Big Boss' to be in Britain. I looked out and smiled.

As the sun started to go down I left the bar and headed back to the house. It was a long walk, through busy pedestrianised streets, filled with tables and chairs occupied by the customers of the many bars and restaurants either side. Children kicked footballs around. Skateboarders tried their tricks out in front of their friends. The bustling noise of the people was comforting and friendly. 

When I got home I had some food and then went to bed fairly soon after. I had walked a lot of miles that day. Bring on Saturday!

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

The Tenth Blog Of Trig - Barcelona Graffiti Art

Not gonna waffle on with this one. This is a picture post. Enjoy:

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