It is free and one can even touch the heads of people like Perikles, Homer, or Alexander the Great
What else can one ask? Maybe a segway...it is so vast!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
You Falles or You Work?
Last weekend I was in Valencia for Falles! Last year, despite of living there, I wasn't able to see them since I used the holidays to fly to Japan. But this year, there was no excuse and I accepted the kind invitation of my friends in Valencia, specially that of AAAndres, whose house I've been at for three days. Today I'm completely and physically devastated. We did a hat trick, three days party in a row.
First night was an apotheosis. Leaving Barcelona after work at 19:00h and arriving in Valencia at 22:00h. 350Km in 3h by car. Meeting my friend AAAndres, who by the way was completely dead after arriving from a 10 day's stay in a Caribbean tourist resort with a goddess. We started the night with some Cuba-litros and a huge firework.
Then, we headed for a street party with orchestra, one among many in almost every crossing in Valencia. There we met the rest of people, who had just finished doing botellon near the river. By then, we were all already toasted, both sides. Next step, a club, where the pretty girls were. I must confess that girls in Valencia are particularly beautiful and nice.
We ended up at 7 in the morning and we had a sausage-based breakfast at a very handy street stand. Every time I go out until dawn in Valencia, we end up eating some old-style sausage bocata, whereas in Barcelona, it's a less traditional durum at some crappy and overpriced Turkish place. Valencia is still authentic.
Anyway, we took a taxi and went back home. 8:30h in the bed in coma until 15:00h. Then, waking up again, having a shower, lunch and back to work. Now, visiting the Falles. Convent, Russafa, el Carme, etc. We didn't go to Nou Campanar, the one winning the first prize to the Best Falla for the last years. Last year it costed 900.000 euros, but this year, the crisis has reduced the budget up to just 600.000 euros, and they couldn't win.
The luminary in the streets reminds me that in Kobe, around Christmas time, where the tako-yaki and yaki-soba stands had changed into stalls selling churros and bunyols. It was totally packed and at some point, impossible to walk, getting stuck frequently like a traffic jam of people around the main falles. That was the night of la cremà , when all 650 falles in Valencia burn to the ground; only the winner is spared. We saw 3 falles, and one of them, from very close; so close I could feel the fire burning my face.
I love bonfires and firecrackers, but as a stingy Catalan, I can't see the point in spending so much effort and money building such pieces of art for just setting them on fire eventually. We have bonfires at St. John's night, which can be as big and last longer than these fires in Valencia, but they are just a huge pile of wood and useless old things, bound to be burnt; a catharsis, a getting-rid-of-old-things for a new from-the-scratch rebirth. We ended the night eating chocolate and bunyols at the most famous place in Valencia, watching how the fire was consuming a falla in front of us.
Saturday was "de tranqui". We were all dead in the morning and slept until past midday. After having lunch and watching a movie at home, we went to stroll along the streets of Valencia and visited la cheperudeta, the Virgin Mary next to the Cathedral, which is a huge statue covered with flowers, an offering from all the crying falleras in the previous days. It is an impressive view, a pyramidal tower of flowers topped with the torso of a hunchbacked woman carrying a massive headed baby Jesus. It seems like flying above our heads among clouds of roses. Truly creepy!
After some beers and an unscheduled visit to the dizzying top of the Serrans' Towers, the impressive pair of towers facing the Turia's old river banks, similar to those in the Poblet Monastery, which are, together with those of Quart, the last remains of the medieval walls that used to enclose the city, we joined Pasku's friends for a diner at a pizzeria, and later, again, party. But for a shorter time: AAAndres was still feeling sick and I skipped the girl hunting routine, which seemed promising, and we both headed back home, where we spent the rest of the night talking and watching some crazy documentaries in his enormous TV set.
Sunday, despite the air was pretty warm and was bringing the fragrance of the Spring that has just started, was a gray and rainy day. It was time for saying bye-bye to Valencia and heading north, back home. These were some very good days!
First night was an apotheosis. Leaving Barcelona after work at 19:00h and arriving in Valencia at 22:00h. 350Km in 3h by car. Meeting my friend AAAndres, who by the way was completely dead after arriving from a 10 day's stay in a Caribbean tourist resort with a goddess. We started the night with some Cuba-litros and a huge firework.
Then, we headed for a street party with orchestra, one among many in almost every crossing in Valencia. There we met the rest of people, who had just finished doing botellon near the river. By then, we were all already toasted, both sides. Next step, a club, where the pretty girls were. I must confess that girls in Valencia are particularly beautiful and nice.
We ended up at 7 in the morning and we had a sausage-based breakfast at a very handy street stand. Every time I go out until dawn in Valencia, we end up eating some old-style sausage bocata, whereas in Barcelona, it's a less traditional durum at some crappy and overpriced Turkish place. Valencia is still authentic.
Anyway, we took a taxi and went back home. 8:30h in the bed in coma until 15:00h. Then, waking up again, having a shower, lunch and back to work. Now, visiting the Falles. Convent, Russafa, el Carme, etc. We didn't go to Nou Campanar, the one winning the first prize to the Best Falla for the last years. Last year it costed 900.000 euros, but this year, the crisis has reduced the budget up to just 600.000 euros, and they couldn't win.
The luminary in the streets reminds me that in Kobe, around Christmas time, where the tako-yaki and yaki-soba stands had changed into stalls selling churros and bunyols. It was totally packed and at some point, impossible to walk, getting stuck frequently like a traffic jam of people around the main falles. That was the night of la cremà , when all 650 falles in Valencia burn to the ground; only the winner is spared. We saw 3 falles, and one of them, from very close; so close I could feel the fire burning my face.
I love bonfires and firecrackers, but as a stingy Catalan, I can't see the point in spending so much effort and money building such pieces of art for just setting them on fire eventually. We have bonfires at St. John's night, which can be as big and last longer than these fires in Valencia, but they are just a huge pile of wood and useless old things, bound to be burnt; a catharsis, a getting-rid-of-old-things for a new from-the-scratch rebirth. We ended the night eating chocolate and bunyols at the most famous place in Valencia, watching how the fire was consuming a falla in front of us.
Saturday was "de tranqui". We were all dead in the morning and slept until past midday. After having lunch and watching a movie at home, we went to stroll along the streets of Valencia and visited la cheperudeta, the Virgin Mary next to the Cathedral, which is a huge statue covered with flowers, an offering from all the crying falleras in the previous days. It is an impressive view, a pyramidal tower of flowers topped with the torso of a hunchbacked woman carrying a massive headed baby Jesus. It seems like flying above our heads among clouds of roses. Truly creepy!
After some beers and an unscheduled visit to the dizzying top of the Serrans' Towers, the impressive pair of towers facing the Turia's old river banks, similar to those in the Poblet Monastery, which are, together with those of Quart, the last remains of the medieval walls that used to enclose the city, we joined Pasku's friends for a diner at a pizzeria, and later, again, party. But for a shorter time: AAAndres was still feeling sick and I skipped the girl hunting routine, which seemed promising, and we both headed back home, where we spent the rest of the night talking and watching some crazy documentaries in his enormous TV set.
Sunday, despite the air was pretty warm and was bringing the fragrance of the Spring that has just started, was a gray and rainy day. It was time for saying bye-bye to Valencia and heading north, back home. These were some very good days!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Iago, Giacomo, Jacme, Jaume, James
How am I then a villain...
...I'll pour this pestilence
Into his ear
That She repeals him for
Her body's lust
And by how much She strives
To do him good
She shall undo her credit
With the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue
Into pitch.
And out of her own goodness
Make the net
That shall
Enmesh them all.
I have it. It is engendered.
Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth
To the world's light.
...I'll pour this pestilence
Into his ear
That She repeals him for
Her body's lust
And by how much She strives
To do him good
She shall undo her credit
With the Moor.
So will I turn her virtue
Into pitch.
And out of her own goodness
Make the net
That shall
Enmesh them all.
I have it. It is engendered.
Hell and night
Must bring this monstrous birth
To the world's light.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Being Trendy as Being Empty
I'm not very interested in fashion, but I'm not blind and, believe it or not, my visual memory is pretty sharp. Recently, I'm quite astonished at a new kind of fashionable type appearing in the streets of Barcelona. The guy in the little shaky picture below is a clear example.
How can I explain it? First of all, I'd say that this is the least creative fashion style in the history of the world, besides the fact that it seems there is a factory cloning such kind of guys somewhere in suburban Barcelona. What this trend consists of? A guy, of a patently unclear sexuality, pretty skinny and less manly than a parcel of pink teddy bears, dressed in thin dark denim pants, wearing 50's canvas sport sneakers, though not having practiced any sport ever, not even ballet.
The rest of the costume includes a black jacket, like that in the picture, but most of the times, a shiny dark down jacket, kind of trendy this winter, and a well trimmed full scale beard, which is kind of an oxymoron, like a pacifist wearing a war helmet. Haircut is very particular, and is halfway between a pompadour and a psychobilly: the top is usually longer and has a great toupee, while sides are cut pretty shot, almost like a soldier, from which they lack everything else. Nevertheless, the most distinctive decorative element of such guys is their glasses, retro black frame Ray Ban eyeglasses. Why??? These are glasses for guys like Woody Allen or Peter Sellers, not for the bearded queer sister of Snow White fairy.
Separately, the style takes elements from late 50's and early 60's, and others from beatniks, and I also feel a bit the taste of decadent NYC during the 70's, at least from the movies I've seen featuring the city during that period. However, the ensemble is kitsch and ridiculous, anachronistic and tacky, and what's worst, utterly decontextualized: it is all totally and completely wrong!
What is more ridiculous to me is the uniformity of such "new" and "fashionable" trends, that classify people in clichés, stereotypes, and groups with the same look. They all look like equally, wear the same clothes, speak and move in the same way. The difference between these trends and the old ones is that now, there is no substance (whatever it might be) behind a look. Now, it is just a look, a pose, an appearance! Nothing else. It is completely arbitrary and next season will change and forgotten, like a dry leave falling in autumn. The emptiness of the image, just a reflection on a shapeless and colorless surface. That's the sad part of the story, the emptiness of it all, of this stupidity!
How can I explain it? First of all, I'd say that this is the least creative fashion style in the history of the world, besides the fact that it seems there is a factory cloning such kind of guys somewhere in suburban Barcelona. What this trend consists of? A guy, of a patently unclear sexuality, pretty skinny and less manly than a parcel of pink teddy bears, dressed in thin dark denim pants, wearing 50's canvas sport sneakers, though not having practiced any sport ever, not even ballet.The rest of the costume includes a black jacket, like that in the picture, but most of the times, a shiny dark down jacket, kind of trendy this winter, and a well trimmed full scale beard, which is kind of an oxymoron, like a pacifist wearing a war helmet. Haircut is very particular, and is halfway between a pompadour and a psychobilly: the top is usually longer and has a great toupee, while sides are cut pretty shot, almost like a soldier, from which they lack everything else. Nevertheless, the most distinctive decorative element of such guys is their glasses, retro black frame Ray Ban eyeglasses. Why??? These are glasses for guys like Woody Allen or Peter Sellers, not for the bearded queer sister of Snow White fairy.
Separately, the style takes elements from late 50's and early 60's, and others from beatniks, and I also feel a bit the taste of decadent NYC during the 70's, at least from the movies I've seen featuring the city during that period. However, the ensemble is kitsch and ridiculous, anachronistic and tacky, and what's worst, utterly decontextualized: it is all totally and completely wrong!
What is more ridiculous to me is the uniformity of such "new" and "fashionable" trends, that classify people in clichés, stereotypes, and groups with the same look. They all look like equally, wear the same clothes, speak and move in the same way. The difference between these trends and the old ones is that now, there is no substance (whatever it might be) behind a look. Now, it is just a look, a pose, an appearance! Nothing else. It is completely arbitrary and next season will change and forgotten, like a dry leave falling in autumn. The emptiness of the image, just a reflection on a shapeless and colorless surface. That's the sad part of the story, the emptiness of it all, of this stupidity!
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