BLOGG# 35 MELANCHOLIC CAPPUCHINO

Well dear readers, it is the last day I am here in Barcelona. It seems impossible that the time has come to leave this wonderful city and country  We are all quiet as I pack. Is there anything more melancholic than packing one"s bag to leave? I don't think so. For one thing, the bag has shrunk! It always does!  When we pack at home we leave thinking we have room to spare and our bag is too big, but when we leave , the things won't fit in,even if your two friends sit on it. At last this unhappy deed was done and I took a deep breath, it was time to say goodbye- first of all a long walk on the prominade passing my pharmacy where the chemist saved my life by supplying me with three months worth of blood pressure pills which I had forgotten at home, and taught me how to say "Gracias" the Catalonian way, then passing the little dress shop where I bought the best belt ever- I lost weight and my jeans were falling off,and my Barcelona umbrella ,also the market and the myriad little bars crowded with bright young things at tapa hour, and then to my favourite bar the"Absinthe" where I first went for cappuchino on that rainy day. Since then it had become my favourite morning coffee bar and of course tapa bar. I ordered the coffee and told her I was at last leaving and we commiserated together and the invariable "you must come again" was said  I agreed but was it possible? I can't see it but I refuse to look in that direction. Better to think "all things are possible and you never know"  To think I will never sit in the Absinthe drinking coffee and thinking about the meaning of life as I had been doing the past months, or laughing and drinking red wine and eating tapas with my friends seems impossible to bear. So I sit, listening to the music- Absinthe specialises in scratchy early American blues- and the melancholic tunes underlined my own melancholic mood. The melancholic cappuchino was drunk, I paid my last bill, and dragged my reluctant feet back to the apartment,-- Goodbe Absinthe and Goodbye Barcellona.

BLOGG#33 A SPANISH "LEONARD COHEN"

This is my last "musical moment" blogg. The event I want to talk about happened in Bilboa.  We had spent an intense few hours at the Contemporary museum- with some wonderful exhibitions and great contemporary artists such as Anselm Keifer, and after resting in the museum garden for a few hours, we decided to head to our hotel. On the way we saw a group of people milling around a theatre which,according to the billboard, was presenting a poetry reading and Flaminco singing for ten Euros.  We decided to go in even though we do not understand Spanish because Poetry is understood universally. Certainly I was moved. The poet was elderly, lean, with shoulder length white hair and a gentle face. With him was a lovely elegant female singer and a romantic guitarist. The poet read his poems, the singer sang stirring spanish songs after each poem and the guitarist accompanied her.  The audince was delighted and clapped furiously as did we.  It was wonderful. At the end of the program the clapping continued demanding an encore. The singer and guitarist finally returned, she took off her shoes,and started to dance the flaminco. All of a sudden this elegant singer turned into a sultry Spanish dancer. She was fantastic as she whirled and clapped to the beat of the guitar.  The audience was frantic and kept demanding more.  Finally the curtain moved and out came the poet with a beat up old guitar. He sat down on one of the chairs and quietly strummed the guitar and sang a beautiful song of his own. The audience was hushed-you could hear a pin drop. He finished, bowed and walked off the stage.  It was a mesmerizing performance and,I thought, a "Leonard Cohen" one. This night was one of the highest spots of our time in Spain.