How to be a nosey ol’ Barcelona neighbour: learn from a pro

5 Nov

A couple of nights ago we were enjoying a drink at the poolside of the the hotel adjacent to our new home. From the hotel patio we spent a few entertaining minutes watching our upstairs neighbour nearly fall over the edge of her balcony trying to peer into our house, unaware of course that we were watching her from next door.

Having already installed Spying Sunday as a flat tradition i.e. the day on which we drag chairs around the patio and windows and stand tippy-toes to peer into the houses and lives of our neighbours and compare water features and planter gardens, I felt a certain kinship with the old lady upstairs. We had much to learn from her I could tell.

Step one: Fling caution and washing to the winds

Two days later she knocked on our door at around 10 a.m. She wore a blue waterproof jacket and had a shock of browny-ginger hair and seemed pleasant enough.

“Hola! Have you found a pair of socks in your backyard by any chance?”

She wanted it so bad I had to let her have it.

“I’m not sure, why don’t you come have a look.” I let her walk past me along the hallway.

Her head swung left as she walked on, lingering on the newly installed kitchen, all gleaming stainless steel and and sharp corners.

She watched with interest as I unlocked the patio doors, then went out and retrieved a single sock and panty.

Step two: Once infiltrated find a new reason to linger

As I walked her to the door she stopped in the hallway.”Another thing we must check is the leak.”

Me: “Ah they fixed that already didn’t they?”

“Yes but we need to make sure”, She points to the site of the old leak in the hallway.

Step three: Identify and exploit any contrived matchmaking chance to mention your offspring….in a naked style situation

She continuous….”So tonight, just check the roof to make sure no water is coming through. My son will be having his shower at around 8:30 tonight. Make sure you check this spot when he is having his shower.”

Step four: Set the target a task which makes further contact easy

“And if you see any water, come and knock on my door and tell us.”

You know what lady, I might just do that. 

We've moved to the Gotico!

We’ve moved to the Gotico! More mad stories from this barrio will follow no doubt.

Part 1of living with Miss Tom: The family

10 Sep

Fleas and Dogs on the road. Vietnam.

The bus rolled to a stop at 5 a.m. It took a few minutes of the bus driver’s shouts of ‘Sa Pa!’ before the all the sleeping travelers roused themselves and started to slowly exit. I heard a sound like the distant call of seagulls. Wiping away the condensation on the windows I saw them. Around 20 tribal women, chattering excitedly and waiting to swoop on vulnerable travelers. I had read about this and was prepared.

I managed to fob most of them off by claiming I was already booked on a tour. The other backpackers who hadn’t booked anything huddled together in a daze before heading to a hostel. I had an address for a place to book tours and headed off in a random direction to find it. A couple of women followed me and one of them offered to show me the correct place.

It took about 5 minutes of walking together before we decided I should go stay with her instead. So began the best 5 days of my journey.

My host Miss Tom was from the Black Hmong tribe which live in the hills around Sa Pa in north Vietnam. Getting to Miss Tom’s village took a 4 hour hike through the hills. In our group was Van a girl much younger but partnered with Miss Tom, and two German sisters who would be staying for one night. I had decided to stay for 4 nights. A 4 hour hike after a night bus and waking up at 5 a.m, with my 10 kilo backpack was challenging to say the least, but the quiet of the mist shroud which the mountain covered us in made it all worth while. The madness of Hanoi was far behind.

Over the next 5 days I grew to know Miss Tom, her family and her friends. And I fell in love with all of them.

#1 Su

Su is a tiny, grubby faced, snotty-nosed force of nature. She’s two years old, the youngest and the only girl, and rules the little household by sheer lung power. Miss Tom still breastfeeds her, not having the heart to rub a little chilli on her nipples and wean the kid as the other women usually do at the age of 1. Su likes to eat everything she can get her hands on, try out the mini machete her mother uses in the kitchen and tap other women on the breast to see if she can get a feed.

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#2 The Boys

There were three little boys in the house while I was there. Bare footed, bright eyed, grubby and feral; they range in age from 7 till 11. There were another two brothers whom I never saw as they were helping their father gather and dry black cardamom in the forest. The men stay in the forest until the work is done.

The little boys in the meanwhile would be left to run wild and sometimes run the household. When Miss Tom was out, they would light the wood fire, slip a stick through the handle of the large kettle and carry it between themselves to put over the fire. Heated water poured in bowls of leftover rice and vegetables was their breakfast and lunch. When Su screamed enough they would serve her a bowl as well. Sometimes they would get themselves ready, pack a lunch box and head off to school. It all seemed to depend on the mood.

Now I don’t really like kids. My ovaries fail to sing love songs to every passing child and their immense cuteness is generally lost on me. I often try but fail to see what the big deal is. However, this little pack of wild brothers and their despotic baby sister effortlessly carved themselves a little corner in my heart, which is hard to explain.

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#3 Leechy

The first night I was there, I noticed the family dog had a long brown booger hanging from his left nostril. This booger would occasionally wave about, and sometimes retract right inside. I asked, so I was told. The dogs often pick up leeches when they drink from mountain streams. The leeches live in their noses for a few weeks before dropping off. Somehow the fates had conspired to combine the creature I love and the creature I abhor in one neat package. Leechy meanwhile was a bit confused by the quiet panic his friendly, best-nose-forward approach was creating in me and the German sisters.

The introduction to Leechy had four main effects on my behaviour:

1) I began surreptitiously checking my nose and ears for uninvited guests.

2) I absolutely forbade my mind to think about any other orifices at all.

3) I was cured of the desire to touch or handle the ridiculous abundance of cute baby creatures we came across. I’m talking chicks, ducklings, new born piglets, buffalo calves, kittens and puppies. Yup, they could all take that cuteness and f**k right off!

4) I started praying every night: ‘Dear God, thank you so much for all the wonderful experiences I’ve had so far. Please, please keep me and my v****a safe from leeches. Thank you.’

On the second day I trained myself to not look at Leechy. By the third day, we reached an understanding. He would wag his tail at me invitingly. I would tell him to piss off and take his leechy nose with him. He would continue to wag his tail invitingly.

On the fourth day the leech disappeared. Where!????? Where did he finally decide to drop off!!!!! What place did this leech find better to hang out in than the lovely moist nose of a dog?

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The trouble with paradise

14 Aug

Fleas and Dogs on the road. Cambodia.

We lay on our beach towels dreaming under the sunlit trees. This was our recovery day, from discovering secluded beaches, hiking through tropical forests and snorkeling off tiny islands.

J: See that man.

I prop myself up on my towel. A European man, overweight with dark hair and in his late thirties is trudging by, dressed in a red T-shirt, shorts and baseball cap. Behind him walks a slight, young Cambodian boy, between 10-13 years old.

J: They’ve been together for the past two days,

Once you see them you can’t unsee them. It’s a small island and a smaller village. Invariably the quiet pair will materialize, laboriously walking through the sand, unnoticed by the young travelers playing in the sun. I point them out to another island friend, M.

M: Ahh that’s sick. Ah I hate seeing that stuff, or hearing about it. Man, I don’t want to think about it!

He storms off.

The one thing worse than being a pedophile in paradise is being a downer.

There is no police presence on the island. Guesthouses don’t ask to see any I.D. Local men lounge about in comfy chairs, bare bodied and bored, drinking or arm-wrestling while waiting for their next boat tour hire. Out-of-money travelers sleep on the pier undisturbed. Nobody forms an authority and everybody does what they want. This is the hidden utopia on the edge of civilization, with all its freedom and all its danger.

I go online and write down the hotline number for Child Safe Cambodia, but then don’t know what to tell them. There is a man on the island who I’m sure has hired a child prostitute for the week?

J: Let’s follow them. Maybe we can get a moment to talk to the boy, or even listen to them talk. If they both talk the same language, then maybe they are related.

Me: And maybe we can find the guesthouse they are staying at.

We try to follow them but lose them. Another day J sneaks up enough to overhear the boy speaking French.

Me: Okay, so maybe he is a child living in Europe. Right?

Neither of us looks convinced, but almost want to believe it in the face of our impotency to stop anything worse. From the moment J pointed them out we had taken to eyeballing the man. He knew we were watching.

Soon the day to leave arrived. I was preparing to get the ferry when they walked past. His eyes went to the backpack on my back. A look of relief crossed his face and perhaps even a little triumph.

In that moment I knew that all our speculations were real and yet none substantial. I still can’t pick up the phone and report a look of triumph on a no-name man at a no-name guesthouse on a tiny island in Cambodia.

Child safe Cambodia

That time I got beaten up

9 Aug

Fleas and Dogs on the road. Thailand.

What goes through your mind in a Muay Tai ring:

 

5 seconds before starting a fight:

Yeah! I’m gonna do this! It’s going to be great.

 

1 second before starting a fight:

God, these gloves are really heavy!

 

5 seconds after starting a fight:

Waaaa, I’m so tired!!!!!!!!

 

10 seconds after starting a fight:

When will she stop hitting me!!!!

 

 

muay tai kho phi phi

Soy Cowboy?

30 Jul

Fleas and Dogs on the road. Thailand.

Taxi Driver: You like show-ping?

Me: No, no. I don’t like shopping. Don’t take me to a shopping street.

Taxi Driver: I take you good show-ping.

Me (miming the trembling half moon in front of my mouth): No! I like drinking, I don’t like shopping! Take me to good bar.

Taxi Driver: He! He! I Thai, I no show-ping. You show-ping! He! He!

We pull up at the entrance of a street. Neon lights spill out across the tarmac. Women in over the knee patent leather boots and hot pants sit out on stools or dance with passers by.

A British man weaves his way unsteadily out of the street. He has the heavy lidded half-smile of the happy drunk. Around his neck hang a tangle of ropes and a gimp ball-gag. He bumps into the cop standing at the entrance before stumbling out into the night.

Me: Ohh!

Taxi driver: He! He! He!

 

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How do you solve a problem like Abeya!

26 Jul

Fleas and Dogs on the road. Thailand.

I´d fled the seedy red light district and landed in a local young blood’s bar close to the backpacker street. I was finally making my way back to the guest house after the stools had been put up and the lights switched on.

I noticed a figure sprawled against the curb at an awkward angle. This didn’t look like a street sleeper, more like someone passed out. I went around to the other side of the body and saw a giant vomit trail.

Okay, first thing to do was check the breathing. Still breathing. She was a girl and a local by the looks of it.

I shook her gently, ‘Hey, hey, are you okay’. A wail was my answer.

‘Do you want a taxi?’

‘Waaaaa yesssss!!!’

‘Okay, do you remember where you live?’

‘waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’

‘Okay, we´ll get you a taxi’.

There were no taxis on this street.

‘Look, I think we need to walk to the end of the street, there are lots of taxis there,’

‘waaaaaaa   noooo, I’m sorryyyyyy waaaaaaaa’

What’s your name?’

‘waaaaaa  Abeya….waaaaaaaa’

‘It’s fine sweetheart, you’re just a little drunk. Not a big deal. Just sit up, drink some water and we’ll get you in a taxi.’

‘waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’

(Oh god please help me!)

‘C’mon, up you get, up up up, upsy daisy!’

‘waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa’

Another tourist stops: Is she a tourist?

‘No I think she’s local.’

He makes his apologies: Sorry I can’t really help you.

I let him go. No point in two of us being caught with the weeping mess.

I try to get the neighboring bar staff to help me. They give me the bright vacant smiles I’m coming to recognise in the hospitality industry here. It’s just as bad as the camarero scowl back home.

I heave her up in to a sitting position and prop her against my legs. As I try to hand her a bottle of water she retches a fresh batch and slumps to the ground.

‘Waaaaaaa I’m so sorrryyyy!’

‘It’s fine, you’re just drunk. Just try and sit up for god’s sake!’

(Finally, I can speak to the younger generation from a position of experience.)

I pick up the Blackberry clutched in her soggy hand. There is no key pad lock. I wipe it clean and start dialing all her last dialed numbers, particularly the ones that say ‘fam’ as a prefix. God only knows what it really means in Thai.

One woman, called ‘fam:Jim’, finally answers.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, do you know Abeya?’

‘Yes’

‘Can you come and get her?’

‘Er, no. No!’

‘Well can you contact her friends or family to get her please?’

‘Er, who is this?’

‘Look can you come and get her please?’

‘No’

‘She’s very drunk and in trouble. If you don’t come and get her, she’s going to sleep in the street  tonight.’

‘Oh my god!’

Suddenly a girl in a  red dress appears in front of me.

‘Oh my gawd, is she okay?’

‘Hey! Do you speak Thai? Speak to the lady on the phone please.’

‘I know her’, she says pointing at the prone figure of vomit soaked Abeya.

‘Great! Speak to the lady on the phone!’ I shove the phone in her hands.

‘It’s fine, I know where she lives’ she  gives me her assurance.

I turn around to find two local young men lounging against the barrier along with another young lady, looking down at Abeya in the peculiar disinterested interest only teens can summon.

One of the young men: ‘Oh my gawd, did you like, take care of her? Wow thaink you sooo much!’ (What is this? Thai hipster?)’

‘Well not really, …. (she’s still lying on the street in her own vomit), but here you can take care of her now’, I shove the packet of tissues into his hands, and the bottle of water into his companion’s. ‘I’m so f*****g glad you turned up!  Bye Abeya!’

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I’m so sorrrryyyyyy!!!!!!!

 

p.s: Fleas and Dogs is on the road again.

 

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Has this little white supremacist boy kicked a hornet’s nest?

30 Jun

On Sunday morning a nasty video of a racially motivated assault appeared on Twitter. You would think that was the most disturbing part. It’s not.

The video shows a young man standing over an Asian man seated in the metro and threatening him. The altercation quickly deteriorates into physical violence at which point the other passengers intervene and what appears to be a well meaning bystander pushes the Asian man out of the carriage to protect him.

This happened in Barcelona, supposedly this weekend. The metro stop is Fabra i Puig on L-1.

The video was posted by a twitter user Payo_cura whose twitter profile reads: Siempre Patriota,Europa Blanca, Good Night Left Side. Residente en Barcelona. Clearly a little inbred douche.

All official bodies have done the official things. The transport department has referred the video to the Mossos d’Esquadra for further investigation. The Ajuntament has condemned the attack etc.

But this is the age of internet memory when our digital breadcrumbs will live forever and will forever lead a trail back to our doorsteps…..at lightning speed.

While news websites have only just posted their articles, anti-fascist Twitter users  have already tracked down and identified the friend of the person taking the video. Their real names have been posted online. A photograph of the attacker, (his friends had taken the trouble to blur out his face in the video), and the home address of Payo_Cura have all been posted and shared across Twitter. The tables have been turned and how!

One ominous tweet reads:

No saldrá de casa hoy @Payo_Cura. Y si sale, que vaya protegido.

Don’t leave your house today Payo_Cura. And if you do, go with protection.

Much as I like the idea of these violent little shits doing a bit of trembling behind their doors, this is potentially volatile information floating out in cyberspace uncontrolled. Anyone with half a brain knows that retribution and counter retribution is a fool’s game. This city has made me proud with its anti-fascist emotions.  Will it make us proud with its equally wise actions and decisions when it comes to revenge and retribution? How quickly will the police catch up and shut this thing down? They monitor Twitter right?

 

 

antifascist

Reasons to love Barcelona: Bar loo surprises

25 Jun

Oh hello! Sorry about the wee!

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Sex, Drugs and Dodgy Accounting: Spain’s New Growth Strategy

23 Jun

Prithika:

I was going to write a piece about Spain’s new GDP accounting, but this guy says it better than I could.

At first I thought it was a great idea, but it turns out that although Spain is going to use the boost in figures from reporting prostitution and drugs in the GDP, they aren’t actually going to legalise any of it or give sex-workers any rights or protection.

This smacks of big boys playing little boy’s magic tricks again. “Where’s the coin? Is it in my hand, or behind your ear? Surprise! There were never two coins to begin with, I just moved one coin around so quickly it dazzled you!”

Woah! Bravo!

Didn’t we ban these magic tricks after they created the crisis?

 

prost bcn David Palacios

Originally posted on Raging Bull-shit:

Spain’s miraculous economic recovery is a mirage, a collective delusion concocted in the fevered but highly imaginative minds of government ministers, economists and accountants, and then projected on to the mass consciousness as official reality.

When it comes to creative accounting, few can hold a candle to the country’s finance minister Cristobal Montoro, who this week unveiled his latest scam scheme to “grow” the economy: namely to include prostitution and illegal drugs as part of its gross domestic product. This new accounting gimmick will add 20 billion fresh new euros to the country’s GDP — equivalent to a two percent boost. It will also automatically lower the ratio of public debt to GDP as well as the budget deficit, thus making it possible for Spain to “meet” the Troika’s deficit target of 6.5 percent.

The reason why this is necessary is that, despite brutal cost cutting, tax hikes and other forms of…

View original 1,167 more words

Zombies needed

5 May

Is your inner undead flesh-eating monster not getting out enough? When was the last time you terrorized runners in the woods? It’s been too long right?

A group of hikers from the Barcelona Hiking and Outdoors group are holding a fundraising event to raise money to participate in the 2014 Madrid Oxfam Trailwalker.

Runners have to take a 6 km trail through the woods where zombies are waiting at various spots to ambush them. Runners wear three flags (lives) around their waist which zombies have to try and snatch.

You can choose to either run from the zombies or be a zombie. It costs eight euros to register as a runner and six euros to register as a zombie.

Symbolic Awards (not sure what they mean by this) will be given to:

1. The first runner to complete the course without dying: You have at least one flag left when you finish.

2. The hungriest zombie: You have the most flags.

3. The best zombie costume: You have a knack with mushy peas and tomato ketchup.

 

Date: Sunday, 11/05/2014

Time: 9:30 a.m

Location: Baixador de Vallvidrera. Meet outside the FGC train station.

 

For more details and to register click here.

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