Meeting friends for a meal, with an hour to kill before your restaurant opens? Or linking up with them for an hour after work? Here in Barcelona, you may well head for a vermuteria. There’s vermouth of course, served simply with ice and lemon or in exotic combinations. You can have wine or beer instead if you choose. Order a dish of olives or a simple tapa. But best of all, enjoy the friendly atmosphere, and relish a cosy convivial moment in a place that may well have been around for over fifty years. And will still be here in fifty more.
Today is the day when the Three Kings – the same ones who visited the infant Jesus – begin their journey to visit all children in the Spanish speaking world to deliver presents to them. We watched the Carnival parade they brought with them as they passed through Barcelona earlier this evening. Dancing, singing, exhuberant and imaginative displays had us enthralled for an hour or more. It was never like this in biblical times, I’m sure.
Do you remember our last trip to Barcelona? How my bag, my purse and contents, my camera, our passports …. and all that. …. got stolen?
Well, ahead of this trip, I replaced my bag with one with a doughty zip and secret pockets. And off we went.
Our flight accomplished, we met Emily at her office after a couple of bus journeys. I opened my bag. Hang on. Where’s my purse? Someone – and we both think we know who: that amiable woman of middle years who stood near us on the Number 7 – unzipped my bag, removed my purse, and zipped the bag up again. Without either of us noticing a thing.
So guess who spent her first morning back here down at the Police Station practising her Spanish?
I’ve always loved looking at the contributions to Thursday doors, where bloggers from around the world share images of their favourite doors. Somehow, I’ve never got round to joining in. But looking through my photos for something or other yesterday, I realised that I had the makings of a post about windows. Here it is.
Here’s an image from the last March for Europe in London in June. I’ll be there again, probably as you read this, marching for a People’s Vote on the Final Deal. I’m not sure how much I believe in another referendum, but what other hope have we got to turn the tide against the national disaster that is Brexit?
Happier times, happier pictures. I started off by including images from Europe too. But I’ll do England today, and maybe travel further afield another time.
I’m lying of course. Even I can’t do a degree in three weeks. But ….. I have been a distance learner at this seat of learning, and I’ve loved it. I’ve exchanged my 1970s student life, putting the world to rights in the refectory or the students’ union bar for on-line discussions with Anglophones with the hugest variety of life experience. I’ve exchanged echoing lecture theatres for my own study, where the lecturer delivers his or her piece at exactly the hour that suits me, and repeats it on demand. I’ve exchanged official reading lists for comments and suggestions from fellow students, based on newly discovered shared interests.
All this is thanks to FutureLearn. They publicise courses on every subject you can think of, and lots that you can’t. Some are paid-for courses right through to professional qualification or degree level. But many of them are not. Universities in every continent run short free courses and they want us to be their students. If only I’d seen Hanyang University’s Introduction to Korean before we went two years ago!
Castellers, or a human tower, in front of La Sagrada Familia (Wikimedia Commons)
A plea for independence alongside the Catalan flag. A common sight all over Barcelona – and Catalonia generally.
It didn’t begin well, and I whinged to Emily that I’d signed up to a piece of propaganda from the Catalan Independence movement (‘What did you expect’?). In fact however, we’ve had an overview of economics, history, literature and the arts and popular culture and it’s a solid grounding for further study.
What’s made it has been the fellow-students. I’m sure some people do what’s set in front of them and are happy to leave it at that. It’s probably all they have the time or inclination for. For a hard core of us though, it’s our colleagues that have made the difference. The civil servant in the Welsh office at the time when their bilingual policies were being developed; the Catalan who observed that there is no ‘standard’ Catalan, so in the media, do you use the language of the Balearics, the North West or the Central provinces, or even (who knew?) the Catalan spoken in Alghero, Sardinia ? The Irish chipped in, and Swiss Germans, and other linguistic minority groups. All this provoked lively discussions about language, and languages that have been suppressed (as Catalan was, unsuccessfully, and as Occitan was in France, largely successfully). Every topic has had us helping each other out. Most of us are woefully badly read in Catalan history and literature, so we share ideas about more accessible material. Away from the lectures, the tutors barely show their faces, and that’s fine. It is a free course after all, and we have proved that self-help works. In just three weeks we’ve established a learning community where we have given something, and taken a lot, and are the richer for it.
I’ll be on the look out for my next free course from FutureLearn soon.
This week’s pictures hint at two or more stories: at that of the life of Jesus, from whose life and teaching spring one of the world’s great religions. And at the building of La Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudí’s cathedral celebrating Jesus’ family, created by thousands of craftspeople with special stories to tell, gathered over the last 136 years …. maybe only another eight or so to go.
‘Story’ is this week’s WordPress photo challenge. Click on any image to view full size.
Plot the story of my life through the places I’ve lived, and you can see a theme. Textile towns.
I went to university in Manchester, sometimes known as Cottonopolis because of the cotton industry that thrived there throughout the 19th century.
One of the cities at the forefront of the cloth-making industrial revolution – wool and flax in this case – was Leeds. I’ve lived there too.
Then in France, we lived in Laroque d’Olmes, a town whose prosperity depended on the woollen textile trade, snatched from it in the twentieth century as wool lost out to more modern fibres which were in any case increasingly manufactured in Asia.
And last week, in Barcelona, we stayed in Sants. In the 19th century this area, like so many others in Catalonia, turned out the cotton-printed calicoes so popular in Paris at the time. It was a busy industrial town that only became part of Barcelona towards the end of the 19th century. Now much of its industrial past has been re-purposed or flattened. Here’s the Parc de l’España Industrial – once an enormous textile mill.
Parc de l’España Industrial
Parc de l’España Industrial
Parc de l’España Industrial
We loved being here. Though so near one of Barcelona’s main stations it’s assertively non-touristy. People live, work, shop and enjoy themselves without having to tussle for space with a whole lot of trippers rubbernecking their way along the crowded thoroughfares.
Our street had everything from a fish restaurant (choose your own fish from the marble slab), an alternative book shop, a handy mini-mart, a design studio to – inevitably – several bars.
The street where we lived for a week.
Early in the day in our neighbourhood square.
Every morning we did as the Catalans do before they set off for office, market or shop and had breakfast in one of them. I developed a passion for wholewheat croissants, which are light, flaky and utterly delicious.
Neighbourhood restaurants made few concessions to Spaniards, let alone foreigners, displaying their menus in Catalan: this is a separatist area.
Party HQ for one of the political parties with Father Christmas abseiling into view.
We shopped in the independent shops (the only surrender to globalisation that we could find in the entire area was a solitary Burger King: it was refreshingly under-populated) and sauntered round its two thriving markets. We’ll be back.
Mercat Nou, Sants.
Sorry about the poor quality of this photo of Mercat Nou. My phone was in a bad mood.