My Flickr friend, Robin, took this shot, during a stop on a tour of Vancouver. He's a hell of a driver and a wonderful person.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Return from hibernation
I cannot believe that I have been in hibernation since 24 August 2005, when I visited Ecuador.
Since then, I've travelled to Kingston, to another place, to Orlando, and am planning to leave for Vancouver, Canada by the end of this month. Of course, I did find some difficulty getting to computers while I was in the Caribbean, but I certain had access to a computer in Orlando. I just didn't have the desire to catch up, to bring my blog up to date.
Let's see how much energy will be generated to keep my blog current.
Since then, I've travelled to Kingston, to another place, to Orlando, and am planning to leave for Vancouver, Canada by the end of this month. Of course, I did find some difficulty getting to computers while I was in the Caribbean, but I certain had access to a computer in Orlando. I just didn't have the desire to catch up, to bring my blog up to date.
Let's see how much energy will be generated to keep my blog current.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
How many miles to Mall del Sol?
Tuesday, 23 August 2005
Today, I set out on foot, to find the graffiti that I saw from the tour bus the day before. It was just about the only decent graffiti I've seen in this city, on the wall of the University of Guayaquil.
So I left the hostel and headed on, I think, Francisco Roca R. toward the other malecon down Blvd. 9 de Octubre. After several blocks, I ask a man at a corner where the malecon is. He pointed left, but then I spot what looks like graffiti in the opposite direction. So I head in pursuit and find some political graffiti. And realize that I am on the right track, have taken the right direction, and that the graffiti which I seek is about 150 meters down the road.
I took about eight shots of the graffiti, but it was risky having my butt out into heavy traffic. Afterwards, I asked a newspaper guy which direction to the Mall del Sol. I follow his direction. Finally, it seems like five miles in all, I arrive at the mall, in pursuit of a biography of Fidel Castro. The name of the book and the author, I left in my notebook in Lima and have totally forgotten.
In the second bookstore, I see a book which appears to be the one I am looking for, a hardcover which cost $34. I am thinking about the weight, as well as the cost. Later, I find a really big bookstore at the other end of the mall, upstairs.
But before I enter the bookstore, I set to take a photo of an ad outside a store and heard a young woman call out to me to tell me that it is now allowed. However, I already have the photo. Shoot first, ask later.
This bookstore has the book, paperback, for $9. Great.
I leave the bookstore and talk to some heavily armed policeman about how to get to the cemetery. They call a cab. The driver warns me against visiting the cemetery by making a slashing motion at his throat.
I then shift the discussion to the Botannical Garden. I don't seem to be getting much encouragement here either, but I insist. So, we're off, and it will only cost $4. We arrive, and I he rejects a $1 tip. The guy at the gate assures me that there are lots of flowers. But my tour of the place makes him out to be a lying motherfucker.
It is a grand excuse for a botannical garden. Nobody has spent any time making the place live up to its name. And the bathrooms have no toilet paper, not soap either.
But I do get a few pictures of orchids, about seven varieties. Got close to a few butterflies, and very close to hundreds of dead ones used to spell out Botannico de Guayaquil, or something close.
The driver, as promised, returned at 1:30 PM, and I stopped him for a minute to take photos of graffiti on a wall nearby, and alighted on Blvd. 9 de Octubre, near Escobedo. I tipped him about $5 and this time he accepted it.
I wandered around quite a bit, got about five of my smartmedia cards with photos transferred to CD, then the one CD copied. I am learning my lesson quite late, having lost 17,000 photographs, many of them irreplaceable.
Then I sat at a juice bar, drank too much juice and felt quite uncomfortable. Walked slowly back to the hostel, read a bit, and then went to bed.
Today, I set out on foot, to find the graffiti that I saw from the tour bus the day before. It was just about the only decent graffiti I've seen in this city, on the wall of the University of Guayaquil.
So I left the hostel and headed on, I think, Francisco Roca R. toward the other malecon down Blvd. 9 de Octubre. After several blocks, I ask a man at a corner where the malecon is. He pointed left, but then I spot what looks like graffiti in the opposite direction. So I head in pursuit and find some political graffiti. And realize that I am on the right track, have taken the right direction, and that the graffiti which I seek is about 150 meters down the road.
I took about eight shots of the graffiti, but it was risky having my butt out into heavy traffic. Afterwards, I asked a newspaper guy which direction to the Mall del Sol. I follow his direction. Finally, it seems like five miles in all, I arrive at the mall, in pursuit of a biography of Fidel Castro. The name of the book and the author, I left in my notebook in Lima and have totally forgotten.
In the second bookstore, I see a book which appears to be the one I am looking for, a hardcover which cost $34. I am thinking about the weight, as well as the cost. Later, I find a really big bookstore at the other end of the mall, upstairs.
But before I enter the bookstore, I set to take a photo of an ad outside a store and heard a young woman call out to me to tell me that it is now allowed. However, I already have the photo. Shoot first, ask later.
This bookstore has the book, paperback, for $9. Great.
I leave the bookstore and talk to some heavily armed policeman about how to get to the cemetery. They call a cab. The driver warns me against visiting the cemetery by making a slashing motion at his throat.
I then shift the discussion to the Botannical Garden. I don't seem to be getting much encouragement here either, but I insist. So, we're off, and it will only cost $4. We arrive, and I he rejects a $1 tip. The guy at the gate assures me that there are lots of flowers. But my tour of the place makes him out to be a lying motherfucker.
It is a grand excuse for a botannical garden. Nobody has spent any time making the place live up to its name. And the bathrooms have no toilet paper, not soap either.
But I do get a few pictures of orchids, about seven varieties. Got close to a few butterflies, and very close to hundreds of dead ones used to spell out Botannico de Guayaquil, or something close.
The driver, as promised, returned at 1:30 PM, and I stopped him for a minute to take photos of graffiti on a wall nearby, and alighted on Blvd. 9 de Octubre, near Escobedo. I tipped him about $5 and this time he accepted it.
I wandered around quite a bit, got about five of my smartmedia cards with photos transferred to CD, then the one CD copied. I am learning my lesson quite late, having lost 17,000 photographs, many of them irreplaceable.
Then I sat at a juice bar, drank too much juice and felt quite uncomfortable. Walked slowly back to the hostel, read a bit, and then went to bed.
I arrive in Guayaquil, Ecuador
Friday, 19 August 2005
It's 12:44 PM and I am standing in a long line, one of about six, at immigration in Guayaquil. Taca 026 from Lima had landed about 15 minutes earlier. I want to pee but there is nothing to be done about it until we pass through immigration, and they are being interminably slow because, apparently, the machines are down or something of the sort.
The line hasn't moved in 10 minutes.
Eventually, I pass through immigration and exit the terminal building. A man approaches me with a hard sell. I am asking for tourist information, but he says he has all the information I need. Finally, I find information, not tourist information per se but get booklets and a hotel and a hostel. I figure the hostel because it costs $12/night.
I return to the hard sell guy and he tells me a taxi will cost $5, and that I have to give him a tip. I give him a dollar and he hands me a map of central Guayaquil. Free.
At 1:48 PM, I'm in a room with two beds, in Pacifico Hostelling Int., at Escobedo 811 between Junin & L. Uerdaneta. I am only three blocks from Blvd. 9 de Octubre, the main drag, and about 5 or so blocks from the malecon, the best looking malecon that I have ever seen. Makes the malecon in Buenos Aires look sort of ordinary.
I visit the malecon and take a bunch of pictures.
It's 12:44 PM and I am standing in a long line, one of about six, at immigration in Guayaquil. Taca 026 from Lima had landed about 15 minutes earlier. I want to pee but there is nothing to be done about it until we pass through immigration, and they are being interminably slow because, apparently, the machines are down or something of the sort.
The line hasn't moved in 10 minutes.
Eventually, I pass through immigration and exit the terminal building. A man approaches me with a hard sell. I am asking for tourist information, but he says he has all the information I need. Finally, I find information, not tourist information per se but get booklets and a hotel and a hostel. I figure the hostel because it costs $12/night.
I return to the hard sell guy and he tells me a taxi will cost $5, and that I have to give him a tip. I give him a dollar and he hands me a map of central Guayaquil. Free.
At 1:48 PM, I'm in a room with two beds, in Pacifico Hostelling Int., at Escobedo 811 between Junin & L. Uerdaneta. I am only three blocks from Blvd. 9 de Octubre, the main drag, and about 5 or so blocks from the malecon, the best looking malecon that I have ever seen. Makes the malecon in Buenos Aires look sort of ordinary.
I visit the malecon and take a bunch of pictures.
Friday, February 11, 2005
RUMINATIONS & PICTURES
To read my daily blog, I invite you to click on
RUMINATIONS & PICTURES
Look forward to seeing you there.
Patrick Barry Barr
RUMINATIONS & PICTURES
Look forward to seeing you there.
Patrick Barry Barr
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Ruminations & Pictures
Hello,
Welcome to On the Move, where I blog when I am travelling.
If this is the last post, please go to Ruminations & Pictures where I blog when I am not travelling. When I am sitting around at home, or just returned from a movie, or planning to go to one.
Peace and love.
Patrick Barry Barr
Welcome to On the Move, where I blog when I am travelling.
If this is the last post, please go to Ruminations & Pictures where I blog when I am not travelling. When I am sitting around at home, or just returned from a movie, or planning to go to one.
Peace and love.
Patrick Barry Barr
Monday, January 31, 2005
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Monday, October 18, 2004
Saturday, October 16, 2004
FLORENCE, ITALY
A MUGGING POSTPONED
Yesterday, I was rushing headlong toward my own mugging, until I got my bearings and parted company with my "benefactor".
It was about 5 o'clock and I was leaning against a wall on Via Faenza, studying the map. I didn't have much of a clue where I was when this slender, tall guy asked me if he could help. I said I was looking for Ponte Vecchio, and he said "follow me!"
He started on a brisk pace, so brisk that sometimes, when separated, I had to run to catch up with him. So fast, that even his friend was left behind.
After about six minutes, we emerged at the train station, the first place I recognized. That told me that he was taking me north, into his territory, when Ponte Vecchio lay south.
I said my goodbyes and we parted company.
USEFUL INFORMATION, UNREAD
In Milan, I went to the museum to The Last Supper and was asked if I had a reservation. First time in my life I had ever faced that situation. Of course, I had none. And I had gone to such trouble, walking and getting lost how many times to get there.
I had the foresight, when I flew Lufthansa on 24 August to Moscow, to rip out a page from the inflight magazine that talked about Milan. At that time, I wasn't sure I would visit Milan. But just in case. Well, that was 24 August.
Last night, 15 October, I pulled out the sheet of paper and read it for the first time. The relevant part said:
"The church of Santa Maria delle Grazie is home to one of the world's most famous painting, Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper. Admission is limited, so call ahead."
OK, so I blew Milan. So when I arrived in Florence, I called and got an appointment to see David at 11 o'clock this morning and a 1:15 tomorrow for Galleria Degli Uffizi where I expect to meet Venus Rising.
LOST IN FLORENCE
A few things can happen when you are lost and studying a map on the street. Usually, you are completely ignored. Also, unfortunately, you could be approached by someone who really wants you to part with your money.
Or, you could get help from some wonderful people. As I have in Paris, a couple times. And that's how I met Vera at the corner of Via Panicale and Via Dell' Ariento.
She left her store to enquire if I needed help and found out that we have somethings in common. Vera, a German, has lived in Jamaica, had a Jamaican in her life, and discovered Jamaican food.
For about half an hour, we chatted non-stop about the ways of people. We talked about reggae, about Rastafari, about the good things and the bad things about places. It blew her mind when I told her that in Jamaica, we used to pay to go see a movie, but before it hit the screen, we had to stand to the British national anthem. Imagine how screwed up minds must be. Without a gun in sight. Without a whip. We, exploited Jamaicans, stand obediently to God Save the King, or God Save the Queen!!! And, when the empire had sucked us dry, they gave us independence. But only after they were sure we were ready!
I know my country so little that I had to ask Vera where Treasure Beach was. It is on the south coast and I believe I have been there with former friends Sydney and Georgia White.
Of course, it was good to see David, but I had met him before. I met Vera for the first time and she made my day.
Patrick Barry Barr
A MUGGING POSTPONED
Yesterday, I was rushing headlong toward my own mugging, until I got my bearings and parted company with my "benefactor".
It was about 5 o'clock and I was leaning against a wall on Via Faenza, studying the map. I didn't have much of a clue where I was when this slender, tall guy asked me if he could help. I said I was looking for Ponte Vecchio, and he said "follow me!"
He started on a brisk pace, so brisk that sometimes, when separated, I had to run to catch up with him. So fast, that even his friend was left behind.
After about six minutes, we emerged at the train station, the first place I recognized. That told me that he was taking me north, into his territory, when Ponte Vecchio lay south.
I said my goodbyes and we parted company.
USEFUL INFORMATION, UNREAD
In Milan, I went to the museum to The Last Supper and was asked if I had a reservation. First time in my life I had ever faced that situation. Of course, I had none. And I had gone to such trouble, walking and getting lost how many times to get there.
I had the foresight, when I flew Lufthansa on 24 August to Moscow, to rip out a page from the inflight magazine that talked about Milan. At that time, I wasn't sure I would visit Milan. But just in case. Well, that was 24 August.
Last night, 15 October, I pulled out the sheet of paper and read it for the first time. The relevant part said:
"The church of Santa Maria delle Grazie is home to one of the world's most famous painting, Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper. Admission is limited, so call ahead."
OK, so I blew Milan. So when I arrived in Florence, I called and got an appointment to see David at 11 o'clock this morning and a 1:15 tomorrow for Galleria Degli Uffizi where I expect to meet Venus Rising.
LOST IN FLORENCE
A few things can happen when you are lost and studying a map on the street. Usually, you are completely ignored. Also, unfortunately, you could be approached by someone who really wants you to part with your money.
Or, you could get help from some wonderful people. As I have in Paris, a couple times. And that's how I met Vera at the corner of Via Panicale and Via Dell' Ariento.
She left her store to enquire if I needed help and found out that we have somethings in common. Vera, a German, has lived in Jamaica, had a Jamaican in her life, and discovered Jamaican food.
For about half an hour, we chatted non-stop about the ways of people. We talked about reggae, about Rastafari, about the good things and the bad things about places. It blew her mind when I told her that in Jamaica, we used to pay to go see a movie, but before it hit the screen, we had to stand to the British national anthem. Imagine how screwed up minds must be. Without a gun in sight. Without a whip. We, exploited Jamaicans, stand obediently to God Save the King, or God Save the Queen!!! And, when the empire had sucked us dry, they gave us independence. But only after they were sure we were ready!
I know my country so little that I had to ask Vera where Treasure Beach was. It is on the south coast and I believe I have been there with former friends Sydney and Georgia White.
Of course, it was good to see David, but I had met him before. I met Vera for the first time and she made my day.
Patrick Barry Barr
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
MILAN, ITALY
If you had written three items in your blog, then, at the point of sending hit the wrong button and lost everything, would you start from scratch all over again? Just to get it off my chest, a brief synopsis:
I left Barcelona on the 10:05 this morning and arrived in Milan about an hour and fifteen minutes later. Could have probably saved 40€ (euros) had I gone online as the owner of the ABBA hostel suggested. I paid $114 for the ticket and 40€ was her commission.
I had also said that my friends may say I am fairly intelligent but would have to be sent to Abu Ghraib to get them to whisper that I was sharp as a tack, a quick thinker on my feet, astute. I am none of those things. I usually figure things out hours, days, weeks later. Remember that story I told you about the guy who made me erase all those photos of the mystery Italian train parked for God knows how many years at a railroad station in Spain? All I had to do was to show him a couple and then hit the button that makes the photos skip by tens. He wouldn't have known the difference!
Finally, am I the only Black guy who is always suspicious when they put me all the way in the back of the restaurant, right by the toilet? When I got to the hotel in Milan today, I had to trek a-a-l-ll the way to the penultimate room, like taking a tour of the goddam hotel. I plan to get the hell out of there tomorrow. If I had cash, I could have gotten something for 40€ tomorrow. I am going to take a look at a few places tomorrow. Like the La Scala, for example. Then take a train to Florence.
Now, let me see which button do I hit?
Patrick Barry Barr
If you had written three items in your blog, then, at the point of sending hit the wrong button and lost everything, would you start from scratch all over again? Just to get it off my chest, a brief synopsis:
I left Barcelona on the 10:05 this morning and arrived in Milan about an hour and fifteen minutes later. Could have probably saved 40€ (euros) had I gone online as the owner of the ABBA hostel suggested. I paid $114 for the ticket and 40€ was her commission.
I had also said that my friends may say I am fairly intelligent but would have to be sent to Abu Ghraib to get them to whisper that I was sharp as a tack, a quick thinker on my feet, astute. I am none of those things. I usually figure things out hours, days, weeks later. Remember that story I told you about the guy who made me erase all those photos of the mystery Italian train parked for God knows how many years at a railroad station in Spain? All I had to do was to show him a couple and then hit the button that makes the photos skip by tens. He wouldn't have known the difference!
Finally, am I the only Black guy who is always suspicious when they put me all the way in the back of the restaurant, right by the toilet? When I got to the hotel in Milan today, I had to trek a-a-l-ll the way to the penultimate room, like taking a tour of the goddam hotel. I plan to get the hell out of there tomorrow. If I had cash, I could have gotten something for 40€ tomorrow. I am going to take a look at a few places tomorrow. Like the La Scala, for example. Then take a train to Florence.
Now, let me see which button do I hit?
Patrick Barry Barr
Monday, October 11, 2004
THE BODY CAN TAKE SO MUCH
Late August to early September, I could be seen taking stairs two steps at a time; walking up escalators that take more than two minutes to get to the top.
Now, it is October and you will find me just like the other folks: just standing there, waiting for the escalator to take me where we are all going: up!
Occasionally, the old me reappears and I will take a step or two up or down, but that energy has to be recouped by a long vacation, when I return to the USA and then to Lima.
I arrived in Barcelona yesterday evening and took a very long walk to the train station to see if there were trains to Nice, France. It appears that I would need to make two connections. I don't really need to be in Nice that badly.
So, today I bought a ticket to Milan. Cost 114 euros or dollars, I forget. Maybe I could have gotten a better deal had I searched the Internet, but just goes to show you that I am sapped. Of course, I did book a hotel in Milan.
I didn't really do the things I would normally do on a visit to Barcelona. I just didn't feel up to it. And you wouldn't believe the crowds in The Rambla area and about the Catalunya square! I need to spend two or three months in Barcelona to slowly take it all in. It really is an incredible city!
Patrick Barry Barr
Late August to early September, I could be seen taking stairs two steps at a time; walking up escalators that take more than two minutes to get to the top.
Now, it is October and you will find me just like the other folks: just standing there, waiting for the escalator to take me where we are all going: up!
Occasionally, the old me reappears and I will take a step or two up or down, but that energy has to be recouped by a long vacation, when I return to the USA and then to Lima.
I arrived in Barcelona yesterday evening and took a very long walk to the train station to see if there were trains to Nice, France. It appears that I would need to make two connections. I don't really need to be in Nice that badly.
So, today I bought a ticket to Milan. Cost 114 euros or dollars, I forget. Maybe I could have gotten a better deal had I searched the Internet, but just goes to show you that I am sapped. Of course, I did book a hotel in Milan.
I didn't really do the things I would normally do on a visit to Barcelona. I just didn't feel up to it. And you wouldn't believe the crowds in The Rambla area and about the Catalunya square! I need to spend two or three months in Barcelona to slowly take it all in. It really is an incredible city!
Patrick Barry Barr
BILBAO TO BARCELONA
Prohibited
About three hours into the train ride, through no fault of the conductor, he was closing the door as we were about to leave a train station, when I was taking a photo. I got the back of his head and a small piece of the object which I was photographing. He didn't have to be, but he seemed apologetic.
To make up for it, he promised me a very interesting site at the next station. When we pulled into the next station, he pointed to the prize: a sleek, old, Italian train. It had that modern design for speed, seemed to have been in an accident and was permanently placed at the station, on the adjoining track that ends there.
I didn't get to find out what was so interesting about this train, but I proceeded to take about nine or so photos from different angles. I liked them a lot. As I angled to take a head-on shot, an official approached me and said : "No, no. Es prohibido."
He said he was told to tell me that it was prohibited to take photos of the train but wouldn't explain why a train in plain view for how many years now was not to be photographed. As if the Italians didn't know it was there. It is not as if it was the Elgin Marbles, safely esconced in the British Museum, stolen from Greece how many years now.
He stood there as I went back, back, back, back and saw that I deleted them all. One, of another train, I said was graffiti and he said I could keep that.
So I will not be able to share this top secret of the Spanish government with you. Sorry!
Patrick Barry Barr
Prohibited
About three hours into the train ride, through no fault of the conductor, he was closing the door as we were about to leave a train station, when I was taking a photo. I got the back of his head and a small piece of the object which I was photographing. He didn't have to be, but he seemed apologetic.
To make up for it, he promised me a very interesting site at the next station. When we pulled into the next station, he pointed to the prize: a sleek, old, Italian train. It had that modern design for speed, seemed to have been in an accident and was permanently placed at the station, on the adjoining track that ends there.
I didn't get to find out what was so interesting about this train, but I proceeded to take about nine or so photos from different angles. I liked them a lot. As I angled to take a head-on shot, an official approached me and said : "No, no. Es prohibido."
He said he was told to tell me that it was prohibited to take photos of the train but wouldn't explain why a train in plain view for how many years now was not to be photographed. As if the Italians didn't know it was there. It is not as if it was the Elgin Marbles, safely esconced in the British Museum, stolen from Greece how many years now.
He stood there as I went back, back, back, back and saw that I deleted them all. One, of another train, I said was graffiti and he said I could keep that.
So I will not be able to share this top secret of the Spanish government with you. Sorry!
Patrick Barry Barr
BARCELONA, ESPAÑA
Left Bilbao on the 10:05 AM train and arrived at Estaçao Sants at about 7:10 PM yesterday. Took the No. 3 metro five stops to Drassanes, found the Columbus monument two blocks away, made a left and walked about 200 yards on Passeig de Colom to the ABBA hostel at number 9.
My room has six two-bunk beds to house twelve people. I am alone in the No. 2 bottom bunk. Being wary of spending my cash, I did not rent a sheet, nor a pillow. Used my clothes bag, the one in which I take my clothes to the laundry. This morning, I didn't rent a towel for 2 euros, either.
But I had a wonderful discussion with the Iranian owner. We agreed on everything.
Went wild taking wall art and graffiti.
I am as drained as the rag that I left to dry this morning. I just don't feel like looking at Barcelona and will fly out tomorrow morning to Milan.
Talk with you later.
Patrick Barry Barr
Left Bilbao on the 10:05 AM train and arrived at Estaçao Sants at about 7:10 PM yesterday. Took the No. 3 metro five stops to Drassanes, found the Columbus monument two blocks away, made a left and walked about 200 yards on Passeig de Colom to the ABBA hostel at number 9.
My room has six two-bunk beds to house twelve people. I am alone in the No. 2 bottom bunk. Being wary of spending my cash, I did not rent a sheet, nor a pillow. Used my clothes bag, the one in which I take my clothes to the laundry. This morning, I didn't rent a towel for 2 euros, either.
But I had a wonderful discussion with the Iranian owner. We agreed on everything.
Went wild taking wall art and graffiti.
I am as drained as the rag that I left to dry this morning. I just don't feel like looking at Barcelona and will fly out tomorrow morning to Milan.
Talk with you later.
Patrick Barry Barr
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
BILBAO
Horace Andy
It may have been love, infatuation, or pure lust. I don't know. I didn't stay around to find out.
It was a few moments after I had entered Kafe Antzoka that I saw him looking at me. A middle-aged, white man in a dark suit. For crissake, it was a Reggae concert with one of Jamaica's pioneers, Horace Andy.
It was about 9:20 and the place was noisy. He came over to make conversation and I couldn't hear a damn thing. I managed to hear the offer for a drink and said no; water, no. That didn't stop him from returning a few minutes later with a small bottle of water and his phone number on a pink flyer, for chrissakes. The flyer showed a clown and the name Kurrusku. He said that was him. The number was written at the top and again, near the bottom 653749942.
Half an hour later, during the concert, he introduced this guy as his friend. A few minutes later, another bottle of water. Twenty minutes later, another, which I refused. I showed the friend the two that I had in my bag.
Then this clown returns with a beer which I absolutely refused.
Andy had the place filled with young, dreadlocked youngsters, a guy offered me ganja which I refused. The place was hopping and I could breathe a little by keeping the door ajar.
Before the intermission, I left, making sure the clown didn't see me going.
Patrick Barry Barr
Horace Andy
It may have been love, infatuation, or pure lust. I don't know. I didn't stay around to find out.
It was a few moments after I had entered Kafe Antzoka that I saw him looking at me. A middle-aged, white man in a dark suit. For crissake, it was a Reggae concert with one of Jamaica's pioneers, Horace Andy.
It was about 9:20 and the place was noisy. He came over to make conversation and I couldn't hear a damn thing. I managed to hear the offer for a drink and said no; water, no. That didn't stop him from returning a few minutes later with a small bottle of water and his phone number on a pink flyer, for chrissakes. The flyer showed a clown and the name Kurrusku. He said that was him. The number was written at the top and again, near the bottom 653749942.
Half an hour later, during the concert, he introduced this guy as his friend. A few minutes later, another bottle of water. Twenty minutes later, another, which I refused. I showed the friend the two that I had in my bag.
Then this clown returns with a beer which I absolutely refused.
Andy had the place filled with young, dreadlocked youngsters, a guy offered me ganja which I refused. The place was hopping and I could breathe a little by keeping the door ajar.
Before the intermission, I left, making sure the clown didn't see me going.
Patrick Barry Barr
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
BILBAO
EMERGENCY
If you ever need to go to the emergency of any hospital during your vacation, make it The Hospital Civil de Basurto, in Bilbao.
I had thought of seeing a doctor in Vilnius for my throat; then I thought of seeing one in Paris. But I didn't. I have had to sleep sitting up several nights because of my throat and was extremely conscious of my coughing, during the night, in the Peace and Love hostel.
Anyway, I took a street car to the last stop, Basuro, and walked to the hospital. I thought it funny that Emergency was so far from the front gate for a person on foot. After about 15 minutes, a pleasant woman took my information and asked me to wait for my name to be called; which took about 20 minutes. A pleasant woman took my temperature and blood pressure, both of which I forgot to ask for. Finally, another took me to a room where I met Dr. Anat, if I recall (you know me and names). He was very pleasant and had two students. He said it was fine; nothing out of the ordinary, and gave me three things to take.
I asked him where I should pay and he told me that it did not cost anything. I told him that one day I would send a donation.
I wished them hasta luego, then corrected myself: Adios. Nice as they are, you don't want to be seeing them again.
Patrick Barry Barr
EMERGENCY
If you ever need to go to the emergency of any hospital during your vacation, make it The Hospital Civil de Basurto, in Bilbao.
I had thought of seeing a doctor in Vilnius for my throat; then I thought of seeing one in Paris. But I didn't. I have had to sleep sitting up several nights because of my throat and was extremely conscious of my coughing, during the night, in the Peace and Love hostel.
Anyway, I took a street car to the last stop, Basuro, and walked to the hospital. I thought it funny that Emergency was so far from the front gate for a person on foot. After about 15 minutes, a pleasant woman took my information and asked me to wait for my name to be called; which took about 20 minutes. A pleasant woman took my temperature and blood pressure, both of which I forgot to ask for. Finally, another took me to a room where I met Dr. Anat, if I recall (you know me and names). He was very pleasant and had two students. He said it was fine; nothing out of the ordinary, and gave me three things to take.
I asked him where I should pay and he told me that it did not cost anything. I told him that one day I would send a donation.
I wished them hasta luego, then corrected myself: Adios. Nice as they are, you don't want to be seeing them again.
Patrick Barry Barr
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