From a cafe: Barna-CeloNa

I think of Barna as a city within the city of Barcelona. Barcelona is a city on the Mediterranean. It's big. It's confused about it's identity. It's still grappling with old problems. Problems of worth and importance. Problems with the past and with the times of Franco and before and with immigration from with in the country that it is currently located and from world outside it's lightly drawn borders. Barcelona has a dark side. A side that is closed, constricted, fearful and fatalistic. Old families and old money protecting their kingdoms. Protecting Catalunya from Spain and the world and from memories of times when the worst of human nature was well represented.

Barna on the other hand has many of the elements of Barcelona but it's more open, younger and less fearful. It's hipper and happier and less fatalistic. This hipness too has it's downside. Everything in Barna is "designed". It's fashion driven and temporary. It's expensive and sort of shallow. It has little concern for the future or for the past. It shares same love of money as Barcelona but rather than use it to control more it fritters it away. It's become wealthy in a very short amount of time and in some ways it's not wearing it's new clothes well.

But there is a another city with in this city. It's part Barcelona and part Barna and part something new and wonderful. It's open, it's hip in profoundly worldly way. It's light and hopeful and inviting. It honors its unique and wonderul culture while at the same time being interested and open to other cultures. It's a world of rossinyols and samosas. O calsots and breakdancing. Of bikes and 150 year old mercados selling oranges grown in the garden of an abuela who gives them out in handfuls to kids of any color. BCN is part of Spain. Part of Catalunya. And part of the world. This is my city. Visca BCN!

1st Aniversary of eating camel spaghetti

Well it's coming up on a year from my trip to save the Saharawi. Much has happened. I ate camel. I got sick. Hardly able to walk and instructed to not drink a drop of alcohol I sat on the couch for 3 months cold sober learning to play the harmonica. We moved to a new home in a working class barrio of Barcelona. Last month I began taking some new super expensive biological medication that grafts the DNA from a rat's butt onto my forehead, or something. Apparently it is working because I'm thinking about going skiing. Now if it would only just snow. Oh and I really like cheese. I am now a rockin' harp player. I can now have a glass of wine or a beer every once in a while. The 20 hours of footage that was to save the Saharawi sits in a box waiting for me to confront it. The book about the trip and the wierd unexpected side effects has yet to written. Zoe is 12 months older, as am I. Insights? Yep. Wisdom? Well, I'll let others judge that. It's time to hop back in the pool and start swimming.

Halloween in Catalunya

In Catalunya all Saints Day (Tot Sants) is a holiday. Traditionally people eat chestnuts and sweet potatoes from street side stalls. This is supposed to give you wisdom. OK cosa numero uno: these taste bad. Cosa numero dos: the folks who sell these things jack up thier prices for this day and this day only. Considering these two facts and that everybody continues to do this ritual I guess the truth is that they don’t work.