Every Tuesday here in my neighborhood is the day people put all their unwanted furniture, books, appliances, you name it … out on the street. Unlike in USA and other countries, Spain doesn’t have many places that sell used clothing and furniture, there is no Saint Vincent de Paul’s or Salvation Army charity that will come over and pick up your unwanted but still useful stuff. Its actually really fun – When we first moved in here we found a set of perfect chairs (which we still use), we’ve found a bookshelf, etc. and also we have put our unwanted but still functional things we no longer need, like our old vacuum cleaner that still worked, but not very well. People roam the streets scavenging stuff and then the city has a truck it sends out to pick up all the leftover items, so even if your stuff is crap it will get picked up.
This Tuesday Mark comes home with an Olivetti Typewriter he pulled off the street. “Look! It works!” he says.
I take some photos, record the sound it makes while typing, and then out it went back onto the street. We really have no space for it, but it did stay on the kitchen table for 3 days while we both recorded it (I use a NAGRA ARES II, he uses an H4 Zoom)
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When I tool around the city i wear this nifty tek bag:
I bought it in Florence when I was recently there visiting family. Although pricey. it was well worth the euros for it nicely fits my NAGRA ARES II audio recorder in the big middle pouch, the front pouch holds my canon camera, and the other side pouch fits my cell phone perfectly. There is also a zipper in the back for money and house keys.
Sometimes I am a parody of myself, with my camera in one hand and my NAGRA in the other; when I happen upon something exceptionally exciting and unique. I have to choose one medium or the other – in this case I normally go for audio first.
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Here’s a few photos from Mardi Gras day in my neighborhood a couple weeks ago – I took a bike ride and found this Madonna fountain with 4 water spouts at Plaça Virreina, wearing a mardi gras costume. At one point a homeless man with his cart paid homage to the Madonna, washing his face, his chest, his hair, his teeth, drinking the water … it was touching.
This is a video Mark threw together from yesterday’s San Medir celebrations
One of the perks to living in my neighborhood (Gracia) is that we have our *own* holidays and festivals which are celebrated nowhere else in Barcelona. Today is case in point. Every year, on March 3, all of Gracia celebrates San Medir. It is a day of nonstop fun which seems to cater to little kids and to old people who have lived in this neighborhood since they were kids themselves, who delight in the tradition. I must look into why this festival is only celebrated in my small barrio of Gracia (less than 2 km in size)
Candy being hurled at me as I shoot this photo.
Horses, carriages, parades – all of them throwing candy at us. The first thing one hears, early in the morning is 6 big bangs – that’s my cue that something is going to happen in the hood. I go to the front door, and can hear all my neighbors saying “Abre la puerta” (open the door) because if your door is open they throw the candy into your house, which is easier than having to scoop it off the street.
I open my door at 9:00 am to this: Outside my front door, 9:00 a.m.
One of my favorite neighbors is the sweet old lady who lives across the street who always waves at me from her balcony. Her name is Joaquima and she has been participating in this San Medir candy scramble since she was a little kid herself.
Joaquima picking up candies plus another little old lady neighbor.
I take snapshots of various neighbors picking up candy, scrambling around, tiny kids and elderly alike.
The kids love this holiday. I walk over to the larger street, Gran de Gracia and this is what I find:
Little kids screaming “aqui” for candy
I walked around the neighborhood a bit and was passed by this lively parade of candy throwers:
Only *my* neighborhood in Barcelona celebrates San Medir. Gracia clings stubbornly to its Catalan roots and this is one of a few celebrations indigenous only to Gracia. The rest of Barcelona leads a normal business day.
Later, we are in our comfortable house clothes at about 10 pm when yet another parade goes by. I shoot this from our doorstep. You can see Joaquima across the street still hanging out, hanging on to her bag of candy.
View of the Alps from Airplane, View of Eiffel Tower from our hotel room
Every year we try to go somewhere special for Mark’s birthday and also for mine. Mark’s birthday is Dec. 29th so we went to Senegal to celebrate his birthday and also the first week of the new year.
My birthday is Feb. 18th. This year it coincides with a friend Bobbie having a pinhole photography exhibit in Paris.
We arrive on a bleak Saturday, cold and damp. We quietly wonder if we have made a bad decision to come to Paris in winter. That is my first thought. But the magic of the city soon takes over.
We are very satisfied with our spacious hotel room. We have 2 beds, a big bathroom with bathtub, and a view of the Eiffel Tower. Perfect! The room is also warm. It proves to be a great location with 2 metro stations nearby.
Sunday is miserable so we go to the Louvre. What a treat! it is a rainy winter day and not many people out. On a nicer day there would have been more visitors, but today is miserable. We had to brave a strong incessant rain, brandishing our umbrellas in front of us like shields to make our way from the metro to the Louvre entrance. It is cold today, but somehow magical. Hardly any people out and about. The Louvre is comfortable. Not many visitors on a winter day like today. We head straight to the Monna Lisa.
Mona-Lia and Monna Lisa
The Louvre on a rainy day in winter is as ideal a place to be. Here’s some thumbnail photos I share:
Some shots of or from the Louvre
Some random shots the of art inside the Louvre
Some shots of me and one of Mark inside the Louvre
When I was in Paris age 22 I was travelling with a girlfriend. She was a classical pianist and I had ambitions to conduct orchestras. So we didn’t do any of the usual tourist things. On our first day in Paris we had a bit of luck; Someone I knew in Hollywood when I was a teen was going to the post office at the exact same time as I. We literally bumped into each other. “Why its Mona´Lia!” he exclaimed. It was my hippy friend from Hollywood, in the days when I was too young to actually go out to be a hippy. I was enamored with musical hippies I’d meet in Hollywood. Alan was one of them. He was one of those characters one meets and hangs out with. He was a few years older than us.
My girlfriends and I used to hitchhike to his house off Highland to hang out with him, pretend we were 18 when we were actually 15. His place was one of a series of places we’d go to hang out. Alan was an actor and a musician. He would play his one song over and over again (in the style of Donovan; contemporary folk). It was an insidious melody with not many words:
I’m a wanderin´round and round
I’m a wandering through the town
I’m a wandering through the air.
I’m a wandering everywhere
Ain’t got no place to call my home
Ain’t got… some line that ends with roam
Ain’t got no … I forget the rest of things he didn’t have in the song, however the beginning stanza has stayed insidiously in my memory to this day.
One day my friend and I stopped by to see him in Hollywood but he had moved out. End of story. I didn’t give him much thought really, although I did wonder where he had gone. Then about six years later I was travelling with my classical music girlfriend, going into a post office in Paris to send cards home, and literally bumped into Alan there. We both remembered each other very clearly, he was elated to see me, had been living in Paris for over four years, making a living with his music. He introduced us to friends and found us a free place to stay on the 6th floor of a building with no elevator.
In those days, as I mentioned, I was a classical musician. I wanted to visit the conservatoire and to maybe meet the famous (in classical circles) Nadia Boulanger, who was very old but still teaching.
I have all these adventures documented in my trusty journal, now stored away somewhere in my Hollywood archives back home in USA. Somewhere in those pages there is a handwritten letter by Nadia Boulanger about 6 years before she died, saying she would be willing to accept me as a student. However, my parents had other ideas for me, and funding my further studies (and escapades) in Paris was not one of them.
The funny thing is to this day what I remember most about Alan was his simple song:
I’m a wanderin´round and round
I’m a wandering through the town
I’m a wandering through the air.
I’m a wandering everywhere…
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My impression decades ago when I was 22 of Paris and the French was and remains the same: they are a very gracious culture. I have always spoken reasonable French so I know that helps. But it is more than that – the French, even the Parisiens have a great joie de vivre and a quick sense of humor. Never has a Parisien been rude to me. Not once.
Now, as a middle age tourist with my American husband, we are finding the same Parisian graciousness and general willingness to help as I did with my 22 year old girlfriend. All these years I thought it was because we were cute (we were) and young and naive that the French took to us but now I know different. It is a fact – the French are clever, gracious, helpful in general. I speak passable French with a french accent (I’ve been told I speak French like someone from the north, whatever that means) and completely understand most conversations. Even Mark, who speaks no French was impressed by how gracious everyone is. Some say the “new French” being nice is due to political pressure and tourism, but I disagree. The French are not the type of culture that does what it is told. I am of the firm conviction that they always have been and at least to me always will be gracious and helpful.
Fortunately day two is not as rainy, though it is certainly cold enough. We do some perfunctory tourist stuff with “we have decided to be happy” attitude, including Notre Dame and a boat cruise up the Seine, underneath all the wonderful bridges that can only be appreciated from below.
Le Notre Dame
Other than the Louvre, there are three memorable experiences to relay:
– Pompidou modern art museum has a thought provoking exhibit by Ron Arad who fuses the boundaries between architect, designer and artist. Evidently this show spans 25 years of his work. We almost feel like we are part of the design process as we meander through his distinctive theatrical environments. We love his furniture.
The Ron Arad exhibit at Pompidou Centre
– Eiffel Tower – We ride to the top on a full moon. How romantic is that?
Photos from the top of the Eiffel Tower on a full moon
– Bobbie’s opening – His opening is very trendy, the people a mixture of upwardly mobile French elite and artists.
reunion with Scarlett Rouge
I have a friend living in Paris named Scarlett Rouge I haven’t seen in about 20 years. She used to be the youngest kid in a group I wrote songs and played keyboards for in the late 80’s. In the following video she is the littlest kid, closest to the camera. (I play keyboards behind her).
Scarlett was FOUR years old in this video
Scarlett is now 27. We have been back in touch through Facebook. I invited her to Bobbie’s opening and she shows up with her delightful boyfriend named Cyan plus a friend. Scarlett and Cyan
Mark and I took lots of photos of people looking at Bobbie’s very pricey pinhole photos. They have been selling well ever since Brad Pitt bought 11 prints from him recently.
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