9/11

I am running behind on my blogging lately, not sure if it’s the laziness of the summer heat, which is not entirely too bad, but the high humidity makes you sweat if you move an inch, or it could be that I have been here, telling my stories for just over 6 months now, and I’m not sure if my readers are still interested, or if I’m still interested? I guess if nothing else, I can always look back, like when we look at old pictures, and relive those moments in our lives, particularly now that my short term memory is so bad.

All around the world, for the past 10 years 9/11 is remembered for the falling of NYC twins towers (plus the building several blocks away that held the Enron documents), but I won’t get into that. There’s also another 9/11, or as it is known here (since we switch the day/month), 11 de Setembre de 1714, also known as “Diada de Catalunya”, which celebrates the biggest defeat of the Catalan Nation, when the ancestors of the current King of Spain waltzed into the walls of Barcelona to kill everyone, every Catalan person they could find.

I don’t know of any other culture that actually “celebrates” a defeat, then again Catalan people are a rare bunch, and the struggle goes on, it never stopped. When I was in high school here, Franco was still in business, even from his deathbed he executed a 17 year old boy, who happened to be the brother of one of my class mates and friends. 

Nearly 40 years later not only dealing with the same fascist shit, but from within Spain the truth of the past is still covered up, as was astounding when the same spanish judge Battasar Garzon, who was so praised for exposing Pinochet and many other world tyrants, was instead incarcerated for exposing Franco’s vile butchery throughout his lifetime.

More recently the current fascist political party known as PP (Partido Popular) that has won regional elections in central Spain, brought to the table a new mandate to enforce Castilian language over Catalan that is currently and for the last 30 years been taught in schools and has worked very well because it integrates all immigrants.

So I met with my uncle Victor to go downtown, visit “el Fossar de les Moreres” which is the mass burial site for those who died back in 1714, and listen to a few people speak there mind, and admire all the passion that is still a huge part of the significance of being Catalan.

We stopped to say hello to Jordi Bigues, who is promoting his book due to be released later this month: Avui Actius, o Dema Radioactius” (today active or tomorrow radioactive), unfortunately, the book is being published in Catalan, and although there is a hopefull plan to publish an English translation, there are not enough funds as of yet to do so.

Oh, and by the way this Catalan flag with the single star, that you've seen above, is the future flag of the Republic of Catalonia, they call it "estelada".

5 Days in Borreda

In case you didn’t know, in Spain during the month of August everyone shuts down and goes on vacation; that’s how it was when I was young, and to an extent it continues, however, due to the recession, most people can’t afford to go away for the entire month, many don’t even go anywhere, they simply take time off from work. So those who have managed to still be in business shut down for a week or two. 

It took me a couple of weeks just to get used to businesses closing in the middle of the day; so you better be sure that you have all your ingredients for the sumptuous meal your about to prepare, cause if you forgot anything you’re S.O.L.

So Renfe, the train company shut down most of their stations downtown Barcelona in order to do some improvements, which meant you would need to take the Metro or Ferrocarrils Catalans to connect in between. Dogs are allowed on trains, but not on any other public transport, so getting around with Wilbur was not possible without a little help.

The previous week I went to visit Esther in Roda, and left Wilbur behind with Edward overnight, but last week Edward dropped us off at Sants station so we could take the train to Ripoll, where Maite, a very dear high school friend met us, as this was the closest, half an hour to Borreda (in the Bergueda region), the town town of her mental release for the last 20 years, which has been her husband’s family getaway for the last 50 years.

She had told me awhile back that I would understand the reason of their decision to become dangerously loaded with a mortgage once I saw this place. As Xavi’s other family, brother, sister and all their kids just got too big for one house, and the two of them couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of this old house...could you?

Maite is one of two very old, very dear friends that are truly akin to me, much like those new friends in my river Ebro experience, knowledgeable, concerned and acting to better our environment; so you can imagine we have plenty to talk about, so much so, that a couple of times we caught ourselves not leaving the kitchen for hours on end, while Xavi was busy cleaning and fixing the outdoor shed.

But our late afternoon, early evening hikes were totally awesome, we kept heading along one river or other so both Wilbur and Roc could play along the way jumping in and out of the water, so we didn’t need to worry about them getting hot or thirsty.

Our mood was high-lit by delicious cookies, brownies and a blackberry cheesecake of which we used the special ingredient butter we had prepared early on.

I had a hard time leaving this place and my friends, and I hope to go back sometime soon.