Not Everything Can Be Perfect...

Last Friday, I arrived home at midday to find that we had been broken into and they had had just enough time to take all of Oriol's photo equipment, which he had been collecting for years, my laptop with the extractable disk drive that held all my photographic memories of the last five years here in Barcelona, along with everything I had ever written and my extensive collection of music.

They took other things that had more sentimental value than monetary and a cantaloupe I was planning on eating for lunch. A cantaloupe!

First came the scare, the, "what is this, Oh my God what is this?" The mess, and then the waiting for the cops, for someone to come quickly and just sit with me. The list of things that no longer form part of our lives and then comes the wave of anger. My personal space had been touched, moved and searched through. The lack of accountability on behalf of the system and how those that I give my hard earned tax money to protect me just shrug their shoulders and say, "At least they didn't have time to take everything..." And the three hours you spend at the police station for them to just say, you're the 10th case today (in a small radius of Barcelona) and we'll take record of this but don't count on anything being done...

The fact that Oriol and I have to take responsibility and inform our neighbors and post up a sign in our building as well as go and speak with those that live and work on our street because the police won't do it.

I can't begin to express the fury that burns inside me. Not so much at the fact that someone broke in, it happens, it's bad luck and in fact they had it quite easy...But the fact that the judicial system does absolutely nothing about it and when the inspector comes to take fingerprints, he expresses his exhaustion and tells us he's leaving the position because he's tired of what he does and no one follows up, so what's the point of getting fingerprints if the judge will hardly look at it...Just like that. This is one of the many people we spoke with this weekend that looked exhausted and are simply burnt out. It made us feel really confident. NOT

And then the fear and prejudices that those around you start feeling, having to talk to the neighbors and reminding them that not everyone with dark skin, immigrant, etc is suspicious. The excuse is the crisis here in Spain. There is over a 20% unemployment rate, things are looking pretty dreary for many and desperation leads many to do injustices, which does not justify pickpocketing and burglary, but the system has been set up so that those at the bottom of the triangle live in misery and those few at top shrug and say oh well as they bite into a juicy steak and count their profits for the year. While those in the middle hold on tightly to their purses and wallets on the metro and put up security bars on their windows and begin to mistrust any one who looks 'suspicious'.

Oriol and I agree that perhaps it's time to start getting to know our neighbors, to go back to the little town feeling and not mistrusting, but start forming relationships so that when those that don't form part of our neighborhood come in, we are all attentive and looking out for each other.  Whether it's our safety or someting warm to eat and a place to sleep.

I love Barcelona, I have loved living here since I arrived and what hurt most was the loss of all those beautiful photographs I had collected over the years, expressing my love for life here. But I think it is important to start cleaning up our cities, not just Barcelona but all the cities we live in and to start asking for our neighbor's name, shaking their hands and above all, not being so individualistic, like the system has chosen to be. Maybe, in a time of uneasiness, little work and lots of people in not too optimistic of situations, we have to take a step back and start taking things into our own hands as citizens of the world and start thinking of how we can change this lie our governments have had us buy, literally. Not everything can be perfect. I am completely aware of this, but I live in a country, like many of you, that guarantees security and justice for all, so why not start asking for it?

Just so you get an idea of what the situation is like:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/jul/14/woman-defends-barcelona-tourists-from-pickpockets http://www.robberymaps.com/map.html#lt=41.387917&ln=2.1699187&z=4&k=2
And last night they announced a 14% increase of home robbery in just the first trimester of the year...perhaps I'll move to Menorca earlier than I thought, on an island, they can't get away.

Follow My Pink Toes

And in comes summer! Steamy metro stations, a shockingly enormous vegetable garden, blue pristine Mediterranean seas, barbeques on the terraces and my bright pink toes. Pop open an ice cold beer (or chilled white wine) and sit back, I am about to show you what living on this end of the world is like.

Although I still have three weeks left of work before I officially scream: VACATIONS! And try not to go crazy, I have managed to squeeze in a few days of fun and sun, soaking in all the rays I have time for (with lots of protection), watching as Oriol gathers the last of our veggies for the season before they sizzle under the summer sun and mentally prepare myself for the world of Freelance. Yes, I have finally decided that I need to take things under my own wings and that means that as of August I am officially a freelancer and will have to make a living off of what I've learnt to do best, teach English and finally give this writing thing a go (maybe blogging will become more frequent)...

Our vegetable garden has been a true success! We've spent the last few weeks eating fresh lettuce, sweet succulent cucumbers, a strawberry or two, crispy sweet peas, and juicy tomatoes. Oriol has become an authentic grower and collector of agricultural goods, he's even begun an organic made at home compost system, and the moon sits there, hanging from a summer string, reminding us that this is the brightest season of the year. And check out our view! Pollution = lovely orangey sunsets that make us all nostalgic for those days when we were kids. Don't you agree?

And to celebrate the longest day of the year, Sant Joan as it is denominated here, Summer Soltice elsewhere,
we went to Menorca (an island East of Barcelona) for the third year in a row to celebrate the horse festival and swim in some of the loveliest beaches I have set my eyes on. Have I ever confessed to you that this is where I will rest my weary bones once this thing called working life is over?

The town festival or "Festes de Sant Joan"(http://www.menorcaweb.com/reports/popular-festivities/sant-joan-festivities-in-ciutadella/) is a century old festival that dons handsome horse riders/local farmers "Caixers" from the youngest to the eldest, a clergy at the end of the line, the chosen 'noble' man (wealthiest) and a flute player riding an ass, that leads locally bred black horses through Cituadella for three long days. The horses are dressed in elegant velvet embroidered wear and they parade throughout the small town, in and out of homes! Yes, they go into indicated homes big enough to fit a horse, or two, or three and through the very, very narrow streets as you hold a plastic cup of lemonade slushy with Xoriguer otherwise known as an herbal gin and drink all day long (and night) as horses gallop by you and swing into the air. This festival is not for the weak at heart. But if you ever dare to live it, it is seriously one of the most amazing and heart racing experiences. After three years, I still have to get used to the monstrous horses riding by me and crowds of people all around you.

Can you say handsome?

There is something so gallant about a rider tipping his hat at you as you stand in the way of his horse and him (and his tuxedo)...

 

One of my biggest pleasures is watching children, young and old, as they sit on windowsills and wait on doorsteps, calling out to the horses that pass by for a capadeta or pet. They sit there for hours on end screeching at the sight of a horse approaching and laughing wildly at this beautiful creature wetting your arm with saliva and that smell of sweaty horse. I cannot begin to describe that smell. It is an overdose of nature, the anamalistic kind, that envelopes you and no it is not disgusting in any shape or form. On the contrary, you want to wear it until the fesitivites are over, acknowledging that you formed part of this ancient ritual.

 

 

As you walk up and down the narrow streets, you can take a peek into peoples homes, lovely island homes set up with local baked goods, cool water and several generations sitting on canvas chairs, sharing the latest gossip and the best and worst of this year's grand festival. In the middle of it all, the chaos of horses walking into the living rooms to gallop inside, get a popsicle or fresh water. It is literally animal and man at home!

On the third and final night of the festivities, you make your way to the ES Pla where the horses and horse rider pay homage to Medieval jostling games, where more than one or two unprofessional spectators get seriously injured. You have to imagine throngs of people gathered in an elongated plaza with a live marching band playing music and horses running past you at incredible speeds with their riders competing for a winning match. Does it sound crazy? It is...

 

At the end of the official games, the horses begin dancing and galloping wildly to celebrate the grand finale and this is when my bravery goes out the window and I run to the nearest and safest place to calmly document this for you...This year was extra special. At the end of the games and last rounds in the city, as drunk and weary make their way home and the streets become emptier and your feet throbe in your dusty sneakers, the horses are lead to the clergy man's home where he is dropped off and it all comes to an official end. This year though, I had the honor to follow the parade, if I may call it that, to that very last moment. At one point, I found myself walking next to these gorgeous creatures, down dark and quiet streets where the only thing you could here was this click-cluck of their hooves as they echoed against cobble-stone streets and their exclamations of exhaustion. I literally had tears in my eyes and touched one horse after the other as they grazed by me. I still hear their echo as I write this and for the first time I felt this festival sentimentally, as perhaps one of the locals does every year.

 

And the other great thing was that I got to share it with the lovely Marta and Lluis! They decided to come last minute and we celebrated together! I loved being able to share this with someone else and listening to Oriol explain the traditions like an expert to a new set of wide open eyes. Marta was a pro with the horses and definitely does not fall into the weak at heart!

 

And the best-est part of all? The beaches folks! After a long three days of horses and their gallant riders, gin slushies, and dust in every orifice of your body, you get to wash it off in some of the most amazing waters I have yet to swim in and I have swum in some pretty amazing places. And of course, getting to hang out with Roger, our Menorcan host and local who always makes our stay memorable.

Thanks Roger!

Phew! I need holidays..what are your adventures for this summer? What have you done, will do that has been memorable and worth sharing? I'd love to hear it...leave it in the comments section and let's make this thing called blogging interactive!