I could be eating mealworms

If I could believe my eyes and ears, a meal of insects could be in my future all because I wanted to eat beef and drive cars. For two months, all anyone at Can Serrat talked about was an exhibit in Barcelona about humans doing an outstanding job killing the Earth, and ourselves. It was the After the End of the World exhibit. The last review was from some Norwegians who made the exhibit their first stop of their second day in Spain. I had to go to know what the buzz was about. It was about the dark side of ecology. I have mentioned ecology before in this blog; about my French woman housemate at Can Serrat. Her rabid rudeness over conservation of water. How she flat-slapped my tooth-brushing w

Imagine this

The black hair products I needed were available in a Barcelona neighborhood, I just didn’t know which 'hood and how far in. Too bad for me. I found the name of the black hair products shop on the internet: La Bella Cosmetics, and got instructions to their location from the Barcelona Metro system. It said, to get to Carrer (means street) de Bassegoda, ride the bus, the L 12. Board at Raina M. Christina and Gran Via Charles III, ride six stops to the Rafael Compalans-Paris bus stop and walk four minutes to La Bella Cosmetics. How difficult can it be? I start, confident, knowing the L-12 route starts where I exit the Monsbus from El Bruc, my home village in the mountains. The L-12 route starts

More than the water I drink

I was foaming at the mouth when it happened, but I cut her some slack because the French are like that, a nation of high-strung poodles. At one sink, I brushed my teeth and next to me at the other sink was one of my new friends. Nolwenn is classic French, slender, dark-haired. Think Audrey Hepburn and Gigi. "Good morning," she says softly, musical notes in her voice. The only sound from my direction was water pouring from the faucet. She started washing her face. This went on for minutes, me brushing, and her caressing her skin, water running. Then, suddenly, she reached her hand across me, her length of arm all in my personal space, and flat-handed the lever of my faucet. In my sink. Shutti

Tested by the Mountain

Little did I know how soon on my mountain hike I would wish I had the safety bolt called "Life Saver." I came to the mountains outside of Barcelona to write. The ground is hard-packed red clay and over that a layer of rock. It’s mountain, so the earth undulating, up and down, requires heavy thick-soled shoes which I had brought along. Most people come here to walk. Circles of the 1992 Olympics can be found on street signs, but the area icon is the mountain range. I am on one side of the mountain; on the other side lay the monastery. That was my destination. I knew it was a long walk to the monastery, but once there we would listen to the boys’ choir sing. I thought of mountain songs: Climb E