Train Readings, Running Coincidences

Recently, I'm reading quite a lot in the train on my way to work. Coincidentally, the last three books I've read are somehow related with Japan. I have only bought one, by the way, which means the rest of them came to me as a present and, therefore, I couldn't chose.

The first one was a present from my friend JM. He visited me in Japan and has always been interested in the country. Hopefully, he's not an otaku nor one of these newbies that can't say the difference between a fake Japanese restaurant and a real one. His other passion is economy and the book, "The Bubble Economy", is about the Japanese bubble and its burst on the 90's. This book is like reading into the future of Spanish economy. I'll finish it within this week.

When I came back from Japan in October 2008, I felt kind of alone in Valencia, missing Japan somehow, so I bought Murakami's "Norwegian Wood", in English. It turned out that I got to know very nice people there and in short I literally had no time to read at all. Besides, the book was not that interesting: a long mental jerk-off of a 20-ager explaining how he masturbates and fucks airhead girls and falls in love with one who is totally nuts. I know that story. Besides, his prose is dull and he seems just to be interested in the description of girls' clothes and weather, while praising himself and showing off the usual phony European pose among Japanese college students pretending to be different from the herd. At the end, everybody suicide, which is very Japanese. I finished the book before Christmas. The best chapter, the last one.
The last book, Mishima's "Thirst for Love " (Ai no Kawaki), has a personal side story. I'm teaching Spanish to my beloved Ch. but she wanted to read a book by herself. I looked for some bilingual books at "La Casa del Llibre" (the Zara of books) but didn't find any interesting one (only Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide??? WTF!!). So, she went to FNAC in Pl. Catalunya and found that one, in Spanish. She bought it because it happened in Osaka. It is funny to read in Spanish about places I know pretty well in Japan, like when someone talks about your relatives without knowing it. The book was far to difficult for her, so she gave it to me saying "you gotta read it and tell me the story". "Sir, yes, Sir!", and I read the book.

It was a punch in my stomach. It happens in Osaka right after the WWII. Etsuko, a young widow, is living with her in-laws in a country house on the outskirts of the city, in Maidemmura, near Okamachi station. She hides her cruelty and sadism behind a mask of calm and elegance. Her husband had been cheating on her as a rule, so she found an extreme pleasure watching him dying from typhoid fever. In Maidemmura, she secretly falls in love with Saburo, a young servant while becoming a kind of mistress of Yakiichi, her father-in-law. Her sadism lies in the pleasure she obtains from her jealousy, since Saburo doesn't give a fig about her, and the repulsion of being possessed by old Yakiichi. This keeps her alive, she says. At the end, her jealousy becomes madness when she discovers a young maid got pregnant from Saburo, and abruptly kills him in the most virulent and bloody way. "Nobody has the right to hurt me!", she claims.

I've got to say that, despite the fact I'm not very comfortable at the historical figure of Yukio Mishima and the translation into Spanish is a little dated, to me, Mishima is a superior writer than Murakami. His characters are more complex and his prose, far more powerful. However, there is an excess of trivial bucolic comparisons and the whole book, which in case of being originally an English or Spanish novel would have been a tragedy in 500 pages with all sort of nasty details, is too succinct, being both signs of either Japanese literature style or a bad translation.

The irony was that of unintentionally getting from Ch. such a book, where the main character's name and origin are exactly the same as these of the despicable girl. I don't believe in coincidences, but unfortunately this was a big one. Both women are equally detestable and selfish, and by unconsciously giving me that book, Ch. clearly stated that in front of my face. Thanks!

Never Been in England or Why My English is so Poor

This weekend I'm going to London!!!!!!!

This is the first time I'll actually be in England. I visited Scotland for a couple of weeks back in 1999. My friend J.M. was living for a year in Cambridge to learn English and since he said his place was obnoxiously boring, we went up there on February (!!??) for a crazy car trip circumnavigating Scotland. I drove 3,500 Km along glens and lochs, sheep and cattle, top gear in one-lane roads, under the snow, ice, rain, fog and a strong wind, often, everything at the same time. It was unforgettable.

While I was in Japan, people was always surprised I had never been in England. By speaking some amount of lousy English people assumed I certainly had stayed there, while in fact, I've never studied English abroad, never could. I learned English in a language school with native teachers; and what a bunch of weirdos!!!

The first one, Steve from Coventry, was totally nuts. He had studied Spanish literature and history at college and apparently spoke Spanish pretty well, though I never heard him uttering anything else but, incomprehensible at that time for me, English. He was like the chubby and pop-eyed brother of Rick Astley, and was obsessed with Franco and the impersonation of Basil Fawlty and his famous Nazi's goose-step ("Don't mention the war!").

Robert, an incredible shy and stuttering bald Irish man who had been living in my city for more that 10 years not speaking neither Spanish or Catalan. Roy, another Irish guy who smoked pot and from whom I could never understand a single word. And Mark, a Londoner who came to his first class right from the airport, without knowing anything about anything. We never studied grammar, but listen to songs. I still remember most of them, Rick Astley's included (Never gonna give you up, Never gonna let you down,....).

I only started being a bit fluent after staying for half a year in Sweden. I shared office at work with an Irish girl, Josephine, and an English-Norwegian guy, Erik, both former Oxford students. It was like being in Harry Potter, and that was the turning point. First, I had the worst two weeks ever, but then, one night, I had a dream in English, and from that day on, magically, I could understand them both. Bloody Jo, her 'O' was as rippled as her dark long hair!

My last English teacher, while preparing my TOEFL exam, was a funny American ex-pat from Chicago. His Catalan was almost perfect and was obsessed with only two things, Micheal Moore, a demi-god for him, and beer. Because of him, I read all Michael Moore's books and watched his movies, and later I decided not to go to the States for a post-doc: I didn't want to get as fat as him and Michael Moore. I went to Japan instead.

Now I have a very different point of view, less negative about the States. However, and despite some times I've deeply regretted to have gone to Japan, Japan has also changed my life in such a perplexing way that still I can't hardly foresee the ending. But this is another tale. On Saturday, I'm going to see queeny-weeny Lizzy! Britannia still rules!

Plena de Seny, Lleigs Desigs de Mi Tall

[...]
Jo són aquell qui en lo temps de tempesta,
quan les més gents festegen prop los focs
e pusc haver ab ells los propris jocs,
vaig sobre neu, descalç, ab nua testa,
servint senyor qui jamés fon vassall
ne el venc esment de fer mai homenatge,
en tot lleig fet hagué lo cor salvatge:
solament diu que bon guardó no em fall.



I am that one that in stormy weather,
while the rest of people has fun near the hearths,
and instead of having with them their own games,
walks on snow, barefoot, and naked head,
serving a lord who never was a vassal,
nor ever had the idea of making homage,
in any ugly deed his heart was wild:
he only says 'good luck never abandons me'.

Ausiàs March (Gandia, Valencia 1397 – 1459 ) wrote such powerful words to apologize, as usual, to one of his lovers. He was a knight and a poet. His final words to Plena de Seny (Full of Sense), his lover pseudonym: 'I cut any ugly desired from me, no herb decays by my shore'. Nice words for a tombstone.

Wasn't today a holiday?

Things I've gotta do today:
1) Shower...shaving...I need to look decent today.
2) Breakfast. Usual stuff, pa amb tomaquet.
3) Washing clothes. Is this stain mine?
4) Sweeping floor. That's funny!
5) Cooking lunch. Nothing in the fridge, just broccoli.
6) Washing more clothes. まだかな
7) Washing dishes. Hate this with all my heart!
8) Checking emails. Endless.
9) Sending email to Liege. Gotta go to Liege next month, but...Belgium...February...
10) Making a hotel reservation for London. Next weekend, first time in London!
11) Making a hotel reservation for Barcelona. Aya is coming in February...
12) Going to the supermarket. Will they still have some clementines at good price?
13) Hanging clothes to dry. I hate this!
14) Going to visit my friend's new born baby at the hospital. Premature, too premature
15) Chatting with friends on the Internet, Miyu and Aya
16) Cooking some dinner: パスタにしおかな？
17) Watching some series. American Dad kicks ass!
18) Reading. A neverending book about Japanese Bubble's Economy
19) Optional: Calling home to ask if still exists
20) Likely: Some adult stuff if the apology works out and the moon smiles at me

PS: I accomplished all of the 20 points, but it took me two days! But I haven't finished the book yet.

The Borgia or the Cuckoo Clock?

Orson, Orson, Orson, so cynical, so genial...


You know, the Machiavellian Borja family was from Gandia, Valencia; and compared with Valencia, Sicily is just a school playground. Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckooo!

The Incompleteness of the Butterfly Effect

Wooow, I got yesterday that joke from my dear friend Rob.

It is really funny: Nano, Emacs, Vim, Ed, Cat are text editors in Linux some programmers use for coding, each one with less editing tools than the other, just a bunch of weird commands and key combinations, and no GUI (graphical user interface). But the guy using butterflies, making fun of the misunderstanding most people make about chaos and the butterfly effect, that is funny, specially by the fact that Emacs, the keystone of the most expert programmers, already seems to have an abstruse command to do it.

However, the funnier thing to me is the level of convoluted computer and mathematical nerdiness one has to exhume to find it hilarious, that is, my friends. They also like football: Nobody is perfect. Common people wrongly think geeks are not funny, but the truth is that what is not funny is most common people. Proof: the monkeys in any Reality TV.

This one is even greater: The only idea of imagining Kurt Gödel, the Austrian mathematician that starved to death because he was so obsessed about being poisoned that stopped eating, talking about a list of his sexual paraphilias paraphrasing his Incompleteness Theorem with Bertrand Russell and A.N. Whitehead, which had tried and failed to establish the foundations of mathematical logic, is simply off the scale!

PS: Katharine Gates apparently wrote a book, Deviant Desires, about incredible strange sex practices, though a Bill Gate's daughter's name is also Katharine. Any second hidden meaning? Sure.

An, An, An, Tottemo Daisuki Doraemon!!

Nakamura Shunsuke is not the only periquito (parakeet, RCD Español's fan) that can speak Japanese. These videos are hilarious! In the first one, Piyotan says it likes chocolate a lot, among other funny things.



In that one, Beri-chan tries to sing Doraemon's song as in a karaoke, but keeps mixing the Ponyo-ponyo's song in between. Why is that? Birds like Miyazaki's saccharine movie too? I knew some chicks liked it, but inko...that's too much for a movie about jellyfish!

of Trencadissos and Trencadisses

Every morning, on my way up the Pg. de Gràcia going to work, I pass by some of the streetlights Gaudí designed, which are located on a narrow sidewalk between a secondary lane and the main roadway. Apart from the twisted iron work with crosses and leaves, common motifs among Gaudí's work, these lampposts have a basement shaped as an undulating stony bench with a particular coat of broken tiles, which tourists keep detaching as if they were a souvenir.

This irregular mosaic is usually called trencadís, from the Catalan word "trencar", to break. Despite it is normally attributed to Gaudí, it was in fact Jujol, his collaborator, who came up with the idea of using broken tiles to cover the capricious and irregular surfaces they used in their buildings. Jujol, unlike Gaudí, used to build very cheaply, recycling materials and trying to adapt the budgets to his client's resources.

Both Gaudí and Jujol were from el Camp de Tarragona, though Jujol moved to Gràcia when he was young. None of them ever cut their mutual relationship, nor the ties with their terroir. As it is well known, "gent del Camp, gent del llamp!" (countryside people, lightning people), which meaning is a mixture of being brilliant and presenting an uncontrolled strong character. In Catalan language, the word genius has both meanings, and a lightning (llamp) is flashy metaphor of this peculiar temperament.

Unlike Gaudí, who accidentally died earlier, Jujol lived through the Spanish Civil War and had to managed with the new fascist authorities to keep working somehow. He certainly did it in a very uncommon way, that of designer of fascist victory monuments, Virgin Mary's pedestals, and commemorative fountains, like the one in the middle of la Plaça d'Espanya. I was totally surprised when I discovered that fact of his life, but knowing how tough those years were, I can't blame him. Amazing was also getting to know that one of the connoisseurs of Jujol's work is John Malkovich, that stumbled upon him while strolling in Barcelona, a thing that apparently he usually does due to his nearby residence in the south of France.

I've seen many copies of Park Güell's trencadissos around the world, and it makes me feel a bit sillily proud observing how such a minute idea can have spread so widely while sharing the same origin with its author. How can a trencadissa (a wreck, a crash, a failure) be so productive? Ironic, isn't it?

And Yet, Another Piece of Junk

Japan is a land of irrelevant fads and useless inventions, so much ado about nothing. Here, the last one, potechi no te, chip potatoes' hand. It is a pincer to grab crisps without getting your fingers smeared with oil. Is there any bigger one for politicians? You know the old saying, "qui oli remena, els dits se n'unta".

"Et suco a tu!" o La Venedora de Mandarines

L'altra dia baixava d'enviar unes cartes a l'oficina de correus que hi ha al C/ Gran de Gràcia, i vaig trencar per una carreró que han acabat d'arreglar i que va de cap al Mercat de la Llibertat. Aquest és un mercat situat en un preciós edifici modernista que tot just fa poques setmanes ha tornat a obrir, després d'una llarga temporada de reformes. L'havien situat a la Pl. Gal.la Placídia, molt a prop d'on treballo. El resultat és magnífic, i les parades que hi a dins refulgeixen amb els productes de millor qualitat del barri.

Jo anava despistat, com sempre, pensant ves a saber en què. Vaig sentir una sequetat a la boca, segurament provocada per haver begut masses cafès ja de bon matí, i quan havia tirat amunt, passant vora al mercat, se m'havien obert les ganes rabioses de menjar-me unes bones mandarines. Comença ja no ser-ne temporada, però jo en sóc un addicte irrecuperable i sóc incapaç de passar una setmana sense menjar-me'n un parell de quilets, tot i que el preu comença a picar!

Havia fet una comprovació en vol de les qualitats i preus de les mandarines que les parades que hi ha a l'entorn del mercat oferien. Un mercat és com un castell a l'entorn del qual creix una petita ciutat de botiguetes, parades de carrer o simplement gent oferint les seves mercaderies d'origen dubtós sobre un llençol al terra.

Sempre m'ha cridat l'atenció l'origen de molts dels cognoms que destaquen als retols de les botigues que hi ha properes a aquest mercat. Són molt familiars per a mi i, fins ara, creia que es reduïen solament a certes arees del Camp de Tarragona. Segurament, els fundadors d'aquestes botigues vingueren a Gràcia a finals del S.XIX o a principis del S.XX en una de les més primerenques onades migratories que la revolució industrial va portar a la ciutat de Barcelona.

Cap parada m'havia convençut massa per deixar-me temptar a comprar un quilo de mandarines. Sóc una mica torra-collons en quant a comprar en una parada, i no sabria ben bé a què es deu, però si no em llama, que deia mon padrí, doncs, no em llama. Total, que vaig passar de llarg de totes elles mentre anava amunt a correus. Però al baixar, amb les mans buides a les butxaques, vaig passar just pel costat d'una botigueta minúscula i que semblava recuperada d'un viatge al passat remot del barri.

Era just una porta oberta al carrer, amb la fruita en caixes col.locades arran de paret. A la botiga no s'hi entrava, s'hi passava pel costat, i si voleies alguna cosa, la mestressa et pesava el fato en una bascula que penjava del llindar de la porta. La penombra omplia l'espai que quedava rera la dona, que feia de magatzem per a tota la fruita i verdures que es venien allà. Vaig parar com si fes una derrapada i m'hagués passat de llarg, reculant fins a quedar a l'alçada de la venedora, que es fregava les mans de fred.

Era una dona gran, petitona i no massa grassa, tot i que per la quantitat de roba que duia, semblava un gran cabdell de llana, embolcallat amb una bata de quadrets roses i un davantal. Tenia la mirada punxeguda de venedora de mercat, amb anys i anys de vida cristal.litzada a les seves pupil.les. Em va agradar el seu aire sincer i feréstec, i vaig pensar que no em faria passar garces per perdius a l'hora de triar les mandarines que volia.

"Un quilo de mandarines, si's plau!", li vaig dir, i la venedora va plegar de la caixa les mandarines que millor li van semblar, posant-les després a la balança per a pesar-les. Em va fer gràcia que no mirés mai el pes i, com un mag que acaba de fer un truc i mira al públic per dir "ta-xan!", em va mirar directament als ulls amb un somriure arter i digué "un quilo!". Com en cap moment havia mirat el marcador de la bascula, vaig fer cara de sorprès i vaig comprovar el pes. I dit i fet, era un quilo just. La dona estava orgullosa de la seva precisió i em va dir "noi, sóc la millor venedora del mercat!", i a fe de món que l'era.

Vaig tornar a la feina amb un quilo de mandarines a les mans, i me les vaig menjar tot seguit, sense parar, sense poder dir que no, sense que pogués trobar la manera d'evitar que aquelles mandarines desapareguessin una rera l'altra, mentre jo els hi xuclava el suc de les entranyes, fent-les petar dins de la boca com petites bombes de líquid dolç. "Et suco, a tu, i a tu també et suco!", pensava. I a cada mandarina, em venia a la ment la rialla atrevida de la venedora. "Noi, sóc la millor!". I sí, sí que l'era!

What Is All About? Being a Garrulo?

Seriously, I'm kind of amazed that a certain person is still reading this blog. I know I'm \begin{sarcasm} utterly interesting and attractive \end{sarcasm}, but after all what has happened, I find it preposterous. Why you read it? What for? What's your hidden interest? Are you still looking for some fun at my expenses? Laughs? Your existence is so bored and mediocre? I know it, but the circus is over, girl, and the clown, fired.

This is not a tourist guide either, so you'd better go here if you're planning your next safari of self discovering and lust. Neither am I your friend, never been, so you should spend your time in a more fruitful way with somebody else at your Facebook or Worldfriends. A bird told me you're always having so much fun there, and we both know what kind of fun you like.

I know you were keeping me in the fridge for a better timing to get something from me, eh? What was that? What were you expecting? Help to move to Spain? Was it that, after all? Too bad, too late now. If you still have any reason to move to Spain, which I doubt, go and coax somebody else into helping you; you won't find using people too difficult.

But I presume that imagining a blog remotely related with you exceedingly feeds your pathologically oversized ego and selfishness, and makes you feel undeservedly important and desired, but don't make any misjudgment here, you're not: you have always been a futile divertimento. In any case, please, get stuffed, along with all your lies and bullshit.

Excuse me for using too many difficult words, way beyond the usual level of the freak parade of your friends, so garrulo they could be in Gran Hermano for life. I just can't help ROTFLMAO at them, particularly the effeminate eyebrow-shaved drunk douche bag you fucked with, another not-a-friend, in your Newspeak. Who is the next one, Paquirrin? Hopefully, I was turned down from the list on time. Now I know I can't beat any of them...I finished my elementary school and I can read!!!!

Meditating among Little Buddhas

Japan should be happy to house among its wonders some of the most delirious places on Earth. While living there, I had the opportunity of visiting some of them, and I still have a few left for my likely future trips to Japan. Nevertheless, so far, the one that ranks to me among the most deranged places is Taiyou Kouen (太陽公園) in Himeji, Hyougo prefecture. How to explain what it is?

To say it straight, it is a place with reproductions of the most important monuments in the World, something like Catalunya en miniatura, but in a more global perspective. What makes it so special? Thera are two aspects that make it a completely crazy place. First, its scale. Unlike the Catalan counterpart, Taiyou Kouen has built in stone massive reproductions of the monuments featured.

Among the most distinctive world wonders in there, the Arch de Trioumphe in Paris, the Chinese Wall and Tiananmen Square, and Bavarian Neuschwanstein Castle, and some other minor ones, like a Xian warriors parade, a small Egyptian Pyramid, with a Sphyinx included, and also some Moai from Easter Island.

However, to me, what makes it unique is the second detail: a whole retirement complex is lodged within the limits of the attraction park. That's simply great! Why going around the world in a tiring and expensive trip to visit the highlights of civilization if you can actually live in a peaceful and remote residence in Hyogo mountains, among rice paddies, and walk every morning along the most important monuments ever built? That's the craziest idea ever!

Another reason to go to Himeji, apart from its castle, which must be visited barefooted, and the cherry trees in its gardens. In the picture, I'm seriously meditating about the unbearable lightness of my being sitting on the lap of one among a myriad of buditas, little Buddhas, planted on a hill, like mushrooms in Autumn.

It's Beyond my Control or How to Philosophize with a Hammer

Women are strange creatures. If you kiss them, you are not a gentleman. If you don't, you are not a man. If you praise them, she thinks you are lying. If you don't, you are good for nothing. If you give them everything, they don't value it at all. If you don't, you are a selfish ogre. What, then? Giving them just what they deserve, being it for good or for bad. Not a single inch more, not a single inch less.



My friend is really mad at a girl. She is basically a liar and such a self-centered and contemptible person, who likes fucking around and using people near her, that I can hardly think of any objective reason to try stop him from taking any kind of retaliation on her. There is a hidden pleasure in doing so, I guess, and smashing her down as he is persuaded to do by all means.

Even if I wanted, which is not the case, I can't do anything, it's beyond my control, his favorite quote. That's the price of bullshitting with dangeros liaisons. Unhopefully, neither he is as chivalrous as Valmont, nor she is as virtuous as Madame de Tourvel. So, I will sit and see what happens, for fun.

The French Connection

I went to primary school in some dark ages where most people didn't even have telephone at home, tv was black&white, and we studied French as the only foreign language. French...who the hell speaks French nowadays? Apart from France, there still exists the concept of "la Francophonie", a kind of French Commonwealth based on the language that remains as a vestige of another lost empire. It includes pretty exotic countries, mostly in Africa, but also Vietnam and Cambodia, as well as Canada and its French-speaking territories, Quebec.



However, there is a new area of influence for French, i.e., the EU. Among the dozens of languages spoken in Europe, only three are the official languages of the EU institutions: English, German and French. Personally, I can handle English, a bit less confident with my rusted French, and totally lost with my forgotten German. That's why I thought it would be funny to go back to French classes, back to my adolescence!

Gladys is my French teacher, a very friendly and lively girl from the Jura department in the Franche-Comté region of France. The only thing I know about the place is that the word Jurassic comes from Jura, which is a mountain range itself. Anyway, she studied in Toulouse since she wanted to become a teacher of French for foreigners. However, there, she started to learn Spanish and, eventually, moved to Barcelona, to finish her studies. Or was it maybe because of her boyfriend is a Mexican guy living here?

Her Spanish is nearly perfect, grammatically and lexically, despite some detectable traces of French accent, far less strong though than in usual French people. Her new challenge now is to become a UN translator. She said it is pretty difficult since the level is very high and there is a lot of competition, but she wants to try her hand. In case she successes, she would be living either in New York or Geneva, with a pretty nice pay and lots of opportunities to travel.

Currently she is training with legal stuff of the European commission from our company, a real log that makes sheep sleep. My case is more mundane, I just want to brush up my French pronunciation, which is still terrible and keeps getting entangled with English all the time; I guess both languages are located in the same area in my brain. Hope they don't fight!

More Snow in Poblet!

My Nokia has a very poor camera, and the video I took ad libitum last Saturday is an unworthy crap that doesn't let people, if any, appreciate any detail. That's why I've uploaded that one. Pictures are yet pretty bad, but at least, they're a little clearer. Sorry about the song, I know it is a cliche, but, wtf, it's Dean Martin! (Buble? Who?)

Qui Perd els Origens, Perd la Identitat...

P. is an interesting and intelligent Colombian architect who works mounting exhibitions by CosmoCaixa around Spain. Her hobby is traveling to Japan, and she was there at the end of the year to visit her friends in Tokyo.

This afternoon, while I was in my weekly French class at work, I got an email from Ch. summoning me to meet her and P. at a restaurant near Pl. Universitat. She is learning Spanish and regularly meets Spanish speaking friends to practice while having a drink or a meal. The choice today was surprising to me. The restaurant is called La Llavor dels Origens (The seeds of the Origins); Catalan cuisine. I've discovered there are four in Barcelona; one in Gracia, two in El Born, and that one in Enric Granados.

When I arrived, they were already eating zucchini with codfish and beans with mushrooms, accompanied by pa torrat amb tomaquet i all. I've finished what they had left and order a little more bread and another beer. They were chatting about P.'s recent visit to Japan, and the story of the obachan, owner of the restaurant where she was having breakfast everyday, near Higashi Ueno (東上野).

She showed us some pictures of the old woman, around 90 y.o. She was very energetic and interested in P.; where she was coming from, about her family, and things like this. P. can only speak very basic Japanese, but they communicated using a notebook where the old woman was writing in hiragana the words, while P. was translating them using her iPhone.

At the end, the old woman gave some presents to P.: a set of chopsticks and a huge and perfect apple. But this apple was not poisoned like that in Snow White. The obachan wanted to give a present P. could keep forever. Since she thought P. couldn't bring the apple home, or at least, keep it forever, she said the present for her was not the apple itself, but actually the odor of the apple, which P. could keep forever in her memories. P. found the present very poetic, and so did I.

The accidentally chosen place was also like an apple to me. However, mine is a poisoned one, and the smell, just the stench of decayed memories.

Valencia, la Tierra de las Flores, de la Luz y del Amor...

Last year, after I left Japan, I was living and working in Valencia. I must say it has been one of the best periods in my life. Work was a piece of cake and people was great and alive. I have lots of friends there, and we had memorable binges! We used to go out, first only for a drink on Thursday after work, but it became a custom and started dragging more and more people with us, and later, it turned into a legend.

One time, we didn't sleep and went back to work almost directly after a fast shower at home with the biggest handover of the last times. My brain was literally damaged and I was unable even to read from the screen of my computer. We did very crazy things that night, but having to go to work on the next morning, makes things terribly complicated. The group of tireless ones were Aaaaaandres (excess of 'a' are necessary for emphasis purposes), Clemens, Pascu and me.



Pascu got slept on the toilet when he got home and his girlfriend had to wake him up before falling down on the floor. Cle was the only one walking back home. For the rest, and against any common sense, we drove back home. I remember magically getting home and them, suddenly, falling like a log on my bed. But that's Valencia, big empty avenues at night, with no police control, unlike Catalonia.

Nevertheless, it could had even been a better night if they wouldn't have dragged me away from a college girl. She was ok for me, no brain, big boobs, and fast tongue, but they said she was ugly and we had better things to do, like going to eat something. Who cares, just another little crazy disco bitch thinking she is a queen on zest after her exams, and she already had done her job.

Anyway, my friend Javi has just sent me a link to his band's performance last weekend in Valencia. They play Queen's songs and, despite these videos suck, they do pretty well, very professional. He's the most formal guy on earth, living with his girlfriend, a blond Valencian beauty, in her just renewed apartment. They will marry on July. I'm trying to help him with his PhD, but too many things steal his time, and Rock'n'Roll is the one!



I will go this March to see the Fallas, since last year I missed them, and I guess it is gonna be crazy as ever. Visca Valencia!

Varykino 2.0

It's been heavily snowing in the interior of Tarragona province these last few days, and I've decided to go to see the snow this afternoon. I've gone, as usual, to Poblet, at the footsteps of Prades mountains, the coldest place in the province. I heard on the radio the way to Prades was blocked by snow, which is normal, as also are most of the roads on the other side of the mountain, in the Priorat, which is kind of exceptional.



Poblet is a Cistercian monastery with a great deal of history behind, but for me, it is a place where I've spent very enjoyable summer days walking around its mountains, which used to be full of chestnut trees before a plague decimated their population. I also worked many Autums while a student harvesting grape in a huge estate in Montblanc, a nearby village. I usually bring there my friends, as I did last time in August with my friends from Valencia that visited me in Barcelona.



However, today the place seemed more the ice-palace at Varykino, the hamlet in Dr. Zhivago where Yuri reunites Lara, than Poblet. Lara finally leaves with Komarovsky, and Yuri, for her best interest or maybe knowing her choice, let her go. Komarovsky had turned Lara into his mistress, Lara had turned Pasha into Strelnikov, the shooter, and the war had turned Yuri and Lara into lovers, but also separated them, forever. Varykino is just their ending icy sanctuary that will melt down and be forgotten in spring. Poblet was also an icy sancturay this afternoon.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum..

It happened again! A new funny turn of fate: two Japanese friends sent me the same postcard! Why is that? Did they tell these things each other by telepathy? Doutonbori (道頓堀) in the snow.

Anyway, I thank Tomi and Emi for remebering me these days. What else could I ask to a friend, apart from knowing my name?

Christmas Present

A little Narcissism, my new glasses...


Hope not to be doomed to get stuck by my own reflection in a pool of water.

Zara's Changing Rooms or a Microcosmos of Microbourgeois

Life has some funny turns sometimes. This Christmas holidays happened an interesting one to me. We were doing some shopping at one of these huge malls, Gran Via II, the heaven of the microbourgeoisie, the last social rank before the plain lumpen that lives in the ugly and shabby district that surrounds the mall, which I guess I belong to.

They flock to places like that one to kill time there during holidays, specially in those cloudy and dull winter days, and make the last purchases. And, in the same way that there are plenty of well-known fastfood chains, there are also the same McClothing retailers that exist everywhere, like Zara, and all the pack that belongs to the same group (Massimo Dutti, Pull and Bear, Oysho, Uterqüe, Stradivarius and Bershka).

Two of the most boring things on Earth are flying and waiting for a girl in a changing room at Zara. For the first one, I've always thought there should use some Mariachis or acrobats from le Cirque du Soleil to make long flights more entertaining. For the latter, a bar with enough alcoholic drinks would do the trick. In the specific case of that Zara, there was, at least, a sofa to sit down while waiting for the lady. I could see some weird scenes among the fauna swarming such environment, myself included.

There was this Muslim girl trying on clothes over her actual clothes, courtains drawn back, while her husband was overseeing her. A couple of Dutch girls were exchanging clothes between neighbouring booths while showing her buttocks and thongs to the casual audience. I could even see, without asking, some jobbed boobs from a vulgar Vanesa who was trying on some party gown two sizes too small.

And what about me? I was waiting again, as usual, for the same reason all guys there were waiting. I've been in such situation so many times, I could even write a book. It would be entitled "Waiting at Zara's all around the World; from Osaka to Barcelona", better than Callejeros!

And the turn? After waiting for almost an hour, plus the time previously spent going around the whole mall looking for a specific ウアンピエス; after having tried on all possible variations of the same dress, in color and size; after having in fact bought it, on our way out, we stumbled upon a dress I already knew from another occasion.

I recognized it immediately. It had been with a different girl, back in September, in a different Zara, in a stormy afternoon, while looking for an allegedly "white" one piece dress. We couldn't find it that day, but today it was there. The comical situation was that she instinctively took it, and also the other ones similar to that which were arranged by chance together, and swiftly headed again towards the changing room to try them on.

At that moment, I was totally astonished. How can it be that two different girls, despite coming from nearby places, were picking the same clothes under the same conditions? Was it me that I'm frequenting the same kind of girls, with the same mind set and tastes? Was it them that coming from the same place share the same predictible behavior? I don't know, but maybe the likelihood that there is no free will exists after all.

Hopefully, I convinced her to forget about the new dress and stick to the first election arguing that this one was far warmer and more suited for winter than the other one. I didn't want to see her going around with such dress looking like that despicable girl. Too bad a joke, even for my oversized inclination for tasteless jokes. However, I can't help myself laughing at the coincidence, if this is what it is!

When You Dance with the Devil, You Wait for the Song to Stop...'Know What I Mean?

Enough postcards...a little rock'n'roll!



I've seen that movie 10.000 times, and yet, I can't stop laughing at their stupidity...Snatch and Rocknrolla are also great, despite being similar stories.

El Delta de l'Ebre

The delta of the river Ebre is a fantastic place which reminds me of Japan and the time I've spent there, surrounded by paddies. Well, I mean Japan in a most pure and remote period, one without pachinko parlors and love hotels. Maybe similar to the spirit that can be felt when walking along the great extension of nothing inside the old palace of Heijo in Nara, the only place in Kansai where the sky can be seen without any cable interfering the view!



I know I tend to take pictures of the sky, but the sky there is wonderful. So powerful and penetrating, that always captures my eyes, and I can't avoid trying to hold it in a picture. Just cheap postcards, I know, but still, strong views of living reality. Sky, water, mud, and rice, the four elements of the Delta. Which is the fifth element? Beauty, but there is no beauty in things without a pair of eyes looking at them. Beauty is in the eyes.

Arashiyama or Rowing Up the Stream

These pictures correspond to one of the nicest days I spent in Japan, at Arashiyama (嵐山) in Kyoto.



When looking back in time, only those moments that were lived with a smile are worth to be remembered. And yeah, I laughed a lot! specially when buying and eating うでん in the middle of the river, in a kind of floating 居酒屋, a funny 船!

My Last Days in Japan, The Movie

Mare Nostrum, December 2009

Barcelona and Sitges, rambling around under a great weather...



...another map, by Mediterranean sea.

大阪と神戸で散歩してる

My little map of Japan...



...ramblejant around Osaka and Kobe.

Insomnia and the Feynman Point

Richard Feynman was a funny guy. He was no comedian, though, but an eminent physicist, a Nobel. The title of one of the books about his life is "Surely you're joking, Mr. Feynman!", explaining stories about how to crack safes, topless bars or his interest in samba.

Once he stated during a lecture he would like to memorize the digits of π (pi) until a point he could recite them and quip "nine nine nine nine nine nine and so on", suggesting, ironically and incorrectly, that π is rational. That is called the Feynman point.

I can't sleep tonight, got insomnia. Too many bad deeds, I guess. Besides, I can't help thinking about the worst one in my whole life that I'm about to carry out. I don't really believe in good and bad as moral absolutes, just as relative degrees which depend on context. So, I prefer to stick to the easier lema that "what goes around, comes around". Anyway, I'm still weighting the correctness and magnitude of that "coming around" I've decided to perform soon.



And this brings me back to π, the movie and the guy who can't sleep, twists and turns in his bed. He hits his head against the washbowl now and again, and his brain is reset. I'm trying the same thing in some minutes. Let's see if it works; otherwise, there will be no order tomorrow, only chaos!

Map of the Sounds of Tokyo

Some days ago, before Christmas holidays, I was talking by mobile on the street right in front of my office. The guys whom I work with were smoking outside as usual, and I was making a personal call, so we all were flooding the sidewalk. Then, I saw this woman, crossing among us and turning to the right to check the show window of a real state office.



I thought "ostres, la Coixet!" and pointed at her from behind to the group of smokers, to confirm if I was right. They told me that she lived in Gracia and could be seen there from time to time. Though I like cinema very much, I've got to tell that I haven't seen any of her movies yet, but what I've been able to see is that they can be found at as weird places as the video rental place near my apartment while I was living in Japan, in the middle of rice paddies; and that's something.



Her last movie is "Map of the Sounds of Tokyo" and I'm looking forward to seeing it soon. So far, I've just being able to browse the book she has published about the movie in a bookstore while waiting for my train. I'm not expecting any great movie, though, since I've seen a pretty obvious list of common places as it is usual among this type of gafa-pastas, who are recently getting more and more interested in Japan, as a new edition of the so well-known hippie interest for the East.



The plot is kind of a stereotype itself: a girl suicides and her father wants to take revenge on her boyfriend, a gaijin -a Catalan who has a wine shop in Tokyo- and hires the services of a professional killer, a beautiful girl that works in Tsukiji, the fish market, cutting tuna into pieces. From what I've seen in the trailer, there is plenty of sex between them, which is nice. Somewhere in the tale, a sound engineer records the sounds of Tokyo, as a way of portraying the city, I guess, thought I don't really know how he fits in the story.

The guy from Barcelona is Sergi Lopez, an actor with a strong personality and even stronger Catalan accent. I like him though most of his movies are French, and everybody knows what this means: being on the verge of existentialist boredom by excessively long conversing scenes.



The killer is Rinko Kikuchi, the no-panties school girl in Babel. I don't know if she is as weird as she looks, both in movies and in reality. Her enigmatic looks seems to me bit of a pose. Personally, I love her shiny dark and long hair in the movie, and those eyes. Who wouldn't like being killed by such eyes?

I have my own opinions about Japan, my own experiences and my own stories, but I'd like to see Japan from another perspective, that of someone from my own culture, despite she is probably just a visitor there and her vision pretty shallow. I think it can be somehow refreshing to me right now.