Letter from Barcelona

Barcelona...Flying High

People love to say that the US & UK are two countries separated by a common language.  I would like to wager that Spain & Italy are two countries separated by their "mediterranean-ness."  Sure, on face value, gorgeous art, warm people, unparalleled food, magnificent scenery...would seem to keep them both centered on anyone's compass as the 'best place on earth' to be.  I couldn't agree more.  But on my recent visit to Barcelona, there were some indications, large & small, that made you think, No, Toto, we are not in Calcata anymore...

Rome Airport's TAXI stand over here

Upon arrivals at the spiffy, new airport terminals, you had the feeling you had mistakenly landed in a shopping mall.  Not that anyone wants to stay in the airport that long, but hey...The black & yellow taxis were parked just outside the door, easily distinguishable, and a quick - not expensive shot into town.  We watched the meter without having to discern whether or not, as in Rome, we were heading inside or outside the Aurelian Walls  (last mentioned in a tour guide for Cleopatra's trip down the Tiber...as in...When you reach the Aurelian Walls our boat will dock and Caesar will greet you on the shore). Nor did we worry whether or not the taxi driver had set his meter on the tiny 2 or the tinier number 1, over-charging tourists who, in their jet-lagged stupor, have no idea what this means...

Barcelona's idea of London's "LOOK LEFT"
one in three die at cross walks.

Walking around town you discover vast boulevards incredibly not lined by dog poo to demarcate your path, but rather with pedestrian malls, and spotless bike paths that promise a contiguous flow all over town.  Bikers abound as does the bike rental service bicing, but you don't get the sense you might die in the enterprise.  As for the ubiquitous motorinos, they reminded me of home, but I did a double-take when they all stopped meticulously well before the pedestrian crosswalk so people, dogs, and baby strollers could actually get to the other side without performing their zig-zag dance of death.
Both countries were mired in protests by pretty much every category on earth: the hospital workers, the baggage guys, the teachers, and yesterday, the city seemed under attack while the police came out in seriously full force to monitor anarchists marching down the Gran Via.  Subways and the Arena Shopping Mall were closed down immediately, carefully monitored while shoppers hesitantly made their way in, single file (talk about putting a spin on greeters!).  Groups of police were everywhere, but not once did I see them copping a smoke or talking on cellphones, and only rarely talking with each other; a regular feature of police duty in Italy.  Someone remarked that after all, Spain was once a dictatorship.  Although I had to giggle as protesters sat down in the middle of a major intersection, stopping traffic in every direction, and the electronic sign above their heads read, "Gran Via - Fluida".
The subways and airport trains are extra-large, clearly designed for people with luggage.  Great glass elevators right out of Charlie's Chocolate Factory carry you up and down from platforms on every street corner.  Once in the bowels, the halls & platforms sparkle; making even Washington DC's lines look worn out (of course, one can always make the case that the DC trains look so great because the lights are dimmed to the point you can't actually see the dirt surrounding you).  We never waited more than 3 minutes for any subway to pass.  Back above ground, the Wifi system worked nearly everywhere, and you didn't need to sign away your first-born baby and wait for passwords to be sent to you (that incredibly you need an internet connection in order to retrieve them).
But for me, one of the biggest stand-outs marking the difference in our supposedly like mediterranean ways was the total absence of advertising posters showing naked or near-naked women in all levels of disrobing.  Not a one. In her video documentary, Il Corpo delle Donne*, Lorella Zanardo insists that this is a unique & sickening feature of the Italian landscape.  Up to now, I was never quite convinced of this.  But after having combed the entire Barcelona cityscape, I couldn't help but think that something seemed to be missing.  And then I realized what that was.
And while in Barcelona, you still see graffiti pock-marking the plazas and pick-pocketing is a national pastime and cappuccino costs more than caffè col leche, it seems a small price to pay for a fairly flawless tourist experience.




*scroll to bottom to find it in your language

Italy's Dogs to the Rescue

With all the talk about the euros demise and Italy's budget manoeuvers akin to a quick & dirty game of 3-card monty, you would think I made a mistake in my title...and actually meaning to say, Italy Goes to the Dogs or Italy Rescue...But no, long time readers of my blog know I try to steer clear of economic issues, and, when not overly compelled by events or yet another Berlusconi gaffe, politics as well.
Coverage of the 9/11 events in Italy were magnificent, and as someone who lived here during that trying day, there are no words to express the Italian dismay and solidarity with the entire USA.  Special programs have been hosted here marking the September 11th Anniversary, including one about those four-legged heroes who braved hot steel, mountains of dust, and all kinds of ripped up rubble to try and locate any survivors or bodies in the aftermath.
Although I usually have a lot to say about the abandonment of dogs in Italy, in some places like the USA, things could be worse if you happen to be a stray dog.  As a vet commented when we tried to bring a stray into an already over-crowded kennel, "Why don't you take him to America where he'll simply be put down?"  In fact, while Italians have a penchant for abandoning their dogs, once they're found, Italy protects the rights of animals as best it can.  So much so, that an entire container-load of ragged rescued dogs was recently shipped over from Spain, where the pooches are living in lager conditions.  From the looks of these bare-boned, starving and frightened dogs, I'm not sure if it's better to euthanize or keep them in kennels.  
[note: click here for a video, but be forewarned, the film is highly disturbing].


Nonetheless, Italy gets another feather in its cap for its rescue dogs.  And I mean, dogs who rescue, not dogs that have been rescued (although sometimes the line is blurred)...I came across this terrific slideshow where Italy is clearly the leader of the pack in saving lives (click on link below photo).

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/11/dog-heroes-a-look-at-hero_n_957431.html

Now, if we could just train these pups to get the rest of Italy rescued as well...

Another one bites the dust

This summer something surprising took place -- so unusual that it took even the Spaniards by surprise.  Catalonia, seemingly in step while Spain marches toward modernity, disbanded its corrida, or the tradition of bullfighting. This bold step was forced upon legislators through a referendum, and while the corrida is seen as part of the very fabric of Spain, out it went.  Of course, it will remain to be seen if the practice then goes the way of cock fights or dog fights, to back room deals done under cover with blood spilled out of sight.  I'm wondering what the matador union had to say about the whole thing and what they're torreros will do for new employment.  Become showmen in a sort of Espana amusement park where they fight mechanical bulls?  It worked for the cowboys of America. Or will they take to the streets to convince people that slowly killing animals in public is truly an art form.  Next thing we know, arenas will be built for all those hunters out there, asking for stadiums filled with game...perhaps that's the real ploy here -- a return to the Colosseum games.

As a result of this historic vote, the emboldened animal rights activists in Italy launched their annual appeal to stop the slaughter in Siena.  Siena's Palio, taking place almost continuously since 1590 (naturally, the day I arrived it was cancelled due to one jittery = overdosed horse jumping the gun too many times) is considered a tradition which should be upheld no matter what.  In 90 seconds, horses round that central piazza with jockeys vying for first place, or, holding back (if they can rein in their scared horses) due to the backroom deals struck the night before. By 2004, 48 horses had died in 34 years.

picture from ecoblog.it http://www.ecoblog.it/post/1543/palio-di-ferrara-e-strage-di-cavalli

This year, Italy's Minister of Tourism chimed in saying it was a medieval game (she got that right) that has run its course.  Mayor Cenni responded with a bold attack; saying that it was an insult to all of Italy not to uphold such a tradition, that'd he'd take legal action (on what premise?) and that it promoted tourism.  With that rationale, I think after they've restored the Colosseum, we might as well restore the ancient games and gladiators -- it would certainly attract tourists, and it seriously is a tradition from days gone by.

It will be interesting to find what might happen; not so much in Siena as in Rome - I'm looking forward to booking my tickets to the gladiator games as soon as they're on the program.

World Cup Highlights

I don't know how many of you out there are following the World Cup, but today was priceless.  In fact, there's been a lot happening behind the scenes that really shows the true nature of countries and humans, really -- I just wish we got more African coverage to sort of expand my world...But, as far as sweeping generalizations are concerned (and, anyone who reads me, knows it's my currency), here are my World Cup highlights:

The French Team does what Frenchmen do best - they went on strike in protest.  After a teammate got pulled from the team for his unsportsmanlike conduct concerning the epithets he hurled at the disappointing coach, the entire team decided to get back on the bus and draw the shades instead of train today. 
This, of course, is the football equivalent of French pig farmers overturning their tractors on the highways (After all, if they didn't show a sign of strength in a very public place, it's not like the rest of us would notice if they simply stopped cleaning the manure on their farms).
And from there, it just unraveled in wildly French histrionics.  The fitness coach stormed off the field, the Captain handed in his resignation, and the Team Director simply got in a car and drove away. 
All I can say is, why do we never see this much action - and verbiage - in their godawful, drawn out, melancholic flicks they always send our way?  This is much better in terms of protagonist conflict -- but, will it slide to resolution?

The Spaniards blamed their losses on a pretty Pandora (we'll call her Eve) who was covering the game on the sidelines.  Sure, she's pretty, but she was always fairly conservatively dressed, unlike a few news reporters I've seen in the Bel Paese.

And, in today's match Italy vs New Zealand, the hearty 'All Whites' fans took off their shirts to celebrate the tie with Italy (they needed something to celebrate, seeing that they hadn't even been in the World Cup in ages).  Stadium shots of the Italians showed them bundled up in scarves and red-white&green hats - just to stave off that stiff neck in the morning from the draught of air coming in over the goal posts.
Regardless, I still would have preferred to see the Italians with their shirts off over the ruddy beer-bellied guys who actually did so - and can someone please explain to me why this is a form of celebration in any country?

And finally, the Kiwis brought a bit of humour to the whole enterprise, with this brilliant article awarding my paesani the Oscar for best acting on the pitch...
They may have a point there.

A Tale of Two Cities

Roma may have beaten Madrid last week in soccer, but it certainly can't hold a candle to Barcelona…The City That Absolutely Doesn’t Take Siestas!

Barcelona gets more tourists than Rome, but, that doesn’t show. In fact, you were treated, from the free (and frequent) train ride into the city, to the yellow-vested multilingual walking Tourist Info people on every train and nearly on every street, as if they had discovered tourism just the other day.

Sure, things were just as expensive as elsewhere, but, the impeccable service, great food, clean beaches and efficiency made me surely think I wasn't in Catania anymore. Of course, you were constantly warned about pickpockets and so you were a bit more careful with your purse and bags-unlike in Rome, where pickpockets seem to be seen as a smart way to simply spread the wealth.

No waiting on telephone switchboards to find out ticket prices, only to have the line disconnect after 6 minutes (average wait: about 20 mins).
I felt confident-for the first time since being in the Mediterranean – that I could actually count on what I was told. No misinformation, no closed offices, or ‘sold out’ (without the sorry) over here. Even the impeccable underground system beat out snazzy Washington D.C.’s, in all categories.

Of course, in Barcelona the taxi drivers (a breed unto themselves) still lied or refused service, you had to pay to visit popular churches, and restaurants and hotels were (alas!) decidedly anti-pero, with ‘no dogs allowed’ stickers on nearly every doorway. And smoking is still (hack!) a national pasttime.
I thanked my lucky stars (or my dog star, rather) for being in Italy after all, (even though they charge for churches in Verona, Venice and the godawful Pisa). Even the Roman taxi drivers will take Trevor the dog wherever he wants to go.

But after this short trip thru the Twilight Zone, reality hit once again: Back in Rome, the (airport) train was canceled, I had to wait 40 mins. in the place where it would appear they drain the toilets when the trains pull in. Foreigners milled about wondering how to decipher where they needed to go and none of them knew about 'punching' their tickets.

The airport train, aside from not being free, is not designed to hold luggage nor passengers. You have a choice to hoist your bag up or down sets of steps and then fit it in a tight corridor where no one else can pass by.
At the station, you lug your bag down the same flight of steps you had lugged it up on departure, since there are no elevators to the airport train. Once outside, taxis were replaced with illegals, drunks and drug pushers. The bus took 20 minutes to arrive. My friend called to say her wallet had been stolen – actually sliced – out of her bag that same morning.

Clearly, its not the Spaniards who have been taking a siesta on the tourism front.

But, just for the record, Trevor won’t be invited along next time.