This is harder than I thought it would be. The first time we came here long-term, in September of 2010, with the idea of just staying for a year, I remember how the "only for a year" part seemed to condition every thing we did. Celebrating every holiday, taking advantage of every vacation to explore Europe seemed so urgent, since we would only have one of each. And problems that might have seemed insurmountable could be easily (or relatively easily) brushed over, because it was just for a year.
This time, since the idea is to be here indefinitely, there is no urgency for the fun stuff, and the hard stuff feels interminable. Timing, or perhaps, perspective, is everything.
But we're muddling through. One big challenge (or first world problem, however you like) is our very small apartment (700 square feet between the five of us and our three cats). What seemed like an interesting adventure for a year seems absolutely unworkable in the long term. I keep bumping into things, and the thought of our eight additional boxes wending their way across the Atlantic makes me wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. There simply is no room.
So we're constantly reassessing what's necessary. How much stuff do we really need? Is it a question of storage and ingenuity, à la all those "Living in Small Spaces" books? Or is it a deeper issue of how much of our lives are defined by the possessions we accumulate and how comfortably we can invite friends for dinner. If we are just ourselves, and there are no clues to show what we care about: photos, books, things we've created or built, or the way we've set up our living space, does that mean we have to be witty and interesting and articulate all the time?
There's also this sense that I'm constantly planning and not just living. But not having the infrastructure means there's all this extra planning on the fly. So, should I spend some time setting up infrastructure to save time later on, or should I take advantage of the lack of infrastructure to be more flexible.
Probably I just think too much.
Saturday, I heard the whistle of the knife sharpener man. He walks around the neighborhood with a flute and a motorcycle-driven workshop. We have three knives and a pair of scissors and none of them cut a thing. I pulled them out of the dishwasher, ran down the stairs and caught up with him. He looked at me panting, and said in Spanish, "Did I make you run?" He must make everyone run, no? How else would you catch up?
I handed him our knives, not totally sure how it would work. On the back of this bike, he had two grindstones, and a small wooden box. Out of the box he pulled out a gear belt and a bit of newspaper. He connected the grindstones to the motor with the belt and laid the newspaper at the edge of the grindstone. Later when I asked him, he said it kept the sparks from flying into his face.
Then he started the motor and the grindstones began to spin. He sharpened all four with the rough stone, and then used the smoother stone to finish the job. He turned off the motor, and pulled out a final buffer stone from the wooden box to smooth off the edges.
He charged me 20€ in total (5€ for each item). It seemed like a lot, and I wasn't sure if he was taking advantage of me. But I'll admit that for as long as I have listened to that flute, I have always wanted to try it. While I was standing there, a Catalan woman and her son walked by and she started explaining what the man was doing. It made me wonder if it was just a temporal anomaly—something that used to make sense but that now people solve other ways. One thing is for sure: the knives are really sharp now.
Today started out very rainy. Reports said that Spanish TV was forecasting rain all day and Catalan TV had said it would clear up. At I splashed through small puddles down to the Arc de Triomf first thing in the morning, I thought maybe the reports had been right.
First stop was the booths and stands lining the huge Arc de Triomf monument at the top of the Ciutadella Park which contains the Catalan Parliament building. Because of the rain, the festivities started slowly and behind schedule, with the 1714 Catalan battalion reenactors not beginning until 10:30 or so. Their costumes looked quite authentic (at least to the uninitiated like me) down to the gourds they used for canteens. I slipped away as they shot off their very loud muskets, and came back for the band, complete with bagpipes (who knew?).
Meanwhile, I signed copies of the new Spanish-English bilingual edition of What's up with Catalonia? - ¿Qué le pasa a Cataluña? a book of essays that I translated and published so that non-Catalans, who might otherwise only know Gaudí and FC Barcelona, would have a better understanding of the amazing, peaceful and democratic process that Catalonia is going through in order to gain its independence.
The bilingual edition is being offered by ARA newspaper for 9.95€ until Sept 15th.
I then rushed back to the apartment, gathered up my family, went to pick up the rental car, and made our way to Tram 315, just south of Vilafranca del Penedès. The Catalan Way was divided into 500m segments (tram, in Catalan) so that each local chapter of the Catalan National Assembly could manage and organize the pieces more easily. Our segment was assigned to the town of Gavà which hired several buses to bring townspeople to this section of the Catalan Way, as well as giving information to those of who came in with our own transport.
I explain the organization because it was just phenomenal. After signing up online, we received multiple emails that explained just where we would be, what time we should be there, where we might get lunch once we arrived (which they also set up), and what to do next. We were cautioned to arrive early since the roads we had to use to get to our segment would be closed a few hours before the demonstration.
As we drove southward, about an hour, we saw and interchanged waves and honked at dozens of cars draped with Catalan independence flags. All I could think of was that a few hours later, the entire distance that we were driving in the car, along with many, many more miles to the north and south, would all be lined with people holding hands. My kids made fun of me because I said, "this is going to be big" but I know they'll tell their grandchildren about it just the same.
We arrived at the restaurant (Cal Padrí) at a little after 1pm. The organizers had set up a prix fix lunch (the main meal of the day in Catalonia) and it was delicious. The room held about 12 or 15 tables, and most of them were occupied by yellow t-shirt clad demonstrators of all ages.
I was not at all surprised that a great meal was an important part of the day. Catalans have more restaurants and bars than I forget how many countries in Europe. It's one of the things that I love about them that they put such importance on hanging out (ok, and eating good food) with family and friends.
About 4pm, we left the restaurant to find our spot in the Catalan Way. Luckily, my in-laws had already staked it out and knew how to get there. We worried a bit as we were arriving because there was a lot of traffic. I wondered if we'd have to walk a long way (with toddlers!) to our spots. But no, there was a parking lot conveniently plowed out of a local field (we were surrounded by vineyards) for all of the cars. Again, we were impressed by the abundance of organizers who indicated where to park and where the different segments were.
But mostly I was impressed by the numbers of people. There was going to be no trouble filling our segment, or any segment near by. Indeed, it was a bit hard to find room for everyone, and we wondered if we should create two lines side-by-side. In the end, we just squeezed together.
When it started getting closer to the magic time of 5:14 (which on a 24 hour clock is written as 17:14, and symbolizes the year that Catalonia lost its freedoms and institutions to the Spanish Crown in the War of Succession), the volunteers came back and encouraged us to get in line, and moved some of us up towards the next town (La Ràpita).
It was a bit like waiting for New Year's. I hadn't gotten telephone coverage for a while but luckily there were several radios and we could hear that what we were seeing in front of our eyes was being repeated across the other 700+ segments of the Catalan Way up and down the length of Catalonia. Airplanes and helicopters flew overhead in the now blue sky which vindicated Catalan TV weather claims and we waved ecstatically.
As we waited, some people drifted out of line to play cards or football, a group of castle-builders from Gavà built a tower, kids ran around, we all marveled at the incredible thing that we were a part of.
At a few minutes before 17:14, we joined hands, and listened to the countdown on the radio. At 17:14 on the dot, we joined hands and raised them up to the sky, listening to the church bells that were ringing all over Catalonia, and through our radio. Then we sang the Catalan National Anthem, and my kids made my fun of my singing, but I noticed they sang too just the same, and we all imagined our linked hands joining up hundreds of thousands of people, they're saying more than a million, from the Pyrenees mountain town of El Perthus, through 86 towns, including two paths through Barcelona, aroudn Gaudí's world famous Sagrada Família church and FC Barcelona's Camp Nou stadium, all the way down to Alcanar at the southern border, and even Vinarós, in Valencia, which many consider part of the Catalan nation.
(I don't have a picture of 17:14, because I was in the chain. This photo is from a few minutes after.)
Like many Catalans, I'm not a real flag waver. I love lots of places, and am wary of politicians using patriotism to sell their schemes. But the flags—and they were everywhere, and they were almost exclusively pro-independence flags with a white star on a blue triangle at one end of Catalonia's traditional four red stripes on yellow—didn't mean "my country is better", they just meant, "I want my country to exist, and to have the same rights as any other country".
As I have followed this process over the years, I have become more and more entwined with the people themselves, and I would never describe myself as impartial. Nevertheless, I can tell you that I am proud of this movement because of its peaceful, democratic, even joyous nature. There were no violent incidents today along the Catalan Way, no fighting, no pushing. Catalans would rather negotiate an exit than even demand one in a harsh voice. There were many who said that creating a huge human chain was just another stunt, and that what was required was much harsher rhetoric and direct action, but they are a minority.
And what I wonder is if the world can listen to a people that uses its words and doesn't fight or grab from others. We are very good at paying attention to violence, but can we listen to a peaceful people that calmly articulates exactly what they want and why they feel they deserve it? I hope so. Because these Catalans deserve to be listened to. All they want is to exercise their democratic right to vote for the future of their people. My country goes around saying they support democracy, I say let's prove it and support the Catalans right to vote for independence.
One last thought is that I think Catalans looked at this Catalan Way idea as a way to catch the world's attention, and it has surely done that. But I'm not sure they expected the powerful jolt that comes from holding the hands of a million other people. We were connected, and we felt strong. We will win, and now I think maybe we know it.
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I took a lot of pictures today. Mostly they are posted to my Flickr page. I'll try to label them better over the next few days. If you have any questions, please let me know. I'd love to hear if others' experiences in their own segments were similar to mine. I wonder what it was like being in Barcelona. Let me know!
I just confirmed something my daughter had to explain to me: Google Maps works even if you have no cellular or Wifi connection. That's pretty amazing*. It means that Google Maps is listening to and triangulating from the location information of the surrounding wifi servers, even if you can't actually connect to them. Then, even when you're walking around a strange city in Airplane mode, Google can tell you where you are.
Here's how it works. This morning, after connecting to our Wifi and finding myself in Google maps, I walked outside and went toward this gorgeous building called La Casa de les Punxes, which one might loosely translate as "The House with the Spikes". It was designed by one of the rather large group of amazing Catalan architects that are not Gaudí: Josep Puig i Cadafalch.
I've been in Airplane Mode since Wednesday as I convince AT&T to unlock my phone which is now no longer under contract. And there was no wifi where I was walking.
I walked a little farther, and happened upon a dollar store selling Catalan independence flags, and then some flags flying in balconies. Couldn't resist taking a couple of shots:
I got so distracted, I overshot the Casa de les Punxes. Pulled out Google Maps, and despite being in Airplane Mode and with no wifi, the map was still updated:
I looked up and there was the Casa de les Punxes, as gorgeous and spikey as ever:
So, if you're traveling in a foreign country and don't want to pay for data just to find your way around, now you know you don't need to. Pretty cool.
I also recommend pointing Google Maps to Puig i Cadalfalch's other masterpieces: the Casa Ametller, overlooked next door to the much more famous Casa Batlló of Gaudí's, or the Casa Martí, which houses El Quatre Gats, where Picasso used to chat with friends over a beer or two.
*Of course, this also means that Google is keeping track of your position, even though you think it can't. Something to keep in mind in this day and age.
We moved back to Barcelona yesterday. I wouldn't wish the moving itself on my worst enemy but Barcelona still has a magical hold on me that has made the boxes fade into the back corners of my brain (until they arrive in a few months). This new blog will be where I share my observations of the Catalan independence movement, as well as what I learn about both electronic and paper publishing—and anything else. My credentials for such a blog are a bit spotty, in my opinion. I'm no politician or journalist, just a computer book writer with a love for Catalonia. But I've been an avid observer and sometime participant for the last 25 years, and can speak the languages well enough so that folks often can't tell where I'm from, so I'll do my best to give you an accurate idea of what's going on, day by day.
What is happening today? Basically, everybody's in a tizzy because the President, in an interview on Thursday, said that if Spain didn't allow Catalonia to hold a referendum on independence, he would interpret the next Catalan Parliamentary elections—scheduled for 2016—as a plebiscite, that is, as if it were a referendum. I still haven't had a chance to listen to the interview personally—such are the effects of moving to a new country—so I'm wary of making any pronouncements. Nonetheless, it's clear that he got a lot of people very worried, not with the plebiscite, but rather with the bit about 2016.
Most of what I heard on Twitter and in news reports were reactions from people—including ERC president Oriol Junqueras, and Carme Forcadell, president of the ANC—saying 2016 was way too long to wait, and that a referendum must be held in 2014, with or without an agreement from Madrid. Others complained about tipping one's hand to Madrid: if they know you won't press the matter, do they have any incentive to negotiate?
But could it be some curious double-cross? Protracted negotiations right now would make independence harder, not easier. If Spain rejects a referendum outright, as they did with the fiscal pact in September of last year, it just might make it easier for Mas to move. Hmm.
The strength of next week's Catalan Way, in which hundreds of thousands (a million or more?) Catalans will join hands for Catalan independence may also push the question as the massive Sept 11 march did last year.
Last Saturday in New York City, I took part in one of the more than one hundred segments of the Catalan Way outside Catalonia. We practiced in Central Park and then walked down to Times Square to hold hands there. But once we arrived, the police balked and said there were too many people to join hands, and that we could climb those big bleachers at 47th street instead. We did, and it was pretty impressive, but the fact that we didn't actually get to hold hands, and have each and every one of us feel a part of something bigger was surprisingly disappointing to me. The Catalan Way is not just about getting together in the same place to shout for independence, it's about physically joining hands and feeling the strength of a shared cause.
I think Wednesday's Catalan Way from one end of Catalonia to the other will be much more powerful than people realize yet, because we will join hands.
Meanwhile, I have to get back to paperwork, getting my phone to work, and other mundane tasks. I hope you find the blog useful. Feel free to let me know what you might like to hear about, and beware that from time to time, I may throw in silly pictures of my cats, like this one of Momo who discovered his new sink:
Or this one of my book, What's up with Catalonia? at Laie bookstore, among the other books on Catalan politics:
Or this one of the Portal de l'Angel (or Angel's Gate) a pedestrian shopping street just waterward* from the main square which is always bubbling with activity:
This afternoon as I walked by there was a large circle of people surrounding some pretty impressive breakdancers:
And also a small group of booths selling ceramics and glassware (I got a new mug):
I took a very crowded bus home.
*Everything in Barcelona is oriented around the sea. Buildings are on the waterward or the mountainward side of a street. Directions often include "up" and "down" which mean away from the sea and toward the sea, respectively. And it's wonderfully easy to orient yourself when you get out of the metro. It's not San Francisco, but it's still pretty obvious which way the slight incline is going.
