Not A Postcard From Barcelona

Hola from Barcelona.

What should have been a short trip went a bit epic. Our flight was delayed by an hour and what should have been a short 40 minute flight stretched big time. Also, I booked us into a place slightly out of the city centre and after negotiating the metro system... we left the hotel in Ibiza at 5pm and didn't check in until 11pm. Still, we did well and were in good spirits. Found a local tapas bar around midnight and tucked into some ok food and a good bottle of Crianza Rioja. I haven't read up on Spanish wine so I'm not sure what that is exactly, but I think Rioja is the region and Crianza is the grape varity. It was nice, recommended by the waiter who seemed to like us and all was good in the world.

I really enjoyed my last day in Ibiza. I like the place a lot. I think like Byron Bay in Australia, the place itself has a magic about it that has been largely engulfed by modern times and tourisn. Like Byron, you need to have x-ray vision to see the initial attraction that started drawing people to it. I suspect that most of the superficial people who flock to these places on short stays to party don't have this x-ray vision. I can't explain it. And as with Byron, I wish I could have experienced it earlier in time. Don't get me wrong, I like the partying, but it's like the place itself has something. A vibe. A quiet voice that... oh just laugh now at my hippie shit mumbo jumbo. I know what I'm talking about.

So yeah, proper sad to leave. Haven't felt that way about leaving a place since I left Melbourne last time. That was pretty intense, as you'd hope given that The Dreaded One and I have decided to leave Sydney and move to Melbourne.

We had lunch with a good friend who introduced us to other friends. As with doofer friends we've spent time talking to away from the party vibe, it's just kind of reassuring to realise there is quality there and that you have other stuff in common and that there is proper friendship there, I talked at length about how much I'd love to get the job at Dumbo Feather, told him about my conversation about psytrance with Warren Ellis from Nick Cave's Bad Seeds, we talked about music, he told me (this is my friend Ben, not Warren Ellis) about dipping prawns in concrete and making a chess set, and it was exactly the kind of intelligent and silly conversation I enjoy.

Another Ibiza moment that has come back to me a couple of times is dancing in a bit of a private area of Space. We had special wrist bands that allowed us into a next-to-the-DJ area fenced off from the crowd, which was fun if a little strange given that a couple of new friends said hello and chatted from the other side of the fence.

But there was this woman who kept looking over. I'm normally more than happy to not talk to randoms. If the music is good (Groove Armada were doing a DJ set and they were pretty good and close enough that I could have given them a wet willy if I was in a Bart Simpson mood) I'll dance with my eyes closed and keep pretty much to myself. But she kept glancing over and eventually I thought ok, go on then, and I made eye contact. She smiled. I smiled. Then she came over and asked me in a thick accent, "Did you go to the Boom festival?"

I dont know whether it was the clothes I was wearing or the way I was dancing or whether, as Ann thinks, she actually saw me there, but she recognised something, and it was nice. More than 25,000 peple were at Boom and he we were, two strangers in another place sharing smiles about a remembered party. It was a lovely moment.

This not a postcard from Barcelona. We arrived too late and have not done anything here yet. We intend to go to Parque Guell and Sagrada Famila and shop a bit. I remember the clothes here being pretty good. So when we've Barcelona'd ourselves a bit more, I'll send you a postcard.

Am happy right now. Am blessed with some pretty cool people in my life and am fortunate to be doing cool things. Thank you, Universe. You can be harsh, but you can be pretty cool too.

Grumpy In Ibiza

A version of the next Grumpy column. Will be posting photos on Facebook soon. Enjoy.

Grumpy In Ibiza

Our first night in Ibiza was a blast. A DJ friend got us into one of the big clubs, Space, and gave us drink vouchers. Apparently, he told us, drinks are a bit pricey, so this was all very good and much appreciated. The music was great, the club was way bigger than anything I've been to, and the crowd seemed like a typical club crowd with most people being there for the music. The dancefloor was rammed and pumping. We wandered a lot and personally I was just a bit amazed at the sheer size of the place. All in all, an excellent night.

Second night... all I can say is if you have connections, use them because The Dreaded One and I went it alone to Pacha and I had no idea until then what my friend meant about the prices - 60 euro each to walk through the door. That's roughly AU$90 per person. For an average Monday night with no headlining act. In fact I was damned if I could see a DJ at all. The night was called Flower Power and the music was hits from the 60s and 70s. There was no mixing and it felt like listening to a retro radio show. How did they justify that cover charge? Still, we wanted to experience Ibiza in all its forms, so best make the most of it. At the bar... two JD and cokes cost 34 euro. That's around the AU$20 mark for one drink. No fruit, no cocktail shaker or little umbrella, no complicated booze recipe, just bourbon and fizzy sugar. We've since booked our flights from Ibiza to Barcelona, and for the price of two drinks at Pacha you can fly from here to Barcelona.

It was probably the shock of all this that I got lost trying to get out later in the night. It certainly wasn't because I was drunk. The Dreaded One wandered off, I took a wrong turn and next thing I am hopelessly lost in retro hell. I kept wandering into the same rooms I didn't want to be in while Mama Cass banged on about all the leaves being brown and the sky being grey... I used to love California Dreaming but suddenly I never wanted to hear it again. For half an hour I was hopelessly lost while The Dreaded One kept texting from outside asking where I was and what I was doing. My eyes are pretty fucked and I can't read my phone without my specs so I didn't bother trying, but that was exactly what she was texting. Woopsie, sorry, how embarrassment.

Thing is, things have a way of balancing out. People like Nightmares On Wax and DJ Sasha will pop up at free gigs, you just have to keep an ear out. Nightmares On Wax at a beach club (Kumares) while the sun set was perfection (see previous post). No cover charge and the drinks were affordable and the company was cool. I'm hoping to go back there before we leave.

Also, on two separate occasions I was given 10 euro too much in my change. Then last night at the Gypsy Markets after watching the sunset at Cafe Mambo next door to the legendary Cafe del Mar we ordered some barbecued ribs (churrasqueiros) and a couple of glasses of wine from this stand-at-the-counter place, just after a summer downpour of rain that was really quite pleasant. The gorgeous Spanish waitress (who could shout brick walls to rubble... we ordered our ribs and she switched her vocal chords up to eleven to place the order with the barbecue guy and it was hilarious and strangely sexy. She looked like the kind of chick you just don't want to get into an altercation with... which was strangely sexy again... erm sorry, ending parentheses now so so you've to join the sentence back together after this overly long aside... she really was quite sexy though...) emptied the last of the wine from the bottle and glanced at me, knowing that the cup was not adequately filled. Was she daring me? Was there was a faint glint in her dark eyes? I fucking think there was. There was a pause and I was expecting her to take the money but I did a sad puppy dog face and asked in my most fluent Spanish mime if she could put more wine into the cup. She smiled as though I was being cheeky but obliged by opening a fresh bottle and topping up both cups. Then she turned away without taking the 25 euro I estimated the meal to cost.

Normally I am Karma Man and will tell people I haven't paid yet. I'm a shocker for it. But hell, maybe this was karma in action. Maybe the universe took pity on me for the night at Pacha, so to hell with it. The shouty but sexy senorita had clearly moved on to other customers, so I put my wallet away and tucked into the biggest, most delicious pile of ribs ever. (And secretly hoped that when we walked away Senorita Shouty was going to chase me down and... actually, end fantasy here).

I'm heading out this afternoon to Bora Bora beach club where the boobies and bums frolic on the sand to thumping dance music. Going to see if the universe throws any more money at me... actually, Universe, don't bother; I'm more than a bit grateful for the boobies and bums at Bora Bora. Mucho gracias.

Grumpy is Lee Bemrose, freelance writer, leebemrose@hotmail. He prefers cash but will accept boobies and bums.

Postcard From Lisbon, From Granada

Grumpy

So far this trip has taken me all over the place, including many places I hadn´t intended to go. As I write I´m in Lisbon which had never been part of the plan. Consequently I haven´t boned up on any of the Portuguese basics like can I have beer please? I´ve just been going with the flow after partying at Boom for a week and have been to Sintra, the coast of Potugal and now Lisbon. And palaces? I´ve seen so many palaces and castles I´m seeing them in my sleep. Castles, castles and more fucking castles. And I swear I never want to climb another turret in my life.

Don´t get me wrong - I´m enjoying the hell out of it. So much freedom it´s doing my head in and I´m experiencing all sorts of cool stuff for the first time.

I used a bidet for the first time recently. It was a startling and strangely pleasant experience. It puts the “Ooh!” into Pooh. I think I may have a problem. I think I'm developing an addiction. I've started using the bidet even when I don't need to go to the toilet. The Dreaded One keeps banging on the bathroom door and shouting “Grumpy – what are you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.”

“You're on the bidet again, aren't you.”

“I'm not. I'm... I'm just doing normal bathroom things. Leave us alone!”



“Us? You and the bidet?”

“You leave the bidet out of this!”

Almost as amusing as the concept of the bidet is the number of times I´ve been offered drugs during the day in the streets of Lisbon. I think a week of partying has left me looking like a drug monster. In my first hour here I was approached by five dealers. Persistent bastards too.

"Psst - want some hash? No? Marrijuana? Coke, you want coke then. It´s good and cheap"

Over the course of the first night I clocked up nine different dealer, some repeat offenders. And often I´ve been singled out in a full outdoor cafe too, which isd making me feel a bit self-conscious. Maybe it´s time I shaved and tidied up a bit, although in reality I am fussy about my appearance and if I look like a hippy I´m the best dressed hippy in town.

And I´m clean from the top of my head down to my bidet bits.

Postcard From Praia das Maçás

We pretty well haven't stopped moving since we packed up our belongings several weeks ago and as a result I've woken every day feeling like I've run a marathon. Galleries, museums, castles, palaces, fantastical gardens, castles, castles and more fucking castles. And turrets? I'd be happy to not climb another damned turret ever again. It's been amazing but mummy it hurts.

We were due to go from Sintra to Lisbon but plans changed at the last minute. We climbed the Moorish Castle on the mountain in Sintra dating from about the 8^th century (unfortunately electronic communication in Sintra also feels like it dates from the 8^th century... we couldn't even get the public phones to work), checked out the palace (soo high up) and the friend we we were going to meet in Lisbon said she was coming to Sintra and wouldn't mind going to one of the coastal towns, so right now we're in a place called Praia das Maçás, a bustling little beach town about 40 minutes out of Sintra on the chilly waters of the Atlantic. It's great doing it like this – just changing plans and destinations on a whim. We're here for two nights then the plan is to head back to Sintra, on to Lisbon then... not sure where then. We'll probably spend a couple of days in Lisbon (great – more castles and palaces I suspect but I swear in the name of the Holy Father I'm not going up another turret) and then head back to Spain. But who knows?

Who knows anything? I mentioned in the last hastily written blog post that I'd used a bidet for the first time. It was a startling and strangely pleasant experience. It puts the “Ooh!” into Pooh. I think I may have a problem. I think I'm developing an addiction. I've started using the bidet even when I don't need to go to the toilet. The Dreaded One keeps banging on the bathroom door and shouting “Lee – what are you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.”

“You're on the bidet again, aren't you.”

“I'm not. I'm... I'm just doing normal bathroom things. Leave us alone!”

“Us? You and the bidet?”

“You leave the bidet out of this!”

Hmm. I feel another Grumpy column coming on.

So what have been the highlights of the trip so far? It's very hard to say. Leaving was stressful and that came out when we got lost in Madrid and we had our usual getting lost arguments. We didn't really feel kind of normal, or as normal as you can feel when you've sold your home, quit your job and left indefinitely. But then Madrid and it's art was amazing; Boom was awesome; it was a stroke of luck coming to Sintra because not only is the historical town a gorgeous, cobblestone tourist mecca that buzzes by day with day-trippers and empties out at night, but the palaces and gardens and that Moorish Castle ruins are quite amazing. The castle is so big and it's really quite a workout to get to the top, and you can't help but be entranced by the history of the thing. The Arabs just came along, built this massive fort-like thing in another country which has been taken over at various times by various armies, and climbing the thing you have to wonder how it was possible for any army to storm such an imposing and majestic fort.

But the main highlight in Sintra has to be Quinta da Regaleira, this grand, magical estate with its secret caverns, grottos, underground towers and meandering tunnels. An honest to God fantasyland steeped in the mystery of the Masons and the legend of The Knights of Templar. It's very tempting to go back for another visit and spend another day wandering about in wonder that such a place was built so long ago and still exists.

Anyway, the sun is coming out here in Praia das Maçás, so enough from the Sintra Tourism Bureau. I don't think a hell of a lot of Maçás – it's just a quaint and bustling beach town with some admittedly nice restaurants with some admittedly über fresh looking seafood and yeah yeah some nice drinking places to sit at and watch the sun sink all pinky and orangey behind the Atlantic... but do you think I can find a decent pair of shoes here? It's doing my head in. There is simply NOWHERE to buy a decent pair of men's open shoes.

For this, I shall never forgive you, Praia das Maçás. Never.

Postcards From Spain 1

Four hours in the Prado Museum today surrounded by Rubens and Goya and El Bosco and Carravagio, and the highlight for me? The typo on the plaque beside a famous painting called The Conversion Of The Duke Of Gandia which explained that what was going on in the painting was that the Duke had just "opened the coffin and looked in at the rooting corpse."