Going Hellenic once again (Mails from Athens and Delphi in 2010- Five years after the first visit)

Ellavarkum (Chakkaravaave ninne pratyekam)

Abdul Karim Gaddil, as he introduced himself to be, started to drive me in his taxi towards Bergen Luftvahn. He spoke fluent Urdu and from his English accent (which was Jafferesque) I thought he is from Sudan. But he was Somali. He told me that it has become next to impossible to be in the war ridden homeland. He 'informed' me with an air of surety that India along with China was to replace UK and US in their positions in the next ten years. I did not contradict, I wanted to get a decent fare end of the trip! But let no one replace those positions and let people think over what the state entities are becoming everywhere. And then, I got a phone call and that too from a Norwegian mobile number...early in the morn (?). This was a driver from Norges Taxi. He told me that his trip has been stolen by the Somali! Then Gaddil asked my name again and told in his broken English that he got me wrong. Earlier I got a Norwegian SMS, ran downstairs and found Gaddil all set to take 'Mathieu' to airport. And presently the guy reversed his taxi. Now I was worried as to what he was up to and of course this was no body's fault.

Back at Fantoft, there was a couple from some place in South of Africa (by their accent), talking to the Norges Taxi driver. My driver apologised and suggested that the other fellow take his original passengers. In the end everything worked fine and Gaddil, gladly, did not turn on his meter until we reached the point we reversed from and started once again from 120 kroner.

After battering with the chilly Norwegian air for the past many days and getting tired of this, my epithelium shook hands with sun and savoured the heat at 35000 feet up from the ground. The fight passed over the Austrian Alps towards the south east, passing over Slovenia and Macedonia, it descended a bit more. The Greek mainland became visible and the tentacle like borders were marked out against azure Mediterranean. Surely one of the best sights and even better(er) was the sight of the green leaves down on the ground. This was no temperate zone, and what makes Greece special is the fact that neither the geography not its genealogy is quite temperate.

If it was George Kalliampos whom I met with in the flight back from Athens in 2004, this time the youngster I met on the flight was Stavros. He was warm and answered all my small queries. But unlike with Kalliampos, we never got into a conversation.

In the express bus, after a brief grey rendezvous with un-uniformed police (who appear at airports and remind one of borders), a rather better demeanour(ed) officer told me that the green needle leaved trees and the tooja-like smaller shrubs were called Leflu and Peptu. Who Knows!

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Achilles took twenty of us to the oracle at Delphi! This was the Greek guide who turned out to be much more of a buddy than a guide by the evening. We assembled near the door and in front of the fat dog that has been sleeping at the doorstep overnight.

The coach was waiting for us in front of the Hadrian's arch monument. We carried our lunch box along with us and soon we were on the road North West from the dingy Makri Street we were put up at (named after the mythical maakris that jumped all around the acropolis!).

Achilles started to give his very good overview on the history and mythology of Delphi and this was long, serious and replete with too many names one can seldom recall. We passed the site of the battle of Marathon between Persians and Athenians (the result of which was prophesied by the Oracle and the live reporting was done by the runner who died right on the stop after the announcement of Athenian victory and cutting the historical chord of Marathons that were to follow).

Cypresses, Pine and Olives gave us the green beddings and there were many fields on our was. The agriculture in some way was very much on though Achilles did not quite know what was being done. Tractors, tillers , shepherds and sheep could be seen. On the wayside were many 'kurishukuttis' which was in fact not what I thought them to be viz. Saints remembered. These were memorials to those killed on the road.

Churches with domes were everywhere, Greek Orthodoxy is an overt presence and identity, unlike the covert Christian underpinnings of rest of 'secular' Europe.

The Delphic site has myths that go back long time and predate the twelve better known gods led by Zeus, to Uranus and Gaia (earth goddess?). Then there was the overwhelming presence of Apollo as against Dionysius at the Acropolis. The site has been linked to Gaia. Apollo was crucial in giving a death blow to the dreaded python (hence the name Pythian temple where the oracle sat). He did this in a strange way. The Corinthian coast of course could be seen from Parnassus Mountain on which the Delphic site rests. But to imagine the god coming as a Dolphin (Dalphius give the place the name), jumping atop the 2400 metre Parnassus and arrowing the python to oblivion requires the help of 'Dionysian wine' to go in!!!

And as Achilles said Dionysius was not entirely absent either. In winters he used to visit Delphi. One can for sure understand the need of wine and joviality in the winter days.

By this time we has left the Athens Attica prefecture and mountains popped up from the plains. There were many of them, some looked to be limestonish white and others looked red. There were rocks that threateningly clung on to the mountain slopes. We passes the town of Arachova. There was a panoramic view from a point here. This is known as a winter resort, but I was so glad that it was not this time.

Passing Arachova we went to modern Delphi, with residential spaces, small streets and all the touristy preoccupations, but much less crowded. In fact this was quite far away from the town. To talk of something a little aside, Athens hosts almost a third of the population and waves of migration , especially after Mustafa Kamal's retaliation to Greeks in 1920s and migrant construction workers who came in during the 2004 Olympic Games. Outside Athens places are so sparsely populated and some of the terrain looks like the places on the way to Andhra Pradesh or Tamil Nadu with houses resembling some of the sober ones from Kerala.

There were two freshwater lakes, one at Marathon and another further north that supplied all the water needs of the city. In fact the place looks quite dry and does not have the kind of water resources we have. But the sparse population where these water bodies are constituted leaves them much less depleted or polluted unlike our good rivers.

We were first into the museum that was to close around three. Rainclouds loomed over the mountains and by the time we were getting in it rained but with a nice scent of the Mediterranean soil. Museums always tire me out but there were a couple of things that needs to be mentioned. Some of the decorative motifs taken from the site of excavation had eastern like origins and there was a Bronze statue that was to give evidence for the presence of the metal ...least of the this metal was available as they were melted for their value.

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Another major aspect that I noticed about the excavations, from the museum, was that the majority of these took place in the latter half of 1800s and a lot of them by the French. The reconstructions on the ground and the kind of narrative continuities that gets presented probably needs to be seen politically as well. But nevertheless the sights remain awe inspiring, though their designations as the roots of ‘European civilisation’ are surely overdrawn.

Rain did not give us any space so far. We walked towards the coach from the museum and distributed the turkey sandwiches between us and waited for the rain to abate. Water streamed down the roadsides just like the way we are familiar back home. When Zeus reduced the rain to a drizzle we started to trek up the way to the sites in Delphi. Stones were strewn all over; some of them undoubtedly got carved out of the terrain. We were in fact entering the ancient path from midway. The temple of Athena Pronaia (that which comes before) was down south east and we were to go here only later.


Thus we passed the several treasuries that talk about the cosmology the Delphic temple of Apollo represented. The temple of Pythian Apollo from where the Oracles operated was supported by an order called Amphicthioni which means an agreement between the city states (the formations of which took effect in the mainland ever since the Mycenean civilisation that preceded Hellenic one).

Amphictioni, even when it got short circuited to the UN, was of course quite the kind. Even the 'Greeks' were yet to happen. The only groups that were there was a tribe called Hellenic from Thessaly. The Amphictioni included others like Siphinians, Argines, Spartans, Phoenicians and may be even the long time rivals of Athenians, the Persians. War always added on to the treasuries and Delphi grew no matter what (probably more like how the oil price grows through wars- but yes with a different intermeshing cosmology).

With the Romans Delphic oracle became much more of an individuated presence and the Christians considered this entire Pagan. But the Greek Christian order was never entirely disjoint from what there was, they were more hybrid formations.

Passing the treasury we came to the altar for Apollo made of black marble.

This looked conspicuously distinct from the whitish structures all around. Sacrifices were said to be made here after people got themselves cleansed at the Kastilian spring. The entrance to what was once the spring was closed at present because of falling rocks. The whole region is a seismic zone. Unlike Acropolis much of the place were hidden in rubbles late into the ADs which probably explains why the place was co-opted by Venetians or Turks as they did in Acropolis.

Down from the sloped, standing on the slippery pathways we saw the valleys of Olives and the Temple of Athena with its Tolos structure keeping a distinct profile.

Now we were at the much known theatre of Dionysius, the wine god proving his presence, in Apollonian terrain. 50,000 people once got seated here to watch the performances. At present only twenty rows of the semicircular theatre remain.

The temple of Apollo becomes more visible from here and it is said that the oracle was under a hallucinogenic trance when she sat here. The later day 'rational' explanations of vapour from fault lines by  Dutch geographer does not quite convey as wholesome a picture as the once buries Python exuding fumes...

time getting over...in next mail
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On the way down the slopes tracing back the points from the stadium of Pythian games, through the rubbles atop the Dionysian theatre and the altar of Apollo, to the treasuries and back to the bus (the rain that Zeus put to stop has resumed); a conversation broke out between some Americans and Australians in the group and Achilles. This was on the stray dogs of Greece. They felt this strange and were obviously worried about 'safety'.

Achilles said that the dogs have never been a problem. In fact at many points people has randomly kept vessels full of water from which dogs and much more numerous cats drank from. I speculated that most towns in the world would have had these creatures some years back though a cleansing happened in many modern cities. This was not totally unrelated to securitisation and also many 'unwanted elements' among the felines and canines.

Then Achilles told us about a very interesting etymology. This was about the Cynics of Hellenic towns that did everything out of the order. And the word cynic comes from the Greek word for dog. Yes, the dogs for them are supposed to be  wanderers. That is the way dogs should be. Being on tethers, being under care and then getting mercy killed (Norway the former category and Australia and UK the later ones) were abnormal. I liked the take. Dogs are not only doggish but also cynical

Because of the rain there was some hesitation as to what to do, but then the rain stopped abruptly. We took a short ride to the road right above the Athenian temple that presently cut the once ancient panatheniac route. We walked down, took a quick look at the Totos and the temple basements. The tolos still remains a structure with mysterious reasons to be.

But the structure for me looked to be a lot worked upon and a lot with too much recent imaginations. It looked amazing nevertheless. What was much more interesting about Delphi (or that matter the Acropolis) was the fact that they conveyed something about the cosmology of the time, with each part informing the other.

We saw some falcons circling above us. They are the cousins of the eagles sent once by Zeus to opposite directions (these birds are said to meet here at Delphi and thus the place became the navel of the world).

Goats and sheep with shepherds were taking their way back home in front of the fields and past the memorial crosses. In the ancient time, before the oracles, the shepherds of this place is thought to have discovered the magic of the site of Apollonian temple when they discovered that their goats behaved strange after being there. So were the goats the first Oracles, before the old ladies' (and some were younger) prophesies replaced the 'bleating prophesies' (that probably left the pilgrims all the more confused!!)?

I slept for half an hour on our way back with the bazouki accompanied Greek music. And Srijakutta, two of the songs were the ones that we played at the radio station. It’s from a band called Odromos (meaning The Street). We stopped at a food joint that served food that was neither here nor there type. The place did not look as bad as a MacDonald’s. But I did not eat here. I waited until we reached back.

Back at the Backpackers at Makri, I said goodnights to Leonhard, Aimie (Vietnamese American), the others, and more importantly to Achilles who has been more than a tour guide.

Many things he told us cannot be exactly remembered. But there were a lot...
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I woke up rather late. But I did not want to miss the free Breakfast. I rushed down and had joined the jam butter bread ceremony! After a quick shower  I walked towards Acropolis after five years.

This was a rather quick visit. I took some photos and with the huge crowd (Sunday entry was free) I went up there and after a gaze at Agora down below, descended the marble steps.

Back at the hotel, Ionnais, recommended some Greek dishes and suggested a reasonable restaurant, some minutes of walk away, near the older town center of Plaka.

When I was at a shop on the way Aimie (the Vietnamese girl who was with the group last day) introduced me to her friend she has been eagerly waiting for. Fung came from Sweden. If Aimie was from a family that migrated to US, Fung was from another smaller group that went to Scandinavia. We decided that we rather go to this restaurant together. In fact we wanted to change the near to bad fooding-experience last night with four others.

Will continue...
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So Aimie, Fung and I were at Kafenio first. The rooms had an attic like structure, and people more or less crowded in. We could clearly see the Acropolis from the doorway, illuminated, and ever whiter against the dark sky. We ordered for almost five different dishes. I had no doubt that we should, especially since from the next day it will be a going back to the Scandinavian diet for a couple more weeks.

Dacos, Kavourmas, Fava (dhal), Keftede Saltsa (meatballs with Sauce) and Manitaria, decorated out table. Both of my travel mates have been once together for their high school in Hawaii. Now Aimie has become a Dentist with a clinic in Sacramento, California and Fung is a Tax Lawyer based in Stockholm. As I wrote before both their families has been through a long process of finding space in the respective social milieus. For the Vietnamese of Aimie's parental generation who went to US in the seventies, it was more of fulfilling what they understood to be 'the American Dream'. She told us that her dad remains overstrained even now. With real-estate and novel business plans in an uncertain economic environment, Aimie seemed a bit worried about him. Fung's family in Sweden were not into such strains. An 'over smart' Greek kid came barging on to us when we were getting out of Kafenio after more than an hour. He followed us and stayed at the door steps with karate actions.

We walked further down the smaller alleys to Plaka and then Aimie showed us the Orthodox Church she attended the Sunday service at. This was very much a Byzantine church.

Iconography is very prominent in such churches and she (who has a Catholic background) told us that people did totally novel things inside. They conversed with individual icons, did not have the unanimity she found in a Catholic order, and were doing the cross, with the fourth point at the center of their chest (rather than one of the shoulder points). The priests with long beards and black tunics, of course looked theatrical for her (this is rather familiar to people of Kerala).

We walked all the way to the parliament square and then had the next barge into Vrittoes. Now this was what should be called a riot of colours with multicoloured bottles going all the way up the shelves, some with an antique look and wooden drums on another side.

A German guy who has been living in the Cretan islands (where the oldest Minoan civilisation once thrived) started a conversation with us. He was very helpful for Aimie and Fung who was to be here for a couple more days with plans to be made. Afterwards they plan to move to Istanbul (one of the best logical follow ups, to me).

We started with Masticha (which has the taste of a local herb with some sweetness) and tried out drinks with Melon, Watermelon, and Lemonaid flavour. There was a Greek man who was drunk and drowned and others who told that Fung and Aimie were some of the most exotic people around at that moment. They were not interruptive for us, but rather a lot open about what they felt and Greeks do get into any kind of conversations out of the blue.

Both of them told me that our family is always welcome at their respective places. One the square ahead some young boys were playing tape recorders and performing break dances. Two dogs started following us all the way through the small alleys.

We were worried about their possible pack behaviour and also wanted to know whether they are keen on us as such. So we took small turn all the time. They kept smart distances and followed our steps! They barked at the vehicles and people who passed near to us. It looked phenomenally strange. And adding on to the magical realism of it (Aimie said so because we were talking of the magical realism outsiders found in Latin America, some minutes before) with the reality of the Dogs following and at times leading the footsteps and amazingly leaving us right at the last turn towards Makri. They gazed at us for a moment and ran away, tracing the road back!!!

It was almost 1:00 am by the time we were back. We said good night and agreed to meet next day at Breakfast before I leave.

So another Greek sojourn was coming to an end. I am now sure that this is the only place I probably have a warm heart for all the time, apart from home.

May be there is more to write. I will do that....
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Aimie and Fung were getting ready to go for a 'walking tour' from Backpackers. And I was glad to know that it was Achilles who was guiding them this time as well. I could say Adieu to the three of them and then there was an Argentinean roommate who had my name but in another version, Mathias.

I went along with the former three up to the Temple of Olympian Zeus and from there they continued with Athenian stories. On my way back I saw police cars parked all over. A Madagascar shopkeeper told me that there is going to be a strike and the buses won't probably run! The enquired with the police and they did not have any clear answer either. Ionnais later told me that this was not exactly a strike though the Greek economy has been giving rise to many strikes off late.

This was the memorial demonstration of the student radical from Athens Polytechnic who was killed in the riots thirty years back (The movement brought down the right wing dictatorship).

Nevertheless Ionnais did caution me and suggested the Metro. I met Gabrielle from Mexico who arrived last day. We were supposed to go out and have food together. But we are yet to meet each other (after I went out for a phone call and Gabrielle for a coffee).

I have to get my bags ready now and step into a metro or express, on my way out from the Hellenic...back into the cold Nordic

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I have been in some places on different stretches of time. The longest stretch, of course was in Norway. I loved the shorter times in Barcelona or Rome, where I have also met some very good people. But the only place for which I had tears for when I left was Greece. That was in two thousand four and in the same days of December I was coming back to Bergen.

This time I did not cry. I can be home after two weeks. This took the tears away. But the air of the Aegean does leave an imprint.

The express bus drove past the Kiffissa Avenue to the outskirts of Athens with high rises and then plains of Olives. This was followed by Gypsy camps. As I believed, the less magical, and more dull, outskirts towards airport with bigger roads that look similar to any big road, were not the factory zones. Greece does not have heavy industry. They were workshops or godowns.

On the road sides were many blank ad-boards (Just the way we saw blank-ad boards in Kerala sometime back). The only full board was something that said 'Casino848.com' and that could be seen on intervals. They were very old. The so called 'economic crisis', as many told me affected Greeks. The state that had become ever more dependent of service sector had to depend on the groups they were into, the EU. Public assets were getting sold off each day to cure the sickness, and people were getting ever more sick. They took to the streets several times. The Greeks express dissent. Today was such a day, tomorrow is going to be a strike.

It is possible that the big players in the EU, the Germanies, the Frances...etc. will get Greeks more on their lines. In some years the state will be completely off for people. They will get angry first and then turn themselves into some of the Gypsies I saw in the tents. They will become the new Romanian and Polish migrants for Europe.

Many more years back all that got represented as Greece was needed as 'history' for every nook and cranny of what became Europe. The French, Germans, Swedish, Norwegians, and Dutch traced their fathers back to mount Olympus and claimed to have drunk the milk of the wolf of Rome. They needed this. It has been, above all, part of one of the biggest political narratives.

Now, they need the Greeks once again, perhaps to add some competition and cut the labour costs. From the 2004 Olympics the Greeks have been once again held in thrall and the present crisis is selling them off...I feel so, I do not exactly know, but I do not want that to happen here...

...because this has been the only place away from my homeland about which I can say 'being there...'

Ummmmmmmmma
Mon Chaacha Maathu Appa

Barcelona (Mails on a second visit made to this city in 2009)

If I remember right his name was Fransesc. This is the old man who regularly came to Passeig de Gracias back in 2006. I had talked to him that time; he has Barcelona about him in ways I couldn’t then understand. And this time, I thought I saw him once again, right there next to Placa Catalonia curled up, near a closed shop next to the huge square that has monumentalised Macia, one of the Catalonian political spearheads.

From Bergen, Ashotosh of Agra, who was met with back in 2005 as well as a new face from Punjab with a name Malayalis will pause before pronouncing was there (Pooran). The latter has a 20 acre farm in the border of UP and Uttarakhand en route to Nainital. He says his family has nearly 80 acres. There are land ceilings. But familiar, huge landowners circumvent everything, from what I could gather. They have in there everything from Mint to Wheat with a captive labour pool that can be minimal because of the most advanced machines on scene as well. We bid adieu at Amsterdam. From here Ashotosh and Pooran was to go to Delhi, and the former was about to get married.

The lower hills of the Pyrenees seemed chequered with small towns in some mountain folds with grand roads linking them and high tension lines giving them to glow in those ranges. The flight followed the coastal line from France further south after keeping itself above the clouds most on the time when above the French mainland. When it came closer to Barcelona, the flight turned its course towards the land after venturing for a while over the Mediterranean granting for a while a view from afar. Now I could see the coastline of Barcelona stretching all the way from the horrible looking Olympic village structures to Mountjuic (Jewish mount?) where the early administrative unit called Generalitat (a Catalonian pride) is situated or to the Drassnes (port).

I checked in at Centric Point on time even after the late arrival and depressing announcements that there were clouds over Pyrenees (adding more to my dislike of things French) and its overcast in Barcelona. The hotel seemed to have changed (of course it’s a travel hostel and it’s been two years!). There were now more provisions for security (a card that may be raised when asked! not a big deal). Nathan signed me in and gave me the bedcovers. I carded into room 412 and deposited my stuff on bed 2.

Now was to start the familiar course down the major thoroughfare in Barcelona. Ramblas along with Parallel were constructed in early 20th century. During my last visit, the Ramblas was for me the spine of the city replete with pet sellers. Pantomimes and what not. It was flanked on both sides by smaller Carriers (Avenidas and Passeiges seem to indicate bigger ways). 

  Barcelona was overcast ad cold, but still not as bad as Bergen. But this may be more thanks to the still big crowds that filler up spaces even on SUNDAY and the bigger crowds that may later turn up to celebrate or mourn the Madrid Barcelona match that was on at the moment. I was yet to succumb to the Xocolades or pasteries or get inside those two cathedrals I kissed across. I was not quite ready to pay the euros; after all the facades were fabulous enough and the gothic structures juxtaposed with what was described as earlier Roman left over (they are everywhere, in all cities...).
 

(By the way as Amma told me Barcelona does have bull fighting but not as much as Pamplona)

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The Internet was failing all the time....

Picasso Museum was distributed across four 'casa' (houses) or rather 'salas (rooms) of the fourteenth century (fourteen to fifteenth century structures are the most common ones around in Barri Gothic). The ceiling of many of these rooms resembles our 'Machus'. Here I became a haute couture guy, turning flaneur through the formative stages of Picasso, starting from the themes starting from his own dad to those called the blue (sad, melancholic) and pink stages, and finally to the ones in which he focussed on the works of Velasquez (the cubist ones are more in Paris). Picasso also did some ceramic work in the meantime and worked in Barcelona, Madrid and inevitably for those of his kind in Paris. One of the cafes he frequented in Barcelona has now become the focus of modern pilgrims.

I don’t exactly know why, but this time I seemed to be more drawn towards the faces in carrers (my earlier conceptualisation based on size to avenidas and carrers don’t seem to be right as I was later to find Sunday night- a huge Carrer!), and Passeiges or to the 'familiar' faces like that of Francesco(saw him again the night) or even to those Himachal people who ran souvenir shops (Indian establishments about, especially those of Punjab and Himachal Pradesh; A Gurudwara at first seemed quite strange).

I couldn’t help but juxtapose the myriad faces and the social corners of the parts of the city I got to against the well crafted and narrativised Barcelona of Sites and Cathedrals. Suddenly I thought may be the Cathedrals and histories themselves were the facades for the many 'faces' of the city that escape me. I don’t really know whether this is so. But despite everything, I still enjoy the ambience like the one at Don Fernando's where I ate earlier, the spontaneous talks that arise here, as well as a certain friendliness that at least seem to transcend professionalism.

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(I have to be really fast with this net!)

The alarm did ring on time for me to go and get the breakfast but I didn’t get up until I had to rush into the common room two minutes before the shutters came down. I got the all familiar flakes as well as a cappuccino. I hadn't met as many as I had during my last trip, but I made acquaintance with Althung from Istanbul. He is a teacher as well as a PhD student who came here after meeting his sister who studies south of Barcelona, a place called Tarragona. And he is going back tomorrow.

The museums were closed on Monday and after all I was thinking of taking in another side of the story. So I walked to the North East of the city in the direction of the Platjas (Beaches). Here I was thinking of being around La Ciutadella peak. It was not the idea of park which many described as the green lung of the city, but many other aspects that led me there. I walked through the streets flanked by more towering apartments and saw even more towards the Olympic city. Before that there was Ciutadella. The park was once a fortress kept by the French after having their good times here when after the Spanish were deciding things in the wars of successions. After the French was borne enough the Castilian rulers converted this into a prison house for Catalan dissidents, before the Catalans themselves , with the inevitable touch of Gaudi made this into a part with their Parliament on one side. Thus the space, together with the Catalan history museum I had been to before, materialised Catalan identity. With a zoo on the other end things were more evident perhaps!

But parks are for me always symbolising some form of Excuse. It’s an excuse for different forms of dehumanisations outside. Gaudi's was no exception to this,

Towards the Barcelonetta side, or more towards the beach things began to get a lot colder. The sea breeze was intolerable and more so was the ominous business structures that propped up everywhere, the trade centres and the gas companies. The graveyard like side of urban life was more alienating if the gothic narrations last day were confusing. In the present case I just wanted to run away, towards the south where I can get to Ramblas. No one gave me any good suggestion as to how I can get here until I came to the India shopkeeper. He pointed the way and reassuringly said,' Agar mushkil hai to vaapas aa jaao phir dikha dege'. I was more relieved. Even the people who walked by seemed different. They were embodying the respective tones and tenors perhaps.

After almost seven kilometres of tiring walk I was at one end of the Ramblas where the structure of Columbus stood, that many Barcelonans describe as outlandish. For me he was at the moment the right guy!

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From the seaward end of the rambla beyond the silhouette of Columbus could be seen a small mountain called Montjuic. The name is said to have come after the buzzling business centre run by Jews it once was. The inquisitions during the Castilian regimes resulted in an exodus when the Catalonians themselves is said to have been better towards the Jews. Right side of where I stood starts what is called the Raval. This used to be the earlier industrial parts with cotton mills and other things. Afterwards the industries went in disrepute or moved further north. Instead Raval started hosting the several floods of immigrants; the first major inflow was from southern parts of Spain like Andalusia when Franco got desperate to de-Catalonise Barcelona. The part and several ones towards the sea these immigrant colonies got to be known as Barrio Chino, the oriental name people here resorted to when the Chinese never even contemplated to land here. Later in the twentieth century Arabs Africans as well as Asians like Mussafir who was full of Urdu Shayaris (who worked at a Kebab joint) became the new wave.
The city itself kept expanding and the new expansion came to be known as Eixample, a district, stowing away the narrative continuities of Barri Gothic as well as the Barrio Chinos at Raval and elsewhere.

The walk towards Avenida Diagonal tonight was in order to take a few snaps of the Gaudi building on the wayside. I was extremely exhausted and couldn't walk fast. After taking a few snaps I moved further north into Eixample. Here waited another face of Barcelona
It started with the man who identified himself as Spanish asking me the route to Ramblas Catalonia. I knew it well and explained this to him. He took a lot of time to understand and kept dancing with his map in the streets. Now came two men in plain clothes who told us that they were police. They showed us the card, but I couldn’t read it well. They wanted to see the passports and then asked what currencies I carried. Satisfied they left. Meanwhile the man also might have left. Whatever the whole scene was I didn’t quite rule away the chances of being just tricked by three Spanish men. But I had all the pockets as they were and the confused Spanish guy might well have been genuine.
But then I thought of another possibility. I had read in a Lonely Planet guide or the author of the guide expressed his happiness at the new Policing norms that he says will put a better scene especially in the Raval and Barri Gothic. It probably does for him. But for me Policing seem to be more a need for the gentrifying zones like Eixample who could be very wary of Brown men like myself...
Gentrification itself is never a problem for the authorities.

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Ramblas is well known for its pet sellers and here some of the pets that are sold look the stranger than strange. I was shocked to see the most outlandish of animals here named Marmoset; this one clang to a plastic ball with its suckers and neither looked like a rat not like a hamster. For my relief I found out later that this one ran on batteries. But then there were others that were nearly as strange. Today was the last day in Barcelona and after the English breakfast spiced with Irish accents, Turkish, and at times musical Spanish (as long as I didn’t understand), I was on a very easy stroll. Midday, at the Pasteria at Carrier de Colum, I got into an accidental conversation with Michelle. She is a painter from Paris who has been to Pune in order to meet Osho in the 70s. She is now in her seventies and among the many things she told me she said that the pets on the Ramblas will be history in some years. There were some that were on the banned list like the turtles, the town wants to clamp down on the trade. She told me to enjoy Barcelona when I am here and to study well and said that the old ladies who worked at this Pasteria are wonderful people.
Michelle is among those souls with whom one can enter into spontaneous talks here. There were many others from the streets who remember you among the thousands and thousands who they see everyday, there was the young lady with a sweet girl on her lap whom I met last day who said hello, there was the urdu poet who worked in the Kebab shop...certain things that I missed in Bergen or was I not to expect these after all elsewhere

I don't like seasons...

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Seasons never helped me associate with anything and when people went along with seasons I found this ever more difficult. Barcelona though still had its share of still green trees, people who talk and the Pigeons on the squares were same as the ones in UC Chapel. All help to thaw the winter and Barcelona even with my aching knees and freezing Mediterranean wind did bring in a lot of cheer.
But I was more confused this time than I was before, probably it’s also because this time I felt that Ramblas was not just a thoroughfare but also a border for the Barrio Chinos of people's mind, that Eixample and Olympic cities could be alienating or worse still, gentrifying...or may be its also because I was still waiting for more of those interesting conversations.

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I washed my face and was almost ready to come to the common room (from where I mail you all, it’s also the canteen as well as the Bar...where I once met Roisin, the musician from Ireland as well as the Ecuadorian squatter traveller; this was 2006). Then, standing near his dormitory we started a conversation, which went on for more than an hour. Gian Carlos as well as Norma were both from a place on the Caribbean coast called Barranquilla. They told me this was for many the most violent places in Columbia. Norma gracefully disagreed. There is the FARC Guerrilla as well as the paramilitary and for Carlos the latter did represent something better (perhaps...after sometime into our conversation). This was also because with a second Italian citizenship he kept a good regard for the European and American stand on issues. So the guerrillas were to be guarded against and president Uribe had indeed made things more secure.
But after sometime into out talk the guy who did finance undergrad as well as Norma who just finished high school were talking about European ignorance, the Drug corridors as well as the social life both of us parties from the Tropics craved for. Carlos with his Italian name and five generation citizenship guarantee roamed around in Valencia and Italy (as a third class citizen after the respective originals as well as the newer EUs...his card was more a penance for the loot from Columbia) for a job, but could find any. Now he plans to go back to Columbia.
Carlos and Norma gave their internet cards when they knew that I was left with no card for the day’s mail. They said they have their laptops on the Wi-Fi. These are also gestures that I missed a lot and the questions they asked about India proved why we in Kerala like Latin America, even if in the case of Carlos he was more with the Paramilitary
Now I run for a dinner at the Urdu Poets place. Hope it’s not closed.

After a few hours from now I walk to Placa Catlunia and take the bus to Terminal 1 of Prat de l obregat airport of Barcelona.
Carlos Norma Michelle and Althung along with the radiant Catalonian faces make me feel better at the moment