Entries Tagged 'Barcelona' ↓

Above are two shots from a television commercial that seemed to be on just about every time we turned on the television in the flat in Barcelona. The product consists of vibrating pads which will melt off the pounds even if you are absolutely sedentary. Another set of commercials, which I did not manage to get any pictures of, were for corsets for young women. This coupled with the lack of any visible exercisers in this town seemed to be a clue as to why the old people tended to look pretty run down, and an indicator that some of the many many hot young women around might in fact not be so much fit as fit to burst.

I’ve always liked watching television in countries not my own, and in languages I don’t understand. In Warsaw, there was a very strange voice over version of CSI (see here), and in Prague a dubbed soapy Western (see here), and I’ve already mentioned a little big about the mountain of psychics on Spanish television (see here).

A few years ago I was with my daughter in Kawaii.  It was just her and I so I was bound back at the place at nights and ended up watching more television than I would have expected. There were a few rerun channels which convinced me once again that most television shows should have had stakes punched through their artless hearts and forever silenced.  Now, thanks to digital technology, we will have to live with the low points of our culture forever.

The best thing though were the religious channels (not just shows but whole channels).  Watching the small brained make sense of existence is always amusing (I will admit that this shows Christians at their very worst) but saw something absolutely amazing…imagine a Jim Morrison of Christianity…free-form charismatic rock n roll type extorting to Jesus….not quite up to the Lizard King but pretty good. Watched that for almost an hour. And then ended up tuning into the channel every day…it was mesmerizing. Saw other preachers, sweat flying, rapping, speaking in tongues and laying hands, and all these people were quite aggressive…no platitudes here….the theme was taking it back, getting back control of the culture…it was like watching Martians but being a little scared that they might be invading some day.

These religious networks or channels have born again comics, religious extreme sports, game shows, the whole spectrum of typical channels. (To be continued…)

Woody Allen’s Vicky Christina Barcelona is a very good film. It reminded me a little of Manhattan and even more of Jules and Jim. The latter because of the voice over throughout; the telling of a story of three people, within a European sensibility, and the former because it also was about the conflict between the heart and the head.

Two good friends, Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Christina (Scarlett Johansson),  are in Barcelona for the summer. Whereas Christina is a self described free spirit, Vicky is more of a life planner and is engaged to be married (known as the sensible one). There they run up against the romantic painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) and eventually his tempestuous ex-wife Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz).

Both of the friends end up involved with the painter, and both find their world’s in some disarray. Like the people in Manhattan, these people find themselves confronting their ideas of who they thought they were and the place of passion in their lives.

I’ll leave the rest for you to see for yourselves because this is a film that should be seen. It is a triumphant return of the erratic genius of Allen; the writing ranks with his best, and every actor in it perfect. It is his perfect European film and though on the surface it plays like a romantic holiday comedy it is a little melancholy at its core.

Rebecca Hall is a true discovery and Bardem is acting miles above his sombre take in No Country for Old Men. Much more than that, this deserves recognition. Johansson too is wonderful and Cruz note perfect. And while many films shot in interesting places only hint at them, this incredible city is no small part of this film.

After the cheap thrills of the Dark Knight, this brought back to me what movies were really about.  It is deceptively light but does what those even accomplished superhero movies don’t - make you actually think about your own life.  Its a feel good and a feel deep movie.

Slight conflict of interest here in the sense that I may have enjoyed the film a little more than I might have was I not already enthralled with Barcelona and did I not have a good friend who seemed to me very like Vicky.

And in other media, and perhaps to be expanded later:

Just saw Memories of Murder - a phenomenal Korean murder mystery, beautifully shot with uncharacteristically subtle performances (the best Korean movie I have seen I think); and just read Karin Fossum’s Broken - continues her unbroken string of great books, this time slightly postmodern.

1. Via DeZeen: Marianne Maric’s Lamp Girls

2. Via Consciencious: Benoit Vollmer photographs

3. Via DailyDoseOfImagery: Gehry’s Disney Building

4. Via DeputyDog: the Nouvel tower in Barcelona

I’m back.

Above, is a Joan Miro sculpture that stands outside the Fundacio Joan Miro in Barcelona. In later posts I will be writing about all that but my energy level is still a little under par, (great trip but bad sleeps), and I have my roughly 800 photos to organize, over 1000 postings for the last couple of weeks on my GoogleReader (not going to read all those), and a slightly neurotic post kennel Siberian to attend to. But today was an interesting day.

Yesterday, at Heathrow, I picked up a copy of Ben Elton‘s latest novel, Blind Faith. Below is the jacket copy, and it describes this book nicely. It is a smarter version of Idiocracy (which I thought, ironically, was made for a dumbed down audience). It has a good go at reality TV, FaceBook, blogging, The Secret and many more elements of current culture. Its a novelistic rant against modern mass culture, and both bitter and funny.

As Trafford Sewell struggles to work through the usual crowds of commuters, he is confronted by the intimidating figure of his Parish Confessor. Why has Trafford not been streaming his every moment of sexual intimacy onto the community website like everybody else? Does he think he’s different or special in some way? Better than his fellow man and woman? Does he have something to hide?Imagine a world where everyone knows everything about everybody. Where what a person ‘feels’ and ‘truly believes’ is protected under the law, while what is rational, even provable is condemned as heresy. A world where to question ignorance and intolerance is to commit a Crime against Faith. Ben Elton’s dark, savagely comic novel imagines a post-apocalyptic society where religious intolerance combines with a confessional sex obsessed, self-centric culture to create a world where nakedness is modesty, ignorance is wisdom and privacy is a dangerous perversion. It offers a chilling vision of what’s to come? Or something rather closer to what we call reality?

I mention the novel because it gets one thinking about how much nonsense is out there. And after attuning to Spain, and while thinking overall that it is a much saner culture than my own, the television viewing indicated that there were some curious parts of that culture that weren’t quite obvious from wandering around. Exhibit Number One:

This odd duck is an astrologer and one of the many various psychics encountered at any given time on Spanish television (in our room, out of the 20 or so stations, 3 had psychics, 2 had fulltime lottery shows, 1 switched to porn after supper and about 3 switched to porn after midnight, as well as more Walker Texas Ranger than anyone could wish for). Exhibit Number Two:

I do have more pictures but on to the point at hand. This and some very odd informercials led me to think that I was returning to normalcy on the reentry to Canada but today, trundling down to Zellers to pick up some dog bones and an extension cord, I was behind a woman in line who was buying a new type of toilet paper. There was some issue about a two for one deal and how to ring it through the register, so while waiting for a manager to call back, the till operator and the customer talked about the toilet paper. The operator said the paper looked good and the customer said that she had first used it in Hawaii and really loved it. And then the operator replied “and wasn’t it great that it had added vitamin E?” At first I thought they must be talking about a second item of some kind, a food product perhaps, but no, the packaging on the asswipe boldly proclaimed added aloe vera and vitamin E. To my mind, you would probably have to stuff the whole roll up the old sphinctre and leave it there for a fortnight to get any benefit accruing.

Reeling from this insanity, I staggered out to my car, and as I pulled out, on the radio, long time respected CBC host Shelagh Rogers was seriously discussing listeners’ letters and call-ins telling how dead loved ones had caused trees and flowers to bloom after their passage from this world.

(When I was on the way to the store, the same show was discussing a government health commission looking into reported (reported but not proven) high cancer rates in Fort Chipewyen. It was worried about the effects, should the commission not find evidence for the link with the oil sands that the local population were certain of. That in itself is not odd but it was stated quite bluntly that the locals had determined the cause, and if the science didn’t show it, or came up with another reason, the science was insufficient. They had decided what was real and the evidence was not going to get in the way of that. (A lot of this sort of thing in the Ben Elton novel as well). The thing about cancer is that it is both a very difficult causation to pin down and it is remarkably amenable to woowoo thinking (that is, making connections either without basis or without having the background to accurately determine the cause but not letting that stand in your way). Now, I am not saying that the oil sands aren’t a factor but there is every possibility of an alternative explanation or two, and some objective inquiry is necessary to determine the likely cause of the higher rate, and in fact, if there is a higher rate.)  Added note: this was radio…the later report in the newspaper was much saner in all respects.

Its always been a little fuzzy out there but it may be getting worse. Kind of natural really. Most people are not that good at processing information, and now that there is so much more of it, the odds of doing a good job of that are decreasing, and the sheer mass of infocrap hurled at us every day along with the proven lower efficiency associated with multitasking, renders even good processors more vulnerable to lapses of judgment.

Solar Eclipse at the Antarctic

Jument Lighthouse in France from DeputyDog’s Collection of Lighthouses

Casa Battio Staircase from OObject’s Collection of Spiral Staircases

I’ll be in Barcelona in a few days, and may in fact, ascend this wonder.

And from the sublime to the ridiculous: from EarthTimes the Japanese Boob Pudding

The package:

Opened:

From the land of intricate etiquette, cherry blossoms, budo, living treasures, sand gardens and ikebana. Of course.

The picture has nothing to do with this post except that what got me thinking on this theme was the flight back from Warsaw. We had just come from Barcelona (of which the lamp above is typical), spent the night in the Warsaw Marriott, had our last Polish meal (unfortunately more international hotel style than Polish), our last shots of Polish vodka in a Polish bar, and that morning wandered the few metres across the road into the crowded and disorganized airport.

Military types were monitoring bulky scanners set up before the actual check ins and it was both work and faith to get in the right lines which snaked through each other. Shorter lines were hard to determine because Poles in the know had people saving their place. You’d have a couple of people in front of you and suddenly they would be fifteen.

You could tell the Poles from the foreigns solely from the size of the suitcases. Still the Soviet hangovers of bulk and drab. Really not all that different from the ones below though the people looked a little different. And of course, no ship was actually in the airport. But otherwise…

So there we are in the lineup. About twenty people ahead of me stands a man who is maybe a little younger than me but my height, looking like he would be both argumentative yet easy to push over, and he is wearing my shirt.

The shirt in question is not exactly my shirt. The one I have on, is fairly unique, having been obtained through back channels through connections, and I look good in it. It makes me feel good. Its kind of European sleek cut, blue toward the dark end of the spectrum, and all weather perfect so it was very trip worthy. The one he has is a cheaper version but close.

Now I’m like most people. I like my looks some days and some days I really don’t. Usually when I have this shirt on, I like the way I look (and others say it works for me). It really did not work on this guy, and I couldn’t help but think he was a cheaper version of me as well. And he was on my flight.

When he got off in Toronto, I had visions of him continuing on the last leg of my flight as well, and perhaps on his way to a new job in my office. But there the drama ended. But here’s the thing; he was a goof and he was wearing essentially what I was and it devalued my shirt somehow.

Just today I was reading about Hedy Fry, a Liberal MP, criticizing the Conservative government on their harm reduction stand. I am no fan of the Conservatives; I think their approach to crime and drugs is in itself criminal and absurd but Fry is a nutbar. She attained notoriety years ago when she did a little McCarthy like public lying saying she knew of crosses being burnt on lawns, fueling the spectre of rampant racial hatred in the suburbs. Somehow she survived this and other lunatic moves to get reelected.

She is right on this issue and that really annoys me. With friends like that you start worrying about your own position and almost feel compelled to take the opposite view. She stands for many things I am against, the prime ones being dishonesty and fear mongering. In fact, I dislike her enough to not bother to look her up to see if I spelled her name right.

We like people to agree with us but we want it to be for the right reasons, and we would also like them to mirror us in other ways. Vegetarians and non-smokers probably don’t take comfort from the fact that one of their most ardent supporters was Adolf Hitler. Sometimes I wish those people would continue to be wrong about the things I care about. Perhaps part of the concern is that if Hedy thinks what I do, maybe I made a mistake somewhere. In this case, there is a clearer greater evil; she is standing up against a government that gets almost everything wrong so its not too much of a dilemma for me.

I guess it really comes down to that people and ideologies are not perfect matches. Sometimes you have to like and respect people opposed to you in most ways and other times you have to avoid those who somehow ended up on your team but you really don’t know why.

If you removed all the Gaudis from Barcelona, it would still be one of the most architecturally astounding cities in the world. These are just a few of the many remarkable buildings just happened upon. You can see the Islamic influence.

Just walking by. One of the common decorations at around eye level.

Just wandering down the streets in the Gothic quarter one day, we ran across this. The street itself is about two thousand years old and the palace (which is on either side) dates from the Middle Ages, so its around a thousand years old. The bridge was constructed much more recently by a disciple of Gaudi’s in 1928.

You happen to look up and see these statues sticking out at right angles.

The undercarriage of the bridge.

Focussing in on one of the details of the undercarriage.

All in all, Barcelona teaches us what is possible when there is no fear of colour, and no blind adherence to tradition. Its history in dealing with this incredible legacy, its attempt to sweep it all away in favour of more modern linear structures, informs us that people are the same the world around. Though it is true that some art is only appreciated at certain times, or rather, not at all times, when looking at these manifestations of beauty, you can hardly believe that someone could only see something to tear down and replace, and not out of maleficence of any kind, but out of honest aesthetic impulse.

This is a couple of stories up the side of the Sagrada Familia. This structure was started in 1882 and is still under construction. Gaudi had originally planned for 18 towers, a forest of spires for his cathedral. One can only imagine.

No pictures really can show what an impact this astounding structure has when you stand in front or within it. The thing is, it doesn’t quite correspond to anything else in your experience. You are awe struck, dumbfounded, incapable of fitting it into your limited conception of the things that people build. Its unique and absurdly large. And, it is quite difficult to photograph. Its amazing that these religious structures, and there is no doubt that Gaudi’s intent was such, he consulted extensively with church authorities delving into the philosophies, the mysteries, and yet, these have become secular shrines. They have become monuments of aesthetics; reminders of how mundane most artifacts are.

Every bit of this is covered with engraving and figures. Its organic in the true sense of the word, seeming to spring from nature rather than any linear mechanistic plotting. More like those tall termite mounds in Africa, formed by mandibles and paste and saliva, rather than the army of humans that laboured on the ediface.

Below is a shot of the interior, which you experience as a vast expanse of pure white. The outside is kind of eggshell with every surface covered with figures and patterns but inside it is clean and smooth. It is impossibly large and when we were there, it was filled with the sounds of workmen and you could only wonder how many more years they would be at their task.

One last thought. Barcelona was bursting at the seams with buildings at this time and for a few decades after and despite what seems an obvious cultural acme, it is only because of a belated cultural recognition in New York, and the remonstrations of Salvador Dali, that much of this remains. A subsequent movement decried these incredible achievements as passe and had gone so far as to begin tearing down some of these magnificent buildings. Thanks to the interventions, restorations began, and because of that, Barcelona became one of the great global centres for art.

It was reported that in 1910, Clemenceau was invited to give a speech in this city but when he arrived, refused to, saying that he couldn’t in such a city of “harebrained diversity”. Well, as they say in Britain, who’s he when he’s at home.

But here’s a teaser for more insanity, more fine madness, more Gaudi to come.

This is the ceiling of a hospital. A hospital. As people there say “it is almost worth getting sick to come here” Its the Hospital de la Santa Creu i de Saint Pau, and the architect is Domanech i Montaner. When Gaudi was starting out, they said that he showed promise and might one day
be mentioned in the same breath as this man. History elevated Gaudi beyond, and to many, Barcelona and Gaudi are synonymous. Montaner just had the bad luck to be working around the same time.

Though his work is a little less fanciful and cleaner, the fantastic lurks within its lines. Okay, through the looking glass..

And onto the grounds….

And for a closer look at that tower…

We had been hitting all the Art Nouveau buildings in the area but we were on a quest to see the Sagrada Familia. We were still within the arches of the hospital and I was checking the map to see where to go from here when my partner said “were you looking for that?”

Unlike the rainsodden ascent in Madrid, coming up the subway stairs in Barcelona was an entry into sun and light and warmth and the absolutely certainty that is where we should have been all along. We came up onto La Rambla, packed full of tourists and natives strolling past the boulevard shops and buskers. Every now and then there was a living statue - a recreation of Edward Scissorhands or a basketball player or a centaur or a living tableau from a knight’s tale (or even a bunch of fruit).

Normally such a glut of tourists would have been annoying but it didn’t seem to affect the overall sunny vivacity of the place. A long roll of sidewalk with flower venders, birds and birdcages for sale, chairs to have a glass of wine or beer and food, freelance artists of all sorts playing to the crowds, and everyone in a good mood.

Our art nouveau hotel was half a block off this drag. We would only find out later that the damp moldy airspace running up beside our room with its dripping pipes would at seven in the morning breathe forth the ambrosia of freshly baked croissants.

Barcelona is not unlike Vancouver in that it has hills behind it and ocean around. Unlike Vancouver, the architecture is both unique and remarkable. This is the home of Antoni Gaudi. If I had to pick the ten greatest artists of the twentieth century he would be near the top of the list. One thing I came to realize as never before was that of all the arts, architecture gave me both the most immediate and the most lasting pleasure. Partly you cannot hide it under a roof but also it is three dimensional and all enveloping, and ultimately, practical as well. And once you know Gaudi, you know that it can be as fanciful and astonishing as any painting.

Here is a taste: the house with a hat on:

But Gaudi comes on the next entry. Let me show you the sorts of streets we spent most of our time wandering through.

You would come to intersections of two streets, each of them no more than about six feet wide. When doors, some of them old wooden affairs, were open you would see manual labour in some, computers in another, shops, restaurants, homes. Sometimes behind a door would be a courtyard with a small tree in it.