Barcelona, mi amor

Hola amigos, que tal?

I am back.
After a 120 kilometers marathon (I kept track) and with my camera bursting with1500 snapshots, I am back to my old stomping grounds.

On my unpaid sabbatical I went to Barcelona (Spain that is), a hilly city that requires some exertion.
If you take your car to go to the grocery store around the corner, this city might be a little challenging for you. It was for me and my calves are still sore, but on the plus side I lost at least six pounds.

Tourism you should know is not for the faint-hearted. It requires some stamina and mainly that outmoded thing that Americans used to do before Henry Ford sweet-talked them into using his confounded jalopy instead.

Nowadays I am a little weary of big cities but I couldn’t help falling head over heels for that marvelous urban municipality.
It has everything that American cities don’t have, namely green oases with various watering spots where the local population congregates and perorates late into the night.
Do we have anything close to that in Marin County or even San Francisco?
A sorry emphatic NO!

In America, we have lost our ways. As the French would say now it is mainly “metro, boulot, dodo” (subway/highway, work, sleep).
The Barcelonians also have a subway, but they spent most of their time in outdoor cafes.
If I would be running for president, I would skip the usual demagogic rubbish and promise a local plaza (with a least three Tapas spots) for every neighborhood. I would win the nomination hands down.

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Back to subway… Most or all the stations in Barcelona have escalators, and elevators for handicapped people to boot. The subway also allows dogs, cumbersome baby carriages and bicycles. As a matter of fact, I have no idea what you cannot take into the Barcelona subway.

The curse of tourism is tourists. And Barcelona has millions of them. I think that the tourists outnumber the locals by at least 2 to 1.
Tourists, especially guided groups are the bane of vacationers. There are large, slow, mindless.

A good tourist is a childless (leave the brats at home), low-key, mute individual. He does not talk, doesn’t stop where he shouldn’t and speaks only when spoken to. And he absolutely should avoid carrying a selfie-stick.

I trekked of course, to all the holy sites: La Familia Sagrada (ugly outside, breathtaking inside), the Casa Battlo, the Mercato de La Boqueria, La Barceloneta, but my favorite spot was the Gothic Quarter where you can stroll leisurely through its narrow streets for hours.

What makes Barcelona so endearing is its human quality. It is a city made by people for people. It is also always in a festive mood. Drums and music can erupt anytime. Old, young, dogs mingle seamlessly.
When you sit in a cerveceria, nobody rushes you. You can sit for hours with a single beer or a small tapa without anybody hassling you.

Every American should go to at least once to Barcelona. They would learn to enjoy life instead of bearing with it.

Hasta luego chums!

Alain

PS: To look at photos of this event and listen to the accompanying background music, turn your computer’s sound on, and click on the link “My Photos” located on the right side of this page. For best viewing, go Full Screen.

Death becomes you

Prince (the Sheik of Pop) died about 10 days ago. I had heard his name before but since I am not into that kind of music, I never paid too much attention to that androgynous fellow.

But I was quite surprised by the hoopla and the extensive media coverage following his decease.

IMG_2296This just confirmed what I always suspected.
People are more enamored of the dead than the living… probably because a corpse is much less troublesome than a breathing soul, and because a body, conveniently takes unpleasant truths with him to his grave.

Death is a great embalmer. Many curmudgeons become instantly lovable the minute they cross the Great Divide, and their stature and financial worth often increases tenfold.

Prince’s music sales soared after his demise. Van Gogh who never earned a penny while living made some people very prosperous after his passing.
Death and wealth as you can see are close cousins.

And then there are the glorious eulogies. The man was a wonderful husband, lover, father, friend, philanthropist, etc. and it makes you wonder… how come we  barely heard about these wonderful qualities while the man was still alive?
Were we that blind and deaf?

Dying is a fine art. To be successful you have to make a quick, graceful exit. Do not linger. Do not come back for an extra bow. People who are unable or unwilling to go quickly can rapidly turn into a big nuisance.
Do your part and we will do the rest. That’s what the world (and your relatives) expect from you.

Governor Jerry Brown just signed the “End of Life Act” into law making assisted-death legal in California.
I applaud this decision that enable people to make a dignified and quick exit when life becomes unbearable.
People have the inherent right to control their bodies and their destinies without undue interference from meddling religious or political outfits.

The idea is to die young as late as possible. Ashley Montagu

Alain

PS: I am taking a short sabbatical. I will be back in June. I hope that my absence will make your heart grow fonder.

The dynamic duo

When there is a will there is a way.

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If you have not seen our pétanque field for a while, you are in for a (nice) surprise. It looks different, manicured, rejuvenated.
Like the face of a movie star after a Botox treatment.

IMG_1465We owe it all to a dynamic duo who, in spite of being relatively new to the club, is doing a heck of a job.
The names of these excellent people are Henry and Calvert. I don’t need to say more. Everybody knows them and appreciate them.

French writer Jules Romains wrote between 1932 and 1946 a legendary series of books called « Les hommes de bonne volonté » (men of good will).
Henry (aka La Bête Noire) and Calvert are such people. They are friendly, helpful, cooperative and to top it all excellent players.
At La Pétanque Marinière, we are extremely fortunate to have such individuals.

Our field, created approximately 1975 AD, had seen better days.
The fine gravel that once covered the ground had been washed away by years of winter rains, and wild grass was steadily annexing the playing areas.

There had been talks for years of resurfacing the field but nothing ever materialized.IMG_6216
Nothing until Henry and Calvert took it upon themselves to do the job.
Quietly, without any fanfare, they have been steadily hauling and pouring fine gravel on the field for the last few weeks.
It now looks as smooth as a baby’s behind.

And I understand (correct me if I am wrong) that they refuse to be compensated for it. That’s not right. The least we can do is to reimburse them for the material and publicly recognize a job well done.

Chapeau bas! Chapeau bas!
Doff your caps! Hurrah! Hurrah
For these noble people.

Version 2In my fleeting moment of praise, I also want to mention the Davantes gang (Charlie, Liv -how could I forget her- Brigitte and Herb) who also did a tremendous job of beautifying our field.

A club with such “people of good will” is a fortunate club indeed.

Alain