viernes, mayo 28, 2004

final tribute to robert service week

I am happy. My talent is proportioned to my ambition. The things I like to write are the things I like to read. I prefer the lesser pets to the greater, the cackle of the barn-yard fowl to the scream of the eagle. I lack the divinity of discontent
-from Ballads of a Bohemian

Ballads of a Bohemian was a very personal book. Between the ballads were diary-like entries. I have mostly put these on my page, but if you would like to read more of his poetry, click on the title of this article. Ballads of a Bohemian was written between 1914 and 1919 with a large gap between the year 1915 and 1919. During this time, he served the Red Cross during WWI, first for France and later for the USA. When I reread the following passage, it brought tears to my eyes, as I had forgotten the latter part of the book over the years. I don't think that typhoid fever made much of a dent in my subconscious when I read it years ago- but served as a great reminder of how much he and I share in life. I hope of course never to lose an arm..


A Lapse of Time and a Word of Explanation

The American Hospital, Neuilly,
January 1919.


Four years have passed and it is winter again. Much has happened.
When I last wrote, on the Somme in 1915, I was sickening with typhoid fever.

All that spring I was in hospital. Nevertheless, I was sufficiently recovered to take part in the Champagne battle in the fall of that year, and to "carry on" during the following winter. It was at Verdun I got my first wound.

In the spring of 1917 I again served with my Corps; but on the entry of the United States into the War I joined the army of my country. In the Argonne I had my left arm shot away.

As far as time and health permitted, I kept a record of these years, and also wrote much verse. All this, however, has disappeared under circumstances into which there is no need to enter here.

The loss was a cruel one, almost more so than that of my arm;
for I have neither the heart nor the power to rewrite this material.

And now, in default of something better, I have bundled together
this manuscript, and have added to it a few more verses, written in hospitals.

Let it represent me. If I can find a publisher for it, ~tant mieux~. If not, I will print it at my own cost, and any one who cares for a copy

can write to me --
Stephen Poore,
12 ~bis~, Rue des Petits Moineaux,
Paris.


With one last quotation from this poet will I leave you to your thoughts. May it inspire you as it inspired me.

True contentment comes from within. It dominates circumstance. It is a resignation wedded to philosophy, a Christian quality seldom attained except by the old.

sábado, mayo 22, 2004

my birthday news

About this time two years ago, I was chatting with my friend Susannah before we headed to a special "closest friends" birthday dinner. It was a beautiful day to be alive and living in Barcelona. I had a party at The Latin, where I acted as Public Relations. That night I announced my amazing job offer...in New Zealand. I had planned to continue to live in Barcelona because the city had captured my heart and imagination. The New Zealand job was forgotten because I had applied for it some 3 months before...then one day I got a job offer. Wow. What an opportunity, and it WAS. Needless to say I went, and I love New Zealand. It's such an amazing country. It was a fantastic year. I'd do it again.

Here I am, back in Barcelona. It's a few hours before my birthday party in The Latin- which has been transformed into an after hours club. Toni and Pedro (the owners and good friends of mine) are opening it up at 10:30 tonight just for my party. It's a beautiful day to be alive in Barcelona. I just spent two hours dying my hair what now seems to be exactly the same color as before. I'll meet up with some friends later, and then we'll all go to the Latin. Then tonight, I will announce an incredible job offer...in Maldives. I came back to Barcelona with the intention of living here for a minimum of 2 years, and haven't applied for anything outside of Barcelona in months, and have actually turned down two jobs because I wanted to live here. I applied for this position in Maldives some 5 months ago. Wow.

*note: for all of you that read this and are NOT surprised, I think you are cruel and unjust to me. I for one, am ALWAYS surprised by everything I do. :-)

The Scoop

I will be living and working at a private five star resort island.
The entire island is the size of a football field (no, I don't know
exactly what that means either except that I can see what colors the
people on the other end are wearing).

the pros and cons:
Although the salary is not large by Western standards, there is an excellent renumeration package, the highlights of which suport my passion for water sports: free use of all equipment for diving, surfing and what
have you (guests have first options of course)
everynight there is an employee ferry the goes to the main island for
three hours if I need to get out a bit

The job:
I will create an english program for all of the employees of two
islands from level zero to advanced. There are between 150-200
employees, of which about 5 are women

I will not only create, but I will be the ONLY teacher. I will work 6
days a week, 9 hours a day including preparation time.
not an easy job!

the kicker: much of Maldives has only had an education system for the last 20
years. Many people have a fairly good level of english but can't read
or write even their own name. most can't read or write in their own
language. I've read conflicting reports on this. Some even claimed that Maldives has an astounding 93% literacy rate...this was in direct contrast to the information given to me by those that I spoke to, one of which was a Maldivian.

I will have to prepare the more advanced students for the TOEIC test.
This will be a difficult program to begin.

All in all, I was very impressed with the progressive attitude of the
people I've talked to there. They are very keen on improving their
employees. I like that. The managers talked about everyone as being
kind of a family.

Maldives is a tiny island country. Look closely at the map, it's just
southwest of India and over the equator. The climate is the same year
round, about 30-35 C or lows of about 80 degrees F and highs of about
90F. It's made up of roughly 1120 islands, mostly uninhabited. The capital
is Male atoll. there are 87 islands devoted to resorts. Education is
a new thing, but nowadays people are even going abroad for school.
Satellite school from Australia is another popular option.

*Maldives is a country which could disappear with Global warming.

The religion is Sunni Muslim, but unlike their Arabic counterparts, on the island at least, I've been told that the women commonly where shorts and shortsleeve or sleeveless shirts. It was described as very relaxed. Since most Maldivian families are
still too conservative to let their girls go off to work on resort
islands, I will be one of about 6 women on the island of about
150-200. There are many people from different countries working at
the resort, including a spaniard (the diving instructor) who I hope to
get on (get along) with, so that I don't lose my spanish.

I will spend the next month in Barcelona as I await all of the paperwork that needs to go through. I will then return to England for a couple of days to change out my stuff for stuff that's more appropriate for island life and jungle vacations (Sri Lanka). I also need to think about the load of shots I'll need before I begin vacationing in Sri Lanka.

Que vida!!!

I AM more than a little sad to leave Barcelona again. You know it's my home. I
love the people here, and was very touched at how helpful everyone has
been. If I didn't get this job after all, I wouldn't have wasted a
moment in wishes. I would have been content to be here. I can't pass
up this opportunity though. Besides, I had just added "Jungle
trekking in Sri Lanka" to my "Life to do list".

I'll bring my jungle shoes!!!

jueves, mayo 20, 2004

montparnasse, april 1914. (Ballads of a Bohemian)

All day the sun has shone into my little attic, a bitter sunshine
that brightened yet did not warm. And so as I toiled and toiled
doggedly enough, many were the looks I cast at the three faggots I had saved to cook my evening meal. Now, however, my supper is over, my pipe alight, and as I stretch my legs before the embers I have at last a glow of comfort, a glimpse of peace.



My Garret


Here is my Garret up five flights of stairs;
Here's where I deal in dreams and ply in fancies,
Here is the wonder-shop of all my wares,
My sounding sonnets and my red romances.
Here's where I challenge Fate and ring my rhymes,
And grope at glory -- aye, and starve at times.

Here is my Stronghold: stout of heart am I,
Greeting each dawn as songful as a linnet;
And when at night on yon poor bed I lie
(Blessing the world and every soul that's in it),
Here's where I thank the Lord no shadow bars
My skylight's vision of the valiant stars.

Here is my Palace tapestried with dreams.
Ah! though to-night ten ~sous~ are all my treasure,
While in my gaze immortal beauty gleams,
Am I not dowered with wealth beyond all measure?
Though in my ragged coat my songs I sing,
King of my soul, I envy not the king.

Here is my Haven: it's so quiet here;
Only the scratch of pen, the candle's flutter;
Shabby and bare and small, but O how dear!
Mark you -- my table with my work a-clutter,
My shelf of tattered books along the wall,
My bed, my broken chair -- that's nearly all.

Only four faded walls, yet mine, all mine.
Oh, you fine folks, a pauper scorns your pity.
Look, where above me stars of rapture shine;
See, where below me gleams the siren city . . .
Am I not rich? -- a millionaire no less,
If wealth be told in terms of Happiness.

robert service week continued, Ballads of a Bohemian

To-day is an anniversary. A year ago to-day I kicked over an office stool and came to Paris thinking to make a living by my pen. I was twenty then, and in my pocket I had twenty pounds. Of that, my ten ~sous~ are all that remain. And so to-night I am going to spend them, not prudently on bread, but prodigally on beer.
-Spring 1914 from "Ballads of a Bohemian"

Robert Service began his life as a poet and a wanderer at a young age. He was born in England in 1874, and at the age of 15 followed in his father's footsteps as a banker. Alas, his banking career was shortlived and in 1896 he immigrated to Canada where he took up ranching with his younger brother. The life of a farmer was also unable to hold him, after only 18 months he set off for California. He spent the next 6 years traveling up and down the Pacific Coast. He found the exciting western lifestyle that he was looking for and soon began writing. He wrote fast and furiously and published several volumes of poetry and a novel about the western life.

His travels included but were not limited to: living in New York, traveling to Louisiana, Cuba, Alberta, from which he returned to the Yukon by canoe. In 1913 he moved to Paris and when the war broke out he joined the red cross. In his lifetime he traveled extensively in Europe. Although he dearly loved Paris, when he married he purchased a villa in Brittany.

To this day, Canada claims him, but I'm inclined to think that for all the joy it brought him at the time, he was happy to leave the rough and tumble of the Yukon and gold miners behind to instead devote himself to the beauty of a less harsh life.

Hurrah! As I opened my eyes this morning to a hard, unfeeling world, little did I think what a surprise awaited me. A big blue envelope had been pushed under my door. Another rejection, I thought, and I took it up distastefully. The next moment I was staring at my first cheque.

It was an express order for two hundred francs, in payment of a bit of verse....So to-day I will celebrate. I will lunch at the D'Harcourt,I will dine on the Grand Boulevard, I will go to the theater.

Well, here's the thing that has turned the tide for me. It is somewhat in the vein of "Sourdough" Service, the Yukon bard.
I don't think much of his stuff, but they say he makes heaps of money. I can well believe it, for he drives a Hispano-Suiza in the Bois every afternoon. The other night he was with a crowd at the Dome Cafe, a chubby chap who sits in a corner and seldom speaks. I was disappointed. I thought he was a big, hairy man who swore like a trooper and mixed brandy with his beer. He only drank Vichy, poor fellow!

-from Ballads of a Bohemian


As I stroll down the Boul' Mich' the lingering light has all
the exquisite tenderness of violet; the trees are in their first
translucent green; beneath them the lamps are lit with purest gold, and from the Little Luxembourg comes a silver jangle of tiny voices. Taking the gay side of the street, I enter a cafe
.
-from Ballads of a Bohemian




martes, mayo 18, 2004

robert service week

I have decided to make this Robert Service week.

When I was 17, and alone in the big wide world for the first time, I was a cafe worker and musician. I had very little money and was lucky to eat AND have an apartment. I met other musicians, artists, photographers as well as bankers, lawyers, stockbrokers,computer programmers and more. I discovered that coffee brings everyone to the table. Revolutions have begun in coffee houses, philosophy discussed, love found, love lost, books read, business done, music played...

In my free time, sometimes I spent hours in a second hand book shop, reading the books sitting on the floor next to the shelves or stacks of unshelved books. The owner was very kind to me. He was one of my regulars in my cafe and knew I didn't have any money to buy, but never said a word. He noticed that there was a book which captivated me and I returned to read it time and time again. It was in his antique books section, a first edition by Robert Service called, "Ballads of a Bohemian".

One day, I put it back on the shelf with a softly resigned sigh, and he came over and put it back in my hands. I protested, but he said something very kind to the effect that it was a very special book and it deserved me as much as I deserved it.

That book was always with me for years. Often it was under my pillow, and always in my backpack when I traveled. The thing that captivated me was that in it was the very first person I had met in the world that saw the world as I did...it didn't matter to me that it was nearly a hundred years before.

Imagination is the great gift of the gods. Given it, one
does not need to look afar for subjects. There is romance
in every face.

Those who have Imagination live in a land of enchantment
which the eyes of the others cannot see. Yet, if it brings
marvelous joy it also brings exquisite pain. Who lives a
hundred lives must die a hundred deaths.

-Robert Service

I re-read this book this week and it was like catching up with an old friend and reliving old times. He was a young man in Paris determined to make a living with his pen or die trying. It wasn't his poems that I related to, but the personal remarks inbetween. Indeed, his poems go between being silly and a bit bleak, but the man I love very much as I came to know him in his personal writings.

True contentment comes from within. It dominates
circumstance. It is a resignation wedded to philosophy, a
Christian quality seldom attained except by the old

-Robert Service

the book is a work in progress...

Gosh, going back through my journals of the last year is proving to be (emotionally) harder than I thought. I've never had such a year: discovery of outdoor adventure sports, islands, continents, mountains, glaciers, languages, hospitals, nearly dying in a third world country, love found, love lost like a French film, being crazy (high fever taints your thoughts), tattoos, piercing, more countries, deserts, planes, trains, buses, collectivos, cars, horses, walking, dancing, and more cold showers than I care to remember!

I can't even begin to explain how I am here, at this moment on a bench in Barcelona with Sagrada Familia casting its shadow o'er me in clean and fashionable clothes (rather than my traveling uniform of a homeless vagabond), high heels and my journal.

I just can't make sense of it.

sigh

That not withstanding, the book is forthcoming. I hope to have something publishable in a year.

domingo, mayo 16, 2004

a star is born

Last night I found myself unexpectedly alone. I craved company, eyeing strangers hungrily, yet careful to keep a respectful distance, or was I just shy? Either way the end was the same. I bought a bottle of wine and made my way to my favorite falafel bar on C/Ferran. I passed the usual assortment of vagabonds, pickpockets, homeless, gypsies and tourists. I noticed one unusual woman, probably in her 70's. She had a threadbare bag with a blanket inside, and was sitting on the steps of a doorway to a business now closed- a typical place for the bedless to bed down. The thing that caught my eye was her bright look: slightly round of figure, she had on a white blouse with rainbow dots cinched jauntily around her waist with a carefully chosen belt. Her cheeks and lips were flush with rouge and her eyes sparkled like stars.

Evidently, she caught the eye of some young gypsies as well, for they gathered round her, chatting away..how her eyes shone as she patted her knees in a dramatic pause before commencing with her story! The youths seemed delighted. I paused for a moment to take it all in, smiled and moved on.

Later, having secured one of the three stools in the falafel shop, I feigned reading the announcements on the wall while secretly longing to talk to anyone to pass the time.

The two workers behind the counter were tall, fair and blond. I vaguely wondered where they were from. The handsome guy occupying the stool near me made sheepish, "gosh, these falafels are messy eating," eye contact with a smile. People came and went. He left.

The old woman from before came in. She said something I couldn't hear, and the tall worker greeted her with an "Hola guapa!". Did she want food? Was she in here regularly? I took another bite.

She said a couple more things I couldn't hear, he joked and continued working.

She stood, hands clasped behind her back, eyes shining, "oohing" and "aaahhhing", face upturned towards something over my head, looking a little like a sunflower gently swaying in the wind, following the sun.

It's a small shop. Although I couldn't remember what was over my head, I didn't want to draw attention by moving round to see what it was...not being a tremendously subtle or patient person, curiosity soon got the best of me: there was a television. She was on it.

Captivated by her own magical image dressed to the nines with a string of faux pearls tied round her neck like a 1920's flapper, matching drop earrings, everything neat as you please.

She spoke to the worker again. He was dear, and encouraging. Further, he came round, put his arm around her and then pointed to the screen to show that they were both in the same movie. She was delighted! (I liked him instantly.)

He went back to work, as she swayed back and forth eyes to the heavens (or in this case, the TV) worshipping the golden glow of her own stardom.

I watched happily for some minutes before the spell momentarily lapsed and she looked around the shop. Our eyes met and with a flash of a smile she quickly closed the distance between us exclaiming, "Oh! Eres bonita!" (Oh! You are pretty!) to which I replied in Spanish, "No more than you!", momentarily regretting my use of informal rather than a more formal Spanish indicating respect for age. I asked her to please join me in "taking" something, using the fantastic phrase "te invito" (literally, "you are invited", but the real meaning is "my shout" or "I'm buying")

She stopped dead in her tracks (I think she was going to pinch my cheeks like a baby). I begged her to please accept- whatever she wished. Tentatively, quietly, she queried, "Una cervesita?" (A sweeter way of saying "a beer") Of course, as you like- why not?!

She seemed shell shocked, and then ecstatic, boasted to the female worker that she had been "invited" by me! Then, troubled, wouldn't I take something too? Who would invite me? I protested that my falafel was plenty for me and offered it up in salute. "Salud!" I toasted, to which she replied, "Salut i força l canut!" (A Catalá toast meaning, "health and strength to the penis"). I nearly choked. Her eyes danced and our heads momentarily met in our conspiratorial laughter. For a moment the years fell away and I saw her standing before me, a mischievous young girl.

I thanked her for the pleasure of her company and kissed her goodbye. She seemed momentarily crest fallen by the loss of a playmate, but soon forgot me in the golden aura of herself in lights, probably given the candle light glow of her lost youth by the added alcohol.

city of dreams...

How to describe, to capture the magic of this city that lives, breathes, metamorphs and is yet always the same?
For days and nights I have roamed its streets crossing its barrios, stopped to take some refreshment in its bars. Ever the same, ever changing. I will attempt to tell of its enchanting life one person and if needed, one sunset at time.

miércoles, mayo 12, 2004

it's a miserable, horrible, cold, wet and rainy day in barcelona...

Under the eaves of the local shops, an accordian band plays doleful tangos while the pedestrians fight with their sad, cheap, pathetic umbrellas bought hastily in the street.

Suddenly, as I take shelter under the next eave, the day seems less dreary with a musical score. There begins to be something delicious and delectable about the gawdy parade of umbrellas flipping in the wind, soaking their owners. Something joyful and comical in the endless parade of fashionable women in their soggy stockings and open toed high heels.

The band plays on...c'est la vie

martes, mayo 11, 2004

first morning back in spain

May 5th, 2004

I chose the bar specificly because of its size. I felt sure it would have a large bathroom.

You see, although warned that I must get up before 10am this morning because a man was coming to install an airconditioner, I forgot about the time change. At 10:00am I got up, and got dressed in the bathroom which unfortunately had TWO men outside the unclosable window, brushed my teeth and the water was shut off 2 seconds before I'd planned to spit...

So, here I sit with a cortado (traditional spanish coffee), tortilla (traditional spanish omelette), pan con tomate (traditional Catalan bread), my guitar and backpack in tow.

-oh, and yes, the bathroom was sufficiently large and clean to put my stuff down and wash my face, etc :-)

jueves, mayo 06, 2004

Back to Barcelona...
4th of May, 2004

Rather poetic- moving back to BCN for the 2nd time on the 4th day of May, 2004- my birthday is the 24th of May, and I'll be 28 (2*4=8)...or maybe I've just been spending too much time with math geeks.

Packing was everything that you hope it won't be.

After a week in Germany (went to Frankfurt to see Mark's brother Simon from the Dec. 2002 blogs, and Jeannine from the August 2002 blogs), Mark and I came back on Tuesday night.
Wednesday we shopped for crystals and finished off the night in a bookstore.
Thursday we took shelter from the rain in a guitar shop. The next thing I knew, Mark was purchasing a guitar, case, strings, tuner and pick. We finished in Borders, where I spent an hour and a half sorting through every guitar book possible and finally decided on one teaching book and one book of modern songs, to which he wanted to add the complete Bob Dylan anthology of 300 songs- I countered with "Bob Dylan Made Easy". Only 12 songs in theat one, but ones within reach of a beginner.
Friday was a leisurely morning followed by the train to Bournmouth to see Hui, a lovely Chinese student whom we knew through a mutual friend. Hui was SOOOoo excited to have us there..and so upset when we told her that we were only there for one night. To stay the tears, we SWORE to stay until Sunday. Relieved, she spent the next 3 hours cooking with her flatmate Angela and plying us with the most delicious food. They made so much that it filled the whole table and there was only enough room for all of us to have small bowls.

I noticed that Hui and Angela's bowls had avery little, while Mark's and my bowls had so much...I felt this distinction was important given that I'm small an don't normally eat very much. Even a colossal effort on my part doesn't make a dent in what any ethnic "Eat!!" person thinks I should. Hui, if you read this- I ate more Friday night than I normally eat in two days- it was SOOO delicious, I just couldn't eat anymore. :-)

Saturday, Mark, Hui and myself went to the beach to walk around. It was a traditional boardwalk! How delightful! Despite having given up meat, when Mark suggested a hotdog, I wanted one too- and ate TWO. Hui didn't understand. I explained the mysterious joy of the joyless mystery meat...eating a hotdog is eating a happy childhood memory. Every few years I suffer one or two because I think that I'll like it. I never do, and I ALWAYS have a stomachache afterwards.

Hui was still mystified- why would you eat bad food? Especially if it's meat and you are a vegetarian? I told her about Americans and diners:
A diner is a place that traditionally has bad service, grumpy waitresses, bad coffee, greasy food, is a little dirty and probably smells a little like an old ashtray....and we LOVE them. We don't know why. It is a mystery...like the hot dog.

The hot dogs unfortunately rendered me incapable of eating anything else that day. Again, Hui, I'm so sorry- your food tastes SOO much better than a hotdog! I drank lots of very good green tea while everyone else finished off the leftovers from our feast.

-you may have noticed that despite my leaving on the following Tuesday and we are now up to Sunday, there's still no reference in this packing story to packing..

Sunday, we got to London around 2.30pm, dropped off our things in Mark's flat, and then got to his parents at aorund 5pm. I had to get some things, and my massage chair. We left there around 9pm laden with my chair and 30 kilos of possibly-to-take stuff.

Back at home, we were tired and couldn't be bothered to start.

Monday, up at 9am, we have lunch at James and Jo's at 1:30 (which means leaving at 12:45). I began...it was horrible. So much stuff. So many time constraints and SUCH A MESS!! Mark kept whimpering about the state of his poor room. I kept whimpering about the job of packing. We put on the kettle...then it was time to go. Fabulous time, LOTS of wine. We averaged a bottle apiece. At 6:30pm, I rushed off to meet David. Mark stayed behind and texted me something about playing on the swings and Chinese food (presumably, they continued drinking after I left).

A moonrise, a walk, a bottle of wine and a song later I headed home in time for 11:30pm.

I packed and sorted until 5am, with Mark valiantly keeping me company (he only fell asleep once). At exactly 5am, we made our way to the kitchen, famished. Throwing convention to the wind, we took breakfast and then bed.

Nine a.m. up and at 'em, bath then packing. Tracey came round and kept us company. I finished packing, and we had a leisurely lunch of toast with vege's and cheese.

Forty five minutes before leaving, I realised that the excess baggage fee would be equal to a roundrip ticket for a friend to Barcelona!!! oy.

I hastily repacked and set off.

The massage chair counts as sporting equipment and was twice as heavy as it ought to be, and my bag owas 3-5 kilos over, fortunately, we had chosen a young and sympathetic looking check-in guy and he didn't fuss (whewww!!!)

Said goodbye to Mark. Next hurdle: my carry on bag weighed about 3 times the 5 kg limit. Going through security the security guard had a rather confrontary nature and a grip on my bag. I was lectured about the weight limit. I apologised, I really didn't check as it was mostly electronics and I didn't really know what kilos mean... He explained (wrongly- apparently he REALLY had no idea what a kilo is) that 5kg is about 15 pounds...he still had a two fisted grip on my bag. I looked very sorry and asked, "well, what can we do?" I think he was raring for a fight, but since I wasn't offering, he spit out, "Next time, you check it in out there!" I said, "Ok." rather sheepishly and slowly worked my bag away from him. He was still lecturing as I walked away thinking "Yes!!! Made it through!!"

When I got on the plane, the baggage carriers tried to take my guitar from me to put under the plane. I was nice, but firm- my guitar is non-negotiable. They said that if I wanted to take it on, I'd have to talk to a guy over there, roughly indicating a group of handlers on the other side of the plane. I moved out of the line of people getting on the plane and chatted with one of the handlers while another ran to the boss. After a couple of minutes, I got a thumbs up. On the plane, things safely stowed, window seat...which brings me to this moment, eating a dreadful cheese (and what I can only assume is Chutney) sandwich.

Tonight Barcelona, tomorrow the beginning of a whole new phase of life.

miércoles, mayo 05, 2004

Hello! I arrived in Barcelona last night. More to come later. I have as of yet, no plans to leave Barcelona for some time. Big hugs to all!