Always great to be back in Catalunya

From: The Acoustic Properties of Clay (fins quan?)

El Masnou is a municipality rising to the west from the sea: a maze of alleys, staircases and undulating north-south roads has grafted the town onto the hilly terrain...the old steps are too wide to take one at a time, so you must hobble down. A gutter slashes a central drain for late-summer rains which flood the main road below, blocking traffic between Barcelona to the south and France to the north.
You reach that road: hectic and flat, parallel to the beach, but separated from this and the train station by the road. You walk on: one hour north along the boardwalk to a beach café, placed a few metres to the right of the boardwalk on the beach, next to a site of marina construction. A sand dike sustained by rocks is topped with an idle machine, whose cabin and shovel are rusty. The side panel bears graffiti: fins quan? When will it end? Inside the café, cyclists de-helmet and sip coffee, as do walkers who have just fed the wild cats living inside the rock piles. The men perched high on the jetties to catch fish for the cats tend to keep to themselves. (Sit on a bench to take a longer look. ) A frail but impeccably groomed elderly couple is out for a stroll. They cannot travel far and take in every detail on their abbreviated route. A hand-written notice (…when will it end?) has been fastened to the fence separating the boardwalk from road-works. They pause to read the sign, the woman’s hand gripping the man’s forearm...

...to re-enter town from the beach, you brave the tunnels linking the boardwalk and railway lines with the sidewalk. In your mind there are several, one opening to town and the beach and the northbound trains, another with an exit to the train heading south. Each line has its own ticket booth. If you need a ticket for the opposite direction, you must run back into the tunnel and rush (if you can, the tunnels are wide enough for only two people) to the other end, ascend to street level and find the entrance to the alternate tunnel which will take you back to the other platform. This tunnel could also take you back to the beach, so avoid missing the exit, because if you arrive at the beach and think that you were in the wrong tunnel and search for the entrance to the other tunnel and enter there, you will find an exit to the railway line along which you do not want to travel. [fins quan?]

Thanks Everybody

Banned Substances Pt.1

The car stopped just short of the main drag in the old Cuban district of Tampa, Florida. I wanted to visit and walk along in search of José Martí, the Cuban poet and revolutionary who lived in a number of foreign locations in the final years of Spanish colonial rule in his homeland in the late 19th-century. Tampa was one of the most fervently revolutionary sites on Martí’s itinerary, and it was here that he participated in organizing the Cuban Revolutionary Party. The movement was financed in Tampa by cigar revenues, and, however briefly, by proceeds from baseball game ticket sales in Cuba. Appropriately, when the decision was made in Florida in 1895 to launch the revolution, the orders were smuggled into Cuba inside a cigar.

The USA was backing these liberation efforts with significant enthusiasm, and the Cuban Liberation struggle evolved into the Spanish-American War. Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders set sail from Tampa before thundering ashore in Cuba and helping to win the war against Spain, so a main street in this Tampa neighbourhood today bears their name.

My elderly Florida cousin was happier showing me the new Malls, and who could blame him in the heat. He stayed in the car while I strolled down this road of historic importance. I seemed to be the only person on foot. In fact there were hardly any other people at all, and many of the storefronts were boarded up. A Cuban sandwich shop attracted some business, and there was one other brightly lit up establishment: the Santería store.

Several wooden steps led up to the screen door entrance. I entered, all smiles, and asked the woman behind the counter if they sold any José Martí souvenirs. She found one article: a paper cocktail napkin. While I studied the merchandise, a car pulled up outside and jerked to a halt as the hand brake was applied. The driver was a young man who bounded up the stairs and then closed the door carefully and quietly as he came in, evidently completely familiar with local etiquette.

Greetings were exchanged, and he proceeded to ask the woman what he could buy to definitely score on his date that evening. The girl was really worth it, he explained, and he didn’t want her to get away. The shop-keeper listened and nodded, recommending various jars and containers which were in stock. He paid for one of the love potions, ran out to his throbbing car and laid some tracks as he drove off. When the sound of the music blasting out of his car faded entirely, there was not a sound in the Santería store.

Inspired by his absolute faith in the shop-keepers advice, I walked back and forth examining everything on the shelves, and finally came up with two items which were light, unbreakable and easy to pack: Get-Rich-Quick household cleaning solution, and Powerful-Indian-Household Blessing Domination Powder, with a bilingual label, good illustrations and a handy prayer for happiness and victory-over-enemies on the back.

Things being how they are between the United States and Cuba, I was not surprised to see that the powder was from Chicago, but still a tad disappointed. Tampa and Cuba share a great heritage when it comes to contraband. After liberation from Spain, Cuba became one of the main transit points for illegal immigrants from Europe and China. Business was controlled by figures referred to as “Kings.” Small craft delivered people and goods to many Florida inlets, but Tampa was at the hub. The smuggling of whisky and narcotics was a profitable activity in the 1920’s, and Spirits Submerged There is the stuff of newspaper stories about deliveries hidden temporarily in the waters between Cuba and the USA.