Valencia... vale?

The train trip to Valencia is a fever induced blur – but thanks to a lemsip or two I actually slept part way – felt like crap but still noticed beautiful places I’d love to come back to (like Salou?) ... one day! I also made the realisation that no matter where in the world you are, the back view of the burbs as seen through a train window is a depressing weedy, graffittied blur.

The night before I’d left Barcelona I checked my emails to discover this…“Your rooms will not be available for your first night in Valencia,” it said, I panicked … “but we have organised for you to stay at xxx for the same price on the first night and on the second night you stay here gratis.” Nnnooooo it had all gone so smoothly thus far. Que, rooms plural? What shit-hole had they stuck me in, how far from transport was it etc… But what could I do, right, it was after midnight when I read the message!

Anyway after a pleasantly hazy train trip I caught a cab for 10 minutes to my “new” hotel. Literally at the intersection of the main drag. And posh! A Bath, a bidet, a balcony all the best in the b, b, b stuff. Beautiful! I sat and ate a picnic on the balcony and then passed out in air-conditioned comfort (can I recommend freezing a bottle of gazpacho great on the train and when you arrive in your hotel room).

Here are views from the room and of the room

When I awoke I went for a brief stroll just to orientate a little to Valencia and pick up some tourist maps/brochures from the office less than 200 metres away.

Funny thing, I asked the guy at the tourist office if there were any local festivals or live music on. At first he said no... and then he said the next night on the beach I could go down and listen to Ior Meyan.

“Oh,” I said, thinking about tradition Spanish music and an evening on the sand the next night, “sounds good.”

He looked shocked and said, “you like Ior Meyan?”,

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard it before.”

I paused. His surprise was palpable and I rewound … it took a minute amd some brain whirring translation to realise what he’d actually said... “Iron Maiden”

It also explained the disproportionate number of long and lank-haired, black wearing, dumpy, middle-age tattooed odd-bods I’d seen in Valencia!

I kept strolling to discover that the 10 minute taxi ride from the station to the hotel was in fact less than one block!... and he'd had to drop me so I walked half of that block. Cab drivers eh? I also found that there was a bull-fighting ring around the corner. Luckily no bouts coming up! Would hate to get arrested for animal rights protests on my only weekend in Valencia!

Came home with take-away tapas and sat in the room listening to evening life on Valencia’s streets, the clatter of cutlery and laughter from diners, the squawk of seagulls and the sound of hawkers peddling their wares - sunglasses, handbags and tourist fans. When I’d finished my meal I was serenaded (with the diners in the street below me) first by piano accordion and then by heavily accented covers of Beatles songs. It was definitely time to pass out again.

In the morning I was feeling somewhat more even-keeled... the fever, at last, was lifting. It made the move (two blocks) to the new/original hotel bearable – even with my bag which was classily falling apart. The new place was not quite as posh but they were most apologetic and threw in free breaky both mornings – yay!.

Time to hit the streets… it was a beautiful day – intense blue skies caliente (38) pero seco – perfecto! I loved the details on the lamp-posts and that naranja trees grow in parks… The fountains and open plaza was great to sit in and sun-soak… and people watch.

Some things I noticed/thought:

Children chase pigeons all over the world,

I know it’s a falsely blissful impression… the couples are frighteningly happy because they are on holidays not just cos they’re in Valencia.

The sound of cascading water is even more important than the aesthetics of fountains

Valencia is a shiny and clean place…

I decided to head off and go to the contemporary graphic design and photography exhibition.

Some of it was twee, some of it made me giggle… some of it made me think of friends back home.

The Italian graphics gave me a flashback not cos they were retro… which of course they are, but because when I was into graphic design I had a book that featured some of these pieces

The exhibition was all good until they busted me taking pics… but that was good tooo cos it lead to a great convo with the guard in Spanglish about her dreams of travel and becoming a florist! Though you don’t see the 19^th century middle eastern photography

Anyways, it was time to head off and wander again … I got a little nostalgic as I staggered past the strip of wedding stuff – so Sydney road… but a touch more glam?

Then I found a gelati shop and had a natter (in Spanish and mime) and discovered delicious new flavours (which I have since forgotten!)

Popped home, refreshed and headed to the movies and saw Madres y Hojas... dubbed over in Spanish. WHat was great was I accidently chose a filum that I'd seen but forgotten in the blurry haze of the flight from Aust... but I must have fallen asleep cos the last 20mins was a total surprise. It was great cos I knew the general gist and could focus on language rather than plot. The film is ok... a little contrived but ... ok!

A new (well ok, not really) realisation – the touristy bits of travel and entertainment are ok but for this living, breathing Gemini to the core – it is the random conversations, the successful complex communications (from ordering gelati to avoiding being expelled from exhibitions) and observing human interactions that provide the moments of real joy!

PS Valencia is real pretty

Barcelona bits and pieces – a final wrap up.

NB Hwving some difficulty uploading this in an intenet cafe in paqris!

I am writing this entry on the train from Madrid to Barcelona… appropriate I guess returning to the scene of many crimes! I have, of course, spent 10 days away flitting from Valencia to Sevilla to Madrid and you’ll hear about them next, but for now let me give you some of my random Barcelona moments and thoughts that haven’t been documented…

I will start by returning to one of my first “discoveries” in Barcelona that crazy-ass building that I found on some random meandering through the streets of my neighbourhood (shoot me if I use the word random again in this entry). The first time when I took pictures I had accidently cut off one or two of the banners and wanted to work out what it all meant… well now I have, kinda.
Obviously the first is “Freedom is not free”
The larger banner says "The every gesture of revolt is interpreted as a terrorist act we need to stop the fear controling us - solidarity and resistance will."
Up close there were many other little interesting bits and bobs. Essentially this edificio is and anarchist/punk/resistance squat. Yee hah.

MUSIC – one of my favourite things (even at home) is to have my music maker on shuffle and have a random-select sound track escort me through the world. I wait for it to change my mood, change my noticing, change my reality… it always does. As I write this I have Cat Power going … and I am contemplative. I have to say I have been listening to my iPod less while travelling – I am too keen to eavesdrop on the soundscape around me! Though I do remember one moment on the metro… a perfectly happy, perfectly pedestrian trip til a song came on and tears welled in my eyes… the song? The Carlton Footy theme song – well fuck me, I didn’t even know I had it on my iPod! It’s ok – my overly emotional response also cracked me up. Guess I was lucky not to become another Cornelia Rau locked up in a foreign country for loopy behaviour!

Bwahhahah, now as I write this Kelly Marie’s “Feels like I’m in Love” is playing … stand back for euphoria everyone!

AN INSPIRED DAY
I have told you about how irritating I’ve found some tourist experiences and places .. but there was one that – for whatever reason – was truly awesome! I had decided to head out on my own for a whole day “excursion.” To catch the teleferic/cable car across the bay from Barcelonetta to Montjuic… to wander through the parks there and then go to the Miro Museo and The Nation Catalunyan Art Museo.


I’m not entirely sure why this day was so euphoric – maybe the random soundtrack worked it’s magic… it didn’t hurt that that the weather was blissful. I AM AN UNAPOLOGETIC SUN SLUT! Anyhoo just walking to catch the teleferic I passed a salsa band playing by the sea. I could stop and listen – time was mine. I then wandered a bit further – stopped and sat under these eautiful weeping trees in dappled light while kd crooned “Hallelujah” – trite but true.





Finally I made it to the teleferic. Now I’m not usually afraid of heights but to be suspended by a wire over a bay suddenly seemed fucking dumb! Especially with such basic mechanics and a tendency for the whole thing to sway
(OMG just glanced outside the train as it pulls into a station and there was a cute little rabbit ). Anyhoo, the views were spectacular. To see Barcelona from up high was worth the minor panic attack

I arrived at Montjuic – and, again, meandered along paths and stopped at look outs and ENJOYED the depth of green and clarity of blue that only perfect sun can produce. I ate my desayonuro - pulpo y tomates bocadillo. Then I headed for the Miro exhibit which also had a temporary contemporary exhibit by Pipilloto (not sure if this is accurate spelling)





Well fuck me this exhibition was awesome. I spent at least dos horas en todo. Pipilloti’s was a free wheeling video/projection installation that went over 5-6 rooms. It seemed to confront the audience with the visceria of humanness/domesticity and quiet moments. It was cerebral, experiential and playful. Some rooms required you to lie down – almost meditate while a series of images and an accompanying soundtrack – moody and melodic (at times disturbing) transported you. Other giant spaces projected images onto a kitchen.
One of my favourites was a dark space of diaphanous cloth where words were projected. The cloth was hung in rows and as gente walked down each one we were inevitably incorporated into the exhibition as the words were projected onto us. But even more special was when a child decided to run free-flight through these “curtains” of cloth, freeing the adults to do so 
OK everyone, sing along... "she's got the whole world in her ..." yeah!

The tactile interactivity seemed to carry through to the Miro exhibit which I also loved,। The rug is not done justice – at all – in photographic form… it is two floors high and so luscious in texture and vivid in colour… I had to really restrain myself from stroking it (another potential Cornelia Rau moment)

I loved it all – the space, the freedom to wonder (and take photos on the sly hehehe!)... oh and the art itself

The roof-top terrace filled with sculptures is special… the backdrop is an outlook across Barcelona and beautiful parks – colours again heightened by the contrast with terracotta coloured edificios. Oh and do you like that I found my doppelganger? Same top, same glasses, same skin tones and posture!

When I had finally finished it was my intention to walk for 20 minutes to the next museo But I forgot that even in the most touristy spots the Spanish shut up shop at 2p on a Sunday. So, instead, after I had another mini-picnic of grapes beside a waterfall, I wound my way down Montjuic and did the long walk home. A perfect day… though I did end it with a slight rojo glow!

TRAVELING ON YOUR OWN IS FULL OF MAGIC MOMENTS. I think being in your own head allows contemplation and noticing. It leaves space for resonance … for wandering and wonder. Even when with others you can reverse back into your self and allow those unexpected moments to cascade and breathe.

But it’s always small, private, human interactions that fascinate me। I need to start this one by saying that old people are out and about MUCH more in Spain। They leave their pisos and head to the placa where they sit and talk or watch or… just estar. They wander about taking in their surrounds – kinda like I do when on vaccacion! I have also observed that their middle-aged/elderly children and sometimes teenage grandkids take the time more to walk with them – hold them, support them and take them for their wander, slowly, gently. They treat their old folk better than we treat our dogs… in fact many in Australia don’t even treat their dogs that well. (Note to self – take mum for a walk when I get back ;) )

Anyways this day a VERY frail and elderly man was shuffling along on his zimmer frame alone. Moving more slowly than I have seen anyone move. But he just kept shuffling along – clearly on a mission. In 5 minutes he had moved less than half a block. I was fascinated and admiring … then I realised I wasn’t alone.

A young girl – maybe 5-6 – had also seen him and was fascinated. Her fascination took her further. After a minute or two she began to follow him and exactly mimic his gestures. There was nothing cruel or mocking in her intent – she was just mesmerized and needed to feel his experience… hell I might have done it but (see Cornelia Rau paranoias!) For about 1 minute she mirrored him without him being aware… until her mum yelled out at her to stop.

IN SPAIN I THINK OF MY GRANDMOTHER with every cup of tea and bowl of cereal – essentially because ALL the milk here – even when you buy it from the fridge section of the supermarket – tastes like powdered milk, which she was a big fan of! And be very careful as a tea drinker if you ask for te con leche (tea with milk) you may need to be more specific. Twice I have been served tea lat`es! I लिखे it a milky tea… but only when it’s made with actual milk… and some water!

ACTS OF KINDNESS. Being in a foreign country, you are frequently treated to moments of kindness – people who act as interpreters, people who notice you are lost and give you directions… people who notice you’ve left your bag/wallet open (again) and let you know.
A couple of acts of kindness in my last few days really moved me…
Jan kindly agreed to look after my luggage while I trekked around Spain – thank fuck it would have been a real arse pain – he even lugged it up 3 flights of these rickety stairs!
A lovely woman who locked her shop and walked with me to show me where there were some hidden loos!
On the last day or two of my time in Barcelona I was quite crook with fever/flu.. one evening when we were leaving tapas to head home (well I was heading home) it was absolutely pissing rain. The others jogged off to the station but Emre and Thomas toddled behind with me getting drenched.
But what really moved me was when Jan arrived at school the next day… he had brought 3 packets of Lemsip (a drugged up lemon drink) with him. How fucken nice!
It’s these gestures that are noticed and matter… the Lemsip also actually helped me sleep on the train to Valencia… he single-handedly stopped me from dying of pneumonia I'm sure ;)
And that Thomas stayed up after clubbing to say good-bye at 7am was also really lovely!


REGRETS – I HAVE A FEW… but not many. There were a coupla things on my to do list that I don’t really care that I never did – some galleries and stuff but a few things I do regret. I never made it to Park Guell which is meant to be lovely for some random (it’s ok, I just shot myself) wandering I wanted to go to Figueres to see the Dali museum (it’s a whole day trip – bugger eh, Jane?). I also wanted to go to Sitges (a seaside town about an hour away) but never made it… I’ve added them to the “next time” list! I probably also regret not living with a family while studying (I REALLY enjoyed living in the flat BUT I would have immersed myself in more Spanish language rather than English!). I regret not spending a week in Barcelona when I wasn’t studying – even if it was only 2 hours a day! I regret not seeing any live theatre. I regret not having more time!

For now though I will get off the train and meet up with the only 3 fellow tourists that I met … Johannah, Jan and Emre. Then it’s time to head to Paris. Life is so hard!

PS I had a lovely last day in Barcelona soaking in sunshine and lovely company... some of whom I feel sure I'lल. meet again... somewhere!

Me encanta la vida nocturna, quiero boogie – I love the nightlife, I wanna boogie…

Or... nights out in Barcelona!

It took me two or three days of being in Barcelona before I was ready to REALLY go out at night… and Ole (the language school I went to) organizes a weekly gathering where everyone meets at a spot in town and then two of the teachers take us to some venue (that the school gets a commission from heheheh) – frankly as a teacher, I hope they get paid a lot… though I suspect not!!

NIGHT ONE
Anyway I was kinda dreading that first night, already feeling somewhat antique at home I thought that going could actually trigger immediate bone calcification and senility. I had a picture 15-20 ex-student-age-gente and I staggering into a bar and crawling home… well it turns out there were at least 40 gente some as old as treinta (30) – I pretty much clung to my housemates… at least for a while.

We went to a theatre/bar called “L’Antic Teatre” it had two terraced areas and an inside bar… given the size of most venues I guess this was one of the few where we’d actually fit! I met a few of the people the gals already knew and then started chatting to Valerio and Paola. But on this night I mainly talked with Valerio who is an Italian language student who was always so generous in helping me with my Spanish… one arvo we did a language exchange… but that’s a whole other story!

Naomi was muy bored – no dancing! The rest of us chatted and I drank mojitos – have I told you how they make them here – the usual sugar, ice, lime and mint but then they free-pour the rum … usually close to half the glass. FUCKING YUM – a little dangerous but…!

Anyway I staggered off to get my second mojito and took a photo of a poster because I thought about coming back to see a show – local arts blah blah blah! The barman tapped me on the shoulder and introduced me to the woman behind me – she was the writer and performer in the show. We had a great chat/flirt and then I looked around and the venue was shutting. Yoikes. Promised I’d come to the show (more about that later). I didn’t join the others who were off to find some dancing but headed home. Really happy with my ability to speak Spanglish … remember I am talking about night 4 or 5 of my time in Barcelona.

It was close to midnight – I jumped on the first metro train that pulled in. Joder – it was the wrong line… got off next stop.. changed trains got off at right stop. Walked in THE DARK ON MY OWN – smiled at those I passed, saw a woman talking in an animated fashion to a tree – guess mental health is an issue here too – got closer and realized her partner was pissing against said tree and was talking back.

NIGHT TWO
I discovered that the Buskers Festival was on so this time it was my turn to drag dos companeros de piso (Naomi and Ana) out to Barcelonetta – the local beach where there would be 10 stages of buskers. When we arrived it was just a bit before dusk… I saw some contemporary interpretive Flamenco but didn’t stay to watch too long cos me companeros de piso were not too interested we headed on.

An awesome salsa band. We tapped feet, gyrated hips and admired the view… when they finished we moved on again.

This time a folky chick duo – their harmonies were great but their sound equipment was shit and so they were almost inaudible unless a kind sea breeze blew their music in your direction.

What I was already really loving was the crowd… todas las edades (all ages), genders, “types” and mucho mucho perros (dogs) J,

We saw several more bands vibrant and interactive, performative and multicultural – AWESOME. I loved watching people dance - I've included the dodgy shot of the couple in yellow cos they were so into the night and so into each other that they opitimized the moment - and the conga line at one performance was a spontaneous bonus.

The last act we “saw” (actually you couldn’t see it, it was too crowded) was a massive drum band. Heart thumping, feet thumping, fire twirling excitement.

I bought last years cd… cos I didn’t have the dinero (cash) on me for this years ;(... can't work out how to upload a soundtrack for ya... yet.

NIGHT THREE
The next Ole night – we headed out into the world with dark ominous clouds looming. When we emerged from the metro at our destination it was pissing with rain … absolutely bucketing! We huddled under restaurant umbrellas… this time there were only 25 or so folk. But some older folk too! Laurie who was in my class – fucken funny French chick who I hope to catch up with when in France, Paco, also from my class, and his wife both Canadians who were great to meet, Daniel, also a lovely guy from my class, who lives in Stockholm. Other notables met – or gotten to know better - on this night were Ian from England and Jan (as in yarn not the chick name) … also from England.

A moment about Jan – he will die when he reads this – when I had previously seen iPhone photos of him hangin out and clubbin with Naomi and Melanie and other young blonde chicas I thought "what a sleaze" – he is younger than me but not thaaaat much ... but on meeting him I discovered a lovely, funny guy with a brain and conscience– thank fuck!

Anywhooo back to the night. We waited for ¾ of an hour and a big no-show from the teachers.. what they’re afraid of a bit of rain? So Ian directed us to a pub he’d liked on another of these nights… “The Manchester”. Pardone, ¿Estamos en España o en Inglaterra? But we went and they played trashy 80’s music – everything from The Smiths, The Cure, The Bangles, The Petshop Boys… felt like I was in a gay bar … or my loungeroom!

frm left: Johanna, Paco, Jan, Jan (again!), The Virgin (see below), Laurie, Paco's wife who's name I've forgotten (sorry!), Naomi, Anna and Melanie

Well I must say I was in fine form flitting about drinking mojitos – for those that read facebook posts this is the night referred to as me being muy comico. The woman who I've labelled The Virgin was actually introduced to me by Laurie (with her French accent) as The Belgian... but that's not what I heard! It was also from this night (I think) that I earned the nick-name "Paula Noche" ie por la noche... keep your eyes peeled for my next performance. I think I’ve mentioned before the free-pour the mojitos and they taste great and… well was mucho fun

The décor in the venue was full of all the accouterments to make it seem English but in a very camp/Spanish way… I loved the record player that was just twirling and twirling without a hint of vinyl!

NIGHT FOUR
Nyaw… we had a farewell night for Melanie and Naomi… the usuals were there Ana, Daniel, Rohn, Ian, Jan and Johannah. We went to tapas, while most people liked it, too much was friedo and potatas and nachos (!) and mal curry(!) The venue was lovely but muy toursitico I mean what tapas bar serves no anchovies!

Then I had a huge debate with Ian – who called me an extremist radical lefty cos I wanted to imagine a world without borders (not saying it’s easy to achieve but an ideal to aspire to). He on the other hand espoused @#$*& - erm other - dogma about “them” – I think especially, but not exclusively Muslim... anything not so "western", “do you want to have to live like them” etc golly can’t bare to repeat it… others got somewhat uncomfortable as I sat calmly continuing to argue but without taking any of the shit that was being espoused. I guess in this sad world I might be “extremist” – nothing like throwing meaningless tags in a pathetic attempt to nullify an actual argument.

Talking of right-wing racist dogma, how is Australian politics going?

Sigh

After the conversation was diffused we headed out and wandered the streets til we staggered into a small bar/dance place where I danced to more daggy eighties and reggae and early nineties stuff some remixes while Ian tried to hit on Ana (don’t do it Ana!). I was intrigued by one of the djs… but that’s all I can say and I really liked the venue it was underground and like a weird little cave – unfortunately after a couple of hours the smokiness got to me and I had to run away.

NIGHT FIVE
I found out there was another music festival – bollards and posters are this gals best friend, I take photos of them then take them home and try to decipher them, then google them then… go! I decided I wanted a night out on my own – some contemporary jazz followed by tapas and then that play – how cultured of me eh?

The venue was amazing. And, I really liked the jazz... it was just an hour long concert but they did some magic with the piano and sax. Some odd breathy playing and actually reaching in and plucking strings of the piano – were moments I remember. Even though it was a formal venue the musicians came out in scruffy t-shirts etc. Some people clearly loved the music, some fell asleep!

Found a little bar tucked away and had a beautiful glass of red – don’t ask me what, I never know. I also had this sensational warm tuna dip thing – rico!

Then I toddled off to see this piece of theatre. Ordered a drink and asked about tickets… only prob the actress had just called in sick and was cancelling the show – joder! Oh well finished my drink wandered the streets and went home… never did get to see the play – wasn’t enough time!

NIGHT SIX


As it happens a local festival was on for my last week in Barcelona – kinda like the Brunswick music festival in that it was in the suburb I’d chose to live in and there was music – but kinda not cos it totally rocked everynight. It was packed ALL the streets had stages every night… it celebrated Catalunyan culture and I was looking forward to it as soon as I heard about it.

I told a few folk and we arranged to meet up. When we emerged from the station the streets were absolutely teeming with people. We found our friend but then waited as they waited for other friends… then we walked half a block to wait to meet some of their friend’s friends - bought a mojito … then we walked two blocks meet some of their friend’s friend’s friends and so on – they primped they posed they flirted… they’re all 20ish. Joder!

We’d been at the festival for 2 hours and skillfully avoided seeing anything. Basically I cracked it and said I was too old to be bothered waiting around for . It was great watching – again all ages mix and have fun, people drink but no-one (local) gets embarrassingly drunk. The streets were decorated, I bought some earrings at a local jewelry makers stall. There was a salsa band on. It was hot, sweaty and really fun. I kept fanning this toddler as we danced. She got a little fixated and when I left she chased me – oops in the big crowd we had to find her mama… we did.

Just as I arrived at the Metro to catch the last train home (1am that night) I ran into the friends I’d arrived with – amazing given the size of the crowd. What was equally amazing was the numbers of people arriving for the festa on the last train. The Spanish don’t get enough sleep… even with a siesta!

NIGHT SEVEN
On my second last night I was pretty crook with a head cold thing – coughing, sneezing and feverish… but determined to go out for tapas and some more festa. It was a smaller crew – Ana, Johanna, Thomas, Emre, Jan and his partner, Hermana. We found a cute tapas place with appropriately aloof management and ordered chatted etc.

What was funny for me was that all of them had FAR superior Spanish yet I was the one who made most of the attempts to communicate … often while they argued about how to say something! Basically don’t give a shit about getting it wrong (which I often do) cos it just leads to laughter and friendlier camereros!

It also led to finding myself face first in the (augmented) breasts of a tranny as we were about to leave the bar. I’m not entirely sure how! We tried to chat... but her very thick Venezuelan accent inhibited me getting her English and by then my Spanish had evaporated … down her cleavage I suspect!

There was mucho mucho lluvia (rain) and we were already late to meet the others at the festa… my mobile wasn’t working and I was truly fading.. feeling not at all well. I decided to cut my losses and head home – the others were undecided but came as far as the metro – we were all absolutely drenched! Then the rain stopped and they walked back to the fiesta. I left the metro and caught a cab deciding I wasn’t up for staying in my drenched clothes and negotiating two train lines. Another great if stilted cab conversation (I’m getting to be a master of those… soon I’ll have to learn the classic line – so is this the beginning or the end of your shift). At last I got home and had a hot hot shower. No pictures of any of it I'm afraid... I musta been outta sorts!

The next day – my last and the day of the exam I was truly unwell (as I was for most of my time in Valencia ... but that’s a whole other entry… sorry!)