Robadors 23, is a little gem of a bar situated on the dodgiest street in Barcelona. I don’t use the superlative lightly. It is!
You have to side step the prostitutes, pimps and pickpockets to get into the bar. Propping up the bar you’ll see some extremely dodgy looking characters, all runaway hair and earrings and intense stares….who later turn out to be the band members.
You won’t get past the scary looking gitano (Spanish Gypsy) blocking entry to the back of the bar, until you’ve paid your three euros.
Inside the crowd is a mix of locals, dodgy locals, extremely dodgy locals and guiris. All living in perfect harmony for these few moments because they’re all here for the love of Flamenco. The guitarist is the owner of the bar, and his band plays every Saturday night.
Prepare yourself for the shock, but the bar man will serve you with a smile. The cheerfulness doesn’t stop there. The band keep up the banter, the crowd throws it back to them, and all in all the whole place is dodgy but friendly. Just the way I like it!
The crowd and atmosphere is all forgotten when the Flamenco dancer steps up. Me, I was blown away. The way that woman moved her body, I thought she was going to set the stage on fire (I may have a little crush on her).
The verdict of the regulars though: Good, but lacking intensity(!)
Visit the Robadors 23 blog for details for more information on this and other music nights.
Pathetic Fallacy is the theme for the writing-illustration competition organized by BCN Mes. I had to go away and google it and even had to skim through a few literary critique articles. It was not fun.
But then I remembered the Ikea advertisement. I found it, watched it, and now I understand.
Watch and learn:
The pathetic fallacy is the treatment of inanimate objects as if they had human feelings, thought, or sensations. The word ‘pathetic’ in this use is related to ‘pathos’ or ‘empathy’ (capability of feeling), and is not pejorative. In the discussion of literature, the pathetic fallacy is similar to personification.
La Tela Marinera is the graffiti caption written on the title page of this blog, yet I’ve never known how to use it correctly.
Those days are behind me now. Thanks to Google. This is how to use this phrase (which roughly translates to ‘someone being f****d’, something being hard or being difficult.
He suspendido 4 asignaturas…….. tela marinera la que me espera con mis padres.
I’ve failed 4 subjects, hell awaits me with my parents (or my parents are going to give me hell)
Este vida tiene tela marinera (es muy difícil, o pesado o largo)
This life is hard.
Si, este vida tiene tela marinera. It is hard and I kinda feel like this young man here. Ever so so weary!
The Merce festival is here!
It’s Barcelona’s best street party, and it is completely free. Part of the reason this city is like no other.
Leave your worries at home, and get yourself to the streets. Don’t miss the lazer light show at the Sagrada Familia tonight, or all the good stuff which will be happening at Parc Ciutadella, Plaza Catalunya, the Raval and loads of other locations. Read the Merce programme here.
Last year I didn’t plan on doing much of the Merce. Yet in one weekend:
I watched Swan Lake performed in the night over the fountains of Parc Ciutadella. I played with an adorable ferret called Messi. I found an old friend putting up dreamlike inflatable illuminated sculptures in the park. I watched Pacman played out in lazer lights on the front of the council building in Jaume. We got singed and completely and deliciously terrified under the rain of fire that is the Correfoc (wear skin protecting thick clothes and sunglasses, that shit is crazy!). Then we danced under the fire department’s bizarre but very welcome ‘fire truck street shower’, and met a whole host of strange and funny people.
Adventures are waiting! See you in the streets.
The Rainbow is cool.
I know it. You know it. The baby knows it.
The first family portrait includes hubby, Iran the cat, Humphrey the red goldfish and Wanda the orange one. Wanda replaced Dr.Pepper. Dr.Pepper was prettier, but Wanda was chosen for her sturdy, peasant, salt of the earth style.
The second portrait includes myself, and Iran trying to fish.
Composition tip number one which I picked up from the internet : the subject should be facing into the picture.
One small adjustment, and my picture improved a 100%. Result!
This could apply to any art or job. You know what ‘fantastic’ looks like, and you also know you don’t produce it.
American radio presenter, Ira Glass talks about the embarrassment of your taste exceeding your talent.
‘Er, Excuse me’ A studenty looking girl stopped me in the street.
‘We’re making a film about injustice and exploitation and we’re looking for volunteers to be in the video.’
Me (Straining to fully understand her): Err, hmm maybe. What do I have to do?
She becons to a shirtless young man standing back. ‘Well you can start by grabbing a hold of the leash attached to his dog collar and pulling him down the street…’
…………….. I’m back in the Raval!
Went to Decathlon and bought a cheap pair of running shoes €15, some hideous but comfortable tights and a sports bra (best money ever spent – women with boobs take note).
Thought about running.
Thought about running. Felt guilty about having spent money on running stuff.
Called friend, who out of sheer monumental boredom, agreed to join me on her bike. We walk/shuffle/cycle along the esplanade in Barceloneta. This is strangely exhilarating despite the fact that everyone overtakes us. We discuss my future overindulgence in the sport. Its agreed I should definitely stop before I get a runner’s body – no waist, no butt, no hips and hard sinewy legs. We end the run hanging upside down from the climbing frame on the beach. A fantastic start!
I find to my utter amazement, no sudden death or injury has occurred from last night’s run. I am a little sore from swinging about the frame though.
The first runner’s wall – my friend cancels. Another friend points out that it’s Friday night on Carnival weekend. I go anyway. She gets worried.
Sore. A friend calls me at 12pm to see if I’m coming out. I’m already in bed. She hangs up in disgust.
Sunday morning. I wake up and glance at the clock. Its 8 am. I think ‘if I get up right now I can go for a run before I start work’. Then I think ‘who am I!!!!?’
This is almost exactly what we looked like, but with sports bras :