Georgia and I

Georgia, bent almost horizontal at the waist, one hand clutching plastic bags, and the other held behind her back for balance, makes her shaky arthritic way to my table at the Chippy entrance and plonks herself down.

She flashes me a toothy smile.

I’m thinking to myself, I’m losing my job in two weeks so there is no way in hell I’m buying you anything.

I first got her a drink over a year ago, and since then she checks in with the regularity and persistence of a dog.

An old dog.

A dog which doesn’t reckon it’s about to start wagging it’s tail for food now. Not after a lifetime of not giving a crap. She rejects free food if she doesn’t like it, asks for better chips if her chips are over done, gives money back if it isn’t enough, and never learned ‘por favor’ in her many years here. A thoroughly unlikable and annoying old lady.

After scolding me in Russian for about five minutes and getting scolded back in English for a few minutes, she simmers down. She smiles.

She lets out a few coughs and touches her parched throat.

Someone has left a bottle of water on the table. I move it closer to her. She screws her face up, sticks her yellow tongue out and makes dramatic choking sounds.

What was I thinking, offering her life threatening water. Idiota!

I shrug.

She sits silent for a couple of minutes, and then she coughs again.

I point at the water. She does the choking routine and then points at my beer. I burst out laughing and so does she.

I don’t imagine I’ll be too impressed with water when I’m her age either. Destitute or not.

I pour a splash of my beer into a glass for her. Her shaky hand darts out, grabs the glass and downs it in two. She puts the glass down and smacks her faintly moustachioed lips happily.

She pulls out a pair of fake All Star converse shoes. Since this is the first time she has offered me anything other than used bras which look like they’ve been stolen from the laundry line of a brothel, I accept.

She’s overjoyed.

I give her another splash of beer. She knocks this one back just as quickly, impervious to my feeble cries of ‘slow, slow!’

We beam at each other in a happy beer haze.

On the pavement outside, a sexy dark skinned skater boy comes clattering along. His board catches on the pavement and he goes flying.

Georgia and I burst into simultaneous drunken cackles.

She gets up, thanks me for the drink and totters off. Another Barcelona evening, well spent.

Cruilla Barcelona 2013: last 2 days of the cheap ticket sale

Cruilla Barcelona 2013 is currently selling 2-Day tickets for 25 Euros (Plus 1.50 Euro booking fee).

It’s a risk since the artists haven’t been announced yet, but two days of shenanigans for the price of 26.50 Euros is well worth it. The artists almost don’t matter. Well okay they do, but history is on our side. Last year we saw the likes of Iggy Pop, Gogo Bordello, Cypress Hill, M.I.A, 2 Many DJs and The Specials (who gave me my first terrifyingly enjoyable moshing experience: it really is just about being beaten up to music. Heaps of fun. Honest!).

On Thursday the 21st this week the line-up will be released and the price of a 2-Day ticket goes up to 40 Euros ( + booking fee).

Question is, are you in a gambling mood?

Cruilla at Forum: one of the best venues

Where have all the pickpockets gone?

It’s the first day of the mobile phone world congress in Barcelona, the biggest annual corporate event on the city calendar.

The metro line to Placa Espanya exploded with international suits this morning, complacent and laden with expensive gadgetry. Sleepily excited and looking forward to showing off their not-yet-released mobile phones and laptops which can fly a space ship to Mars while detecting and ordering milk when your fridge levels run low (that of course is the greatest human challenge at the moment: stale milk in the fridge).

Pickpocket heaven you’d think, yet I didn’t spot one single beady eyed crowd scanner. None of the regulars, and no visitors either. Not even the lighter and tissue paper sellers.

The metro has been cleaned up for the visitors.

So don’t begrudge those bright eyed hordes in their varied shades of grey. Yes you may have to squeeze onto the train Tokyo style, like so many tinned fishlings, but you also get thievery free commuting for one week. Enjoy!

Food in ya belly! Dinner time in a social squat

La Otra Carboneria, is a squatted community space next to mercat Sant Antoni. Every Thursday they host a vegan dinner, open to all.

The food is tasty, simple and satisfying. The atmosphere is loud, friendly and relaxed. Yes you will stand out a little as a guiri but nobody cares really. If you wanted to dip your toe in the social/community/alternative living scene in Barcelona, this is a good place to start. They also host art exhibitions, a free shop (exchange stuff you no longer need for stuff you do), workshops and talks.

Go with a group of friends and get a table to yourselves, or go alone and perch at the bar. It’s all good.

Payment is by donation. Give what you can, a euro, a couple of euros or more. Beer is one euro.

La Otra Carboneria describe themselves as free space for people to collectively create and fight a city model which wants to sell everything. A model which treats people as little more than scenery in the ‘Barcelona Theme Park’.

Visit them at the junction of Carrer Urgell with Carrer Floridablanca.

The night shift

6:30 a.m. Barcelona city center

Part 1. The Protective Prostitutes

Us (flyering): Come to the Fish n Chip shop ladies. It’s open at 6 am every weekend. Good food and drink!

The girls smile and accept the flyers and we make to move off.

Lillian: Here! Come back! Tell me….tell me some more about the Fish n Chip shop.

Us: Sure, well you can get Fish and Chips, it’s deep fried. And you can get an English breakfast or an American breakfast.

Lillian (quietly): Keep talking to us girls, that man there is waiting to rob you.

Me: Oh thanks for the warning! What’s your name?

Lillian: I’m Lillian, I’m from Mozambique.

Muriel: I’m Muriel, from Kenya

Shady man gives up and walks away.

Me: Nice to meet you ladies, do you work here during the day? I’ll say hello if I pass by.

Lillian: Oh no! We don’t work in the day.

Muriel: Nah, we study in the day.

Me: What do you study?

Lillian: Anything we can. Catalan, Spanish, any free course we find.

Muriel: Yeah, we want to be ready for the day we get our papers. As soon as we get papers, we’re going to find real jobs.

——————————————————————

Part 2. The Flirtatious Thieves

Boy: Excuse me señora! Is this yours?

Me: Hey, that’s my wallet!

Boy: Yeah, you must have dropped it back there.

Me: No I didn’t. You stole it!

Sheepish grin

Me: So, did you find any money in it?

Boy: Er…no, even the phone was crap….

Me (in my best teacherly voice): Now don’t you feel ashamed trying to rob a girl with no money?

Boy (Sheepish grin): I came to give it back to you, and….umm… could I get your phone number?

Me (laughing): No way!

Boy: But why?

Me: Because you’re a robbing bastard, that’s why!

Boy’s mates (laughing at him): You’re a robbing bastard! Ha ha ha!

Boy: Aww cmon, it was too easy. This city is full of thieves. (In his best teacherly voice) You should be more careful!

Read more on Barcelona’s crime at the Thief hunters in Paradise blog.

I know why the doughnut man smiles

Yesterday I was at the right place at the right time, with the right amount of money (1.50 Euros) to buy the last doughnut from Barcelona’s famous doughnut man. I had just taken the first bite of my doughnut when a man called out.

Doughnut man: Sorry that was my last one. I’m sorry little one. Tomorrow you can get my first doughnut.

Good-natured cries of disappointment go up. A little 3 year old boy looks devastated. I feel horrible.

Me (whispering to the doughnut man): I’ll share half with him, if they like.

Doughnut man: Would you like to have half a doughnut?

Both parents shake their heads ‘no’. Behind them, the little boy shakes his head vigorously ‘yes’.

I beckon to him and he comes running over, and we split the doughnut. He stands next to me looking a bit uncertain. I smile at him. He leans in, and gently kisses me on the cheek.

Awwww!

The doughnut man is laughing at me.

Doughnut man: Now you know! Now you know!

Me: What?

Doughnut man: Now you know what it feels like for me, to get a kiss and thank you at work every day!

Que bien Bambolino!

This is the doughnut man in action. He also featured in Shakira’s video which she filmed in Barcelona in 2010.

The Guard or in Spanish El Irlandés

This summer been a season of bad movies. From badly executed super hero movies to __(insert name of favorite Disney movie)___ part 8 or 9, it’s all been a load of shite!

There is a good movie in cinemas though, and it’s called The Guard! It’s one of my top ten funny movies, right up there with Kickass and In Bruges. In fact the writer and director of The Guard, John Michael McDonagh, is the brother of the director of In Bruges, Martin McDonagh.

The hero of The Guard, is a provincial Irish policeman (played by Brendan Gleeson) with a blithe habit of racial stereotyping, a taste for drugs and hookers and a tendency towards honesty. This is Irish humour at it’s darkest and funniest.

If you want to watch a real movie this summer, watch The Guard.

You can watch the movie in English at the Version Original (VO) cinemas: Verdi in Gracia or Renoir on Florida Blanca.

Eid-al-fitr, the end of Ramadan and the start of food!

Eid mubarak everyone, it’s the end of Ramadan!

The whole neighborhood was buzzing last night. One long month of temper tantrums has ended at last. Praise be to Allah!

Men, think your girlfriends are scary on PMS? Bitch please! Try hanging out in a neighborhood full of cranky, starving, paranoid hash dealers. It’s a bit like going for a walk in a park full of rabid Chihuahuas. All bark and no teeth…..but my god there is a lot of yapping.

Yet today, I bet you could score freebies of these Dr.Jekylls. It’s all peace on earth and goodwill to mankind with beaming smiles and brotherly back pats. Their bellies are full of food and blood full of THC.

Personally, I’m out to score something way superior to drugs.

The Eid biriyani.

It is a thing of beauty.

Just remembering South Indian style biriyani is making my stomach growl. I haven’t eaten all day, and I can’t get the thought or smell of biriyani out of my mind. I’m going to get really cranky in a minute if somebody doesn’t give me some freakin biriyani!

Or I may just give up and make it myself. So here you have, my grandmother’s biriyani recipe, emailed to me by my mom with her annotations. I’ve added a few of mine.

MUMMY’S PATTI’S SPECIAL BIRIYANI

Ingredients
(to be adjusted according to the amount of rice you use)

Rice——1 kg (2.2 lbs) approximately 8 cups ( Clearly a time of big meals for big families)

Oil—-1/4 the amount of rice say 2 cups (you can reduce this) + 1 tblps of ghee, (clarified butter) to add some flavor

Meat————————————-1 kg
Coconut milk—————————–1 cup
Cinnamon———————————6
Lavang, (cloves)—————–12
Tej Patha (bay leaves)———–a few
Onions———————————–300 gms (sliced long)
Garlic———————————–250 gms (paste) (reduce according to taste)
Green chillies—————————20 slit
Ginger———————————-2 inches (paste)
Coriander leaves————————a few
Haldi (turmeric)—————– a pinch
cashew nuts—— 250 gms
Kariapatta (curry leaves) and salt to taste

Water/Liquid 16 cups (always double the quantity of rice): this includes the coconut milk and the water residue from the mutton cooked. Always measure this out in a separate dish.

METHOD

Cook meat with salt and haldi and a little ghee separately.

Put the oil and ghee in a pot, add all spices, then the onions and fry till they are red, then add the garlic and fry a little. Pour the water into the reddened onions and garlic. Add the green chillies and ginger, a little coriander leaves, karipatta, and salt to taste (very important). I was notorious for cooking meals without salt

When this comes to a boil add the rice and a pinch of haldi and the cashews.

Wait till the water has boiled down to the stage where it is almost under the level of rice (you will see only a few bubbles coming through the rice). At this stage add the cooked meat, mix it thoroughly into the rice and then lower the flame to just a simmer. Put an airtight lid on the pot and check it every 10 min to see if the rice is cooked.

If you have an oven you can put the dish into the oven (this is how Patti does it)

Note:

The water quantity should be exact (i.e. double the rice, and should include coconut milk etc.)

If you add too much water you will end up with a soup like Patti did when she was young and thatha (my grandfather) and his friends had to drink the biriyani from cups!

Tip: Serve it with Raita, which is onions chopped and mixed with natural yogurt. You can also add grated cucumber and chopped tomatoes to the raita.

Bon provecho!

Now you have our knowledge. Use it wisely.

Put off that red light?

Thanks to Bri from Barcelona Street Scraps for the theme of this post.

Yesterday the Ajuntament (local council) of Barcelona launched its anti-prostitution drive. Prostitution is legal in Spain, but Barcelona made it illegal in April 2012.

Not that anyone can tell the difference.

The first time I walked into the Raval I remember the shock of suddenly finding myself in the midst of hooker alley (Nou de la Rambla between Carrer Nou de Sadurni and Carrer d’En Robador). Paris’ Pigale looked like a broadway musical compared this gritty corner of the Raval.

Yet now, the girls are just part of the street scape for residents, be it the suspicious Nigerian girls who scowl at me when I say hola, or the girl who wears tinsel around her thighs for Christmas or the wizened old 4 1/5 foot tall lady in cowboy boots. They all seem as much part of the barrio as the skateboarding hipsters (damn them and their coolness), the faintly lecherous and faintly disapproving Pakistani shop keepers and the walking inebriated.

However, the government didn’t go and build a nice big Filmoteca, exactly on hooker alley for the entertainment of the ladies or their punters. No siree, this is all part of the ‘esponjament (mopping up) Raval’ operation. A legacy of the city’s pre-olympic rush to wipe it’s nose and straighten it’s collar.

Enter operation ‘Anti prostitution’.

So, gentlemen take heed; According to the expatica website, under the new laws the client faces fines from 1,000 to 1,500 euros and the lady or tranny faces fines from 100 to 750 if caught. The difference in fines depends on your proximity to a school when the ‘soliciting’ takes place. Less than 200 feet from a school, and you have been a VERY bad boy! If you decide to save on the cost of a hotel room by doing it in the street like these douche bags, you get fined 3,000 Euros.

The prostitute can avoid her fine if she attends the government’s ‘stop being such a dirty whore’ course.

On April 26th this year prostitutes protested the criminalization of their trade. They call themselves the Prostitutas Indignadas, part of the 99%.

Criminalization? Sounds like another excuse for a fine if you ask me. The disingenuous answer to the question- How do we fill this gap in the government budget?

But at the same time, for every fantastic, hideously kinky Monica del Raval style prostitute proudly strutting her stuff out there, and every glamorous Bel De Jour style high class hooker doing it because it makes her lotsa money, there are ten doe eyed, coal black teenage beauties who look like this world never gave them a fucking break, not since the moment they first opened their baby eyes.

So while criminalization isn’t the answer, support is needed for sex slaves and women who want out. After all, hasn’t it been possible to protect people from enslavement in other professions like farming and garment production without making the entire profession illegal?

The Ajuntament has made encouraging noises in this respect.

They have increased funding for the Agency for a Comprehensive Approach to Sex Workers (ABITS) by 67%. The agency provides training resources to prostitutes wishing to find another job. With the new funding it is going to set up a special division for African women who need more intensive support.

Question is dear government, what help can an illegal immigrant prostitute access without fear of deportation?

All photographs by Joan Colom, La gente de Raval

Monica del Raval: Autobiography of a whore

Monica Del Raval is a documentary of a prostitute who came to Barcelona and made the Raval her home.

Monica herself is, well ‘eye-catching’ to say the least. The documentary is long, and narrates most of her life. I can’t say that I liked it beyond the excitement of watching the Raval on camera, but it does give an interesting perspective of our little world. I watched it last year in preparation of all things, for a job interview.

For some reason, at the time I watched it I thought it was a docu-drama with imaginary characters. I was wrong. Last night, bathed in the bright strobe of another aspiring film maker, the lady herself walked past us on the terrace. She was wearing the same red dress as in the picture below. Monica del Raval is real!

Watch the documentary for free on the Culture Unplugged website.