Overhead Snakes

Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

I suppose that they had been slithering along the margins of my subconscious for some time but were recently brought into focus by a picture my sister-in-law sent the other day from her home in Katmandu. They are everywhere in Caceres, creeping up the sides of walls and leaping across streets in coiled licorice-like ropes with the occasional pair of shoes dangling from them. When I first arrived in Caceres my eye would always trace their outlines and be inexplicably drawn to their sinister bondage look but time seems to blur the edges of what is novel and new and with its passing can make everything routine. Yet every so often I’d be reminded that they were there, like that occasional whiff of tobacco that brings back the urge to the ex-smoker, and dread what would happen to if they were suddenly freed by a strong wind. Then one August, I was threading my way home in the thin ribbon of shade thrown by the beautiful palaces in the old town when I noticed that, like other reptiles, these wall snakes preferred the sunny side of the street. Puffing up the calle Amargura, I saw to the right that familiar extra bit of shade thrown from the ribbons of black stuck to whitewashed walls of people’s homes but noticed that to the left along the earthen wall of the Diputacion’s immense parking lot, not a one (the provincial seat of government). The absence continues through Santa Maria until you reach the Plaza, where the braids seem to congregate once again around every door and window. Since moving into the old town, I have read several times in these very pages that these pests would be exterminated and buried in the ground along with their water carrying cousins. It’s now some five years later and even in the autumn cool, there they are, drawn to the white and, strangely enough, absent from the brown. 

Imagined Distances

Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

It happened while we were overlooking one of the world’s unofficial wonders, sitting under a desperately thirsty acacia tree, swatting away flies and scratching at fleas. A temple dedicated to one of the busiest men in the patronage business. Countries as disparate as the U.K and Georgia reclaim his favours while cities as far away as Rio and Moscow share the Cacereño hope that he will mediate with the powers that be on our behalf against plagues, dragons and the men in black. However this temple wasn’t the familiar one with whitish spires here in Caceres that lords above our squat 1960’s plaza named after this busy man, but one carved out of living rock in Lalibela, in the remote hinterlands of north western Ethiopia. A religious ceremony was going on 25 metres below in the cool of the hollowed out grotto when two people sat beside us under the extremely meagre shade and asked us in accented Spanish where we were from. I said Canada and my wife, Caceres. Our new neighbours told us that they were from Barcelona and had never been out to Caceres but had always heard that it was lovely but that it was so far away and difficult to get to that they had never been. The ceremony drew on as a satin robbed priest breezed along under colourful parasols totted by angel-like helpers dressed in billowy white while emaciated and envious cows began to nudge us out of their shade. I may not be a believer in saints but I am an admirer of tales and their power to persuade. I was once in Cyrene, Lybia, where some say ol’ George slayed a dragon, at a time before another tyrant was dragged out of a culvert and murdered and I have seen first hand legend’s power to convince. What we perhaps need here is to ask for a different kind of intercession, one that slays the black legend dragon regarding our remoteness and puts in a good word for us in yet another city that retains his favours. 

Spanish Sunday Afternoons #6

Don't try this at home kids!

It's fall...the leaves are beginning to fall and the mushroom hounds are on the loose. The word 'mushroom' in English seems to convey about as much excitement and meaning as the word 'oil'. You have to compound it to extract its full flavour.

Jumping over stone walls and getting caught on barb-wire is all part of the adventure when hunting this prey. Even the more exact word, 'boletus' falls far short of the mark.

A sudden cry from someone in your party...they've found a few, that means they are out and there are more where that came from.

Fun finding...and even more fun eating!

Tapas: Tenerife - Bodegón Viana

In my downtime when I'm not writing, I play music...guitar to be precise. In fact, it was a guitar that led me to 48 states and Europe for the first time. The Sociedad Blues Canarias invited me down to the Canary Islands to make some music and on the island of Tenerife under the wing of the society's president, Alberto Gulias Velazquez, I was introduced to gofio for the first time. Gofio is a roasted grain that is a staple on the islands and above it's mixed in an 'Escaldón de carne' with some delicious mojos up top to get our mojos 'a workin! 

Taken @ Bodegón Viana, Calle Viana, 35, 38201 San Cristóbal de La Laguna, Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Spain

Popping up in Salon

Came across a repost of something that I wrote for Trazzler on the website, Salon. It was a series of 10 travel bits on places in Spain that Ibn Battutah visited on his trip through Andalusia back in the 14th century.
Nice surprise.
See it here.

Lion Tamers and Circus Clowns

Uncomfortable truths in the Young Learner teaching game here in Spain and around the world.
Contributing to Barbara Hoskins Sakamoto's teaching webpage.

Trazzler following Ibn Battutah through Spain

The Costa del Sol's concrete boredome costing you a bit?

Trazzler's collected 10 trips following the great Ibn Battutah's trips through the region. Shake off the fish and chip shops and dig a bit deeper here.

An Apple for the Teacher

After a long break, blogging for El Pais once again. This time a 3 part series on the dismal future that lies ahead for learning in a climate where education is viewed as an expense rather than an investment.

The 1st installment goes into the labarynth that teachers must go through in order to actually get on with the system.

The 2nd is a look at schools that segregate by sex.

And the 3rd is a look at how nonthought and nonanswers have become the norm for two hours a week.

When Slippery Becomes Slimey

The earth unexpectedly (for most that is) shook the other day in south-eastern Spain, bringing tragedy to the people of the lovely town of Lorca.

Corruption doesn't only exist in far off lands that end in -stan. A look at what could happen if it's allowed to grow, blogging in El Pais.

Spanish Revolution?

Yesterday I walked up the hill leading to my polling station under a clear blue sky, a color I would later realize that had foreshadowed the colour of the electoral results that have carpeted this country from corner to corner...a resoundly conservative azul.

I'm the only foreigner in my voting area, or at least the only one with a right to do so who has decided to renounce their vote in their home country and vote here where we live. Once again, I was E 001...and the only one on the list.

I find Spanish polling stations a bit odd...there is a closeted area where one can vote in private but the overwhelming majority choose to do so at the election table, making their choice public, for all to see. That is, those who don't bring their little envelops from home that were previously mailed to them by their party of choice. All democratic I suppose...perhaps , like standing at a urinal, I'm just a bit shy in that respect.

While not a national election (foreign me can't vote in those), autonomous regions and municipalities were up for grabs yesterday and it looks like Spain is on its way to making the same curious decision that most of Europe has also made during this disasterous crisis...while navigating the stormy waters created by the financial system, best be in the hands of those that caused the problem in the first place I suppose.

The only way that I can make sense of this is by imagining myself in a situation where a deadly man-made virus has been released in a building...who better to be with? The men who created it of course! That said, it's an entirely different question when you wonder if they are willing to share the antedote with others.

Spaniards chose to rip off the band-aid quickly yesterday. Tired of the half measures taken by a reluctant, supposedly leftist party, they decided to rip it off quickly and to let the real hemorrhaging begin, bring on the next Cameronian revolution of social cuts. I can't imagine what will happen here when University costs triple or even quadruple here, Spaniards aren't notorious savers. Again, it wasn't a national election, but if the sky foreshadowed blue yesterday, next year's national election results look to be similar.

So where does this leave the #spanishrevolution that was briefly splashed across the headlines all over the world. The supposed revolution that blew across the Mediterranean and brought hope from Tunisia and Egypt. Spaniards were fed up, indignant at the lack of transparency in government, indignant about the hundreds of candidates that were being judicially investigated for corruption, indignant that banks who had received public money were now handing out gazillion euro bonuses....

Well I guess Spaniards as a whole weren't, only a loud and colourful few.

Few commentators have dug deep enough to get past the witty slogans and realize that this revolution was solely within the left. These were people who have always voted Socialist and who have woken up to the painful reality that, no matter how meaningful your ideals and ideas are, governments no longer have the power to make independent decisions. Zapatero's deer-in-the-headlights look the past 3 years has been because of this. It's the bond traders who decide, not the electorate.

The band-aid's been ripped off and now the coup de grace awaits in 2012. I guess I'll take a few trips to the free doctor while it lasts.

Spain or Portugal, does the coffee taste the same?

The Shock Doctrine is oozing and has slimed Portugal...Are things so different over here right across the border?

Blogging again in El Pais.