La Mercè, Part One: Giants, Dragons and Goldfrapp.

As I happened to mention last time, I managed to turn up in Barcelona during the month of a great big street festival: La Mercè. Events are wide-ranging and dispersed throughout the city. In the park, there are human pyramids, and in every square, a stage. To say nothing of the free museums day, light shows, street performers, parades, dancing and general abundance of fire wherever possible. There are also, of course, plenty of crowds to get in your way. And through these crowds great leaders of our time do march, holding aloft the sacred tools of worship at any festival: beer. One might think this a difficult task, bound to annoy mostly everyone by the incessant shuffling required to let these people through, or by the raised six-pack swinging into one's head. But these merchants take a different view, and who are we to argue?

The opening procession rather sets the tone. (The tone being one of Pagan ritual sacrifice.) It seems to work as follows: there are giants, and animals which are merely large; they all march into the square; each one takes it in turn to dance around, usually with something aflame; finally, they all march out again. Much of the experience seems purposefully designed to rot the minds of small children. I mean, check out the beast below.

And he's not the only one.

Whilst all of this is going on, there are several concerts across the city, of which all, or so it appears, are free. The following night saw Goldfrapp make a stop-over in Barcelona, to play at The Forum. Now I'm sure not all of you reading this will know who Goldfrapp are, but they are a pretty big deal. And I got to see them, for free. Not only that, but we turned up a mere twenty minutes before the show began yet were nonetheless able to get right to the front of the stage. To the side, but leaning against the barrier. I don't know if that's indicative of the lackadaisical Spanish attitude to life or as a result of the sheer volume of things to do at the festival, but that's never the way of things back home. Would that it were.

Sadly the music experience has not since hit such highs, nor will it do, in all likelihood. After Goldfrapp there appeared an act by the name of Luke Abbot. English-sounding name, bad Euro-rap. Strange combination, and sadly not an enjoyable one.

There's been another day of the festival since, in which I took part in the Correfoc, or Fire Run, for which I posted the warning in my previous entry. It's going to require its own blog post later this week, but I will say this: I am alive, and unscathed. But for a while it was touch-and-go.

Adventures in Barcelona: Part One

Perhaps this is not the most inspiring beginning to a blog post, but whilst I've had a pretty good first week in Barcelona I can't say any of you readers are going to find it interesting.

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No, wait! Come back! I'll try to be interesting. Just let me explain one thing: I'm not here to be a tourist. I am here, as much as is possible, to simply live, for a month. In the infinite blogosphere there exist myriad entries on the bog-standard minutia of life, such as "The Time We Went to That Arabic Restaurant", or "Dinner At My Friend's House". I could write both those stories right now, but they wouldn't be interesting. And the thing is, I have not been seeing the sights that would otherwise provide the sort of material you dear readers crave. I stumbled across the Sagrada Familia just yesterday, only because it happened to be where we were walking at the time. I've not been inside it, and I may not even go inside it before I leave here. Hey, it's not going anywhere any time soon.

If I have to make a single comment on Barcelona so far, surely it is this: In a city where the norm is to have dinner not before 10pm, why do the trains stop running at midnight? There are night buses which are pretty good, but they're no substitute. It's almost inevitable that any given evening will end with me missing my train home. It has already happened on one occasion despite my best efforts, or, as was the case last night, because we realised without much time to spare that the trains were about to stop, and just weren't ready to go home yet. No effort was made.

Unfortunately I'm also a bit of a sucker for a good walk, and the grid system here seems easily to fool me into thinking that any two places are much closer to each other than they actually are. It was a long walk home, and not the first this past week. I actually had to take painkillers during the night such was my belief that my knees were about to disconnect as a result of the cumulative mileage under my belt. Today, I'm staying indoors.

Anyway, fear not, my adoring public. I am, in part, holding out on you. I have not, for example, told you about the language exchanges I attended, and will continue to attend. I'm saving that for later, when hopefully I'll have a better handle on the matter. It also transpires that I've accidentally rolled into Barcelona during the occasion of its biggest annual street festival, which commences this Thursday. So, there should be plenty to write about for my next entry. Here's a snippet of text from the festival guide regarding one of the events, the Correfoc [Fire Run], to whet your appetites.

Whoever wants to watch the Correfoc must be aware, above all, that it involves a certain level of danger, so the greatest care must be taken and a number of rules need to be respected. Those attending should cover up as much as possible to avoid burns. We recommend you wear long-sleeved clothes, avoid shorts and use a cap and scarf to cover your neck. Wear clothes made of cotton rather than sintethic [sic] materials. Above all, never throw water on the devils, as damp gunpowder is dangerous.

Marvellous.

My kingdom for The Apocalypse!

The Apocalypse, were it to happen, would have benefits twofold. First, it would provide a reasonable excuse for my monumental failure to populate this here blog for two whole years. (Plus a bit.) Second, it would certainly provide some interesting material, assuming that neither myself nor my laptop had been incinerated during the pyrotechnical events, and that there remained at least one person left on Planet Earth to read the subsequent blog entry.

At this point, I'd kill for even one reader.

I'm sure I had some, way back when, but they've all vanished, and I have only myself to blame. But hey, my life, I suppose, is quite simply not interesting except during such times as I am traversing continents and sampling assorted pancakes.

Well, the joke is on you, doubters one and all! One week tomorrow, a new adventure begins, and this blog will be reborn, regaling you with stories from Barcelona over a period one month in length. I suppose this entry may in itself count as a rebirth, but I'm really just poking little ol' Mr. Bloggie (first name: Joe) with a pointy stick, to check he's still alive. I think that he is, and has a shiny new design to boot.

It occurred to me that with a gap of over two years, my soon-to-be and formally loyal readers may feel they've been short-changed somewhat, as there must surely have been something worth writing about in all that time. I maintain that there was nothing. However, here's a summary: I moved house, twice; several close friends are now either married or engaged; I have a niece; my primary venue of employment has turned into a daily, 7.5 hour-long episode of The Office (turns out it's not so funny when you're actually in it); the second moving of house involved buying a place of my own; my mother is on Facebook *shudder*; I am, technically, the director of a one-man company and have proven to be a harsh taskmaster. I may very well quit from myself.

Numerous things remain the same, of course. I remain so utterly rubbish that I laugh at the jokes I typed on this very blog two years ago, and had since forgotten. I also retain an intriguing scar across my left wrist, where Lucky The Sheepdog once bit me. Having read the old entries, I may well impose the following quest on my blog as a means of perpetuating its existence: get back to Guatemala. The damage caused by a tropical storm in May has been compounded by recent heavy rain, so I'm guessing there is an even greater need for volunteers than before.

I'd also like to reacquaint myself with Lucky. Just to show her that there are no hard feelings. Especially in my wrist, where now I feel nothing at all.