Up to the Hills

We took the students up to the Montes de Málaga yesterday for a paella and some relaxation in the mountains. It was a splendid day and everyone had a fine time. The paella turned out just right.  Very funny: when the first round of salad ran out Asun went to make some more. Very simple. Finishing up, she grabbed a little tupperware container and proceeded to dress the salad. Olive oil. NOT! She had grabbed the liquid soap that I had brought along for cleaning up. Mmmm. Soapy salad! Wonderful! As I said, the paella came out beautifully, but I'm sure this event will forever be remembered for the soap dressed salad! Now it's four days of exams and everyone's done. A good year. Asun and I seem agreed that it would not be a bad thing at all to win the lottery and settle down in Malaga. We could live with that just fine. This afternoon we present "Té con Biznagas", the little anthology of contemporary Malaga poets in English. Then right from the hotel it's off to Madrid for the APUNE meeting and to see Daniela. Asun follows on Saturday.

Book Fair

This week Malaga is celebrating its annual Feria del Libro. The stands are all set up on the Paseo del Parque and the week is full of book signings, presentations, conferences etc. Last night novelists Clara Sánchez and Rafael Chirbes joined Soler for a round table session on the generic topic of Novela y creación.  It was an interesting event, but not especially substantive. The discussion was moderated by Pablo Aranda. I'm trying to come up with some memorable comment, but I keep drawing blanks. (Reminder for me: afterwards we walked Isabel part way home then stopped by the Plaza de la Marina with Arcas to get something to eat at the Feria Intercultural they've got set up there. We chose the Puerto Rico stand, but actually the women there were Cuban. They were very nice and we had an interesting conversation with them as we ate some decidely mediocre food.) Speaking of books, right now I'm reading Javier Cercas' Anatomía de un instante, an in-depth look at the failed coup attempt of 1981, known here simply as "23-F", for the date: February 23rd.  It's an excellent book, truly fascinating. I haven't been keeping up with taking note of current reading. Oh well. (Red Sox just beat the Yanks in NY. That makes them 4-0 against the bombers so far this year.) In the photo, the Paseo del Parque with the stalls set up for the book fair.

A Gastronome's Paradise?

According to the 2009 rankings of that iconic Italian water, San Pellegrino, among the eight best restaurants in the world, four are in Spain. That's really rather extraordinary. They are El Bulli (#1), Mugaritz (#4), El Celler de Can Roca (#5), and Arzak (#8). Two in Catalonia and two in the Basque country. Filling out the top ten are two from the US, two from France, and one each from the UK and Denmark. Asun had a memorable lunch with Cristi and Daniel at Arzak back in December to celebrate Daniel's eightieth birthday. The star chefs who lead these culinary meccas have mentored dozens and dozens of other extraordinary chefs, creating a ripple effect that one does notice all over the country. We're not exactly suffering down South. Expectations are high. I've written earlier about Dani Garcia's place here in Malaga, and that's just one of many superb tapas bars available to us around the city. And the 12 euro menú del día at Bilmore, while not really high cuisine, is always excellent; a better meal would be difficult to get for three times the price in the US. Just within a quarter mile radius of this apartment we've got a dozen magnificent restaurants to choose from. And San Sebastian? For the past several years I've been having lots of fun listening to Daniel Arnedo describe the "errands" he must run downtown. Oh, the sacrifices. The basic narrative goes like this: "well, I had to go pick up some medications at the cooperative, and since I was right there, I thought I'd just stop by X (name of some fine bar) to rest for a minute. Well, the kind gentleman tending bar suggested I try some Y (fill in with some amazing culinary invention). Oh, holy Mother, it really hit the spot, and the wine that went with it was simply extraordinary..." And so it goes, day after day. His latest errand brought him back to the basics: just a glass of nice white wine and three fresh oysters. Not a bad midmorning snack for an eighty year old. (In the photo, Daniela in front of some nice looking raw octopus in the famous Boqueria market in Barcelona.)

Let's get working

May 1st. Workers' Day! So let's talk about work. This morning there is an interesting article in the Times by David Brooks, who I typically find rather pedantic. He writes about genius and the common notion, now supported by recent research, that talent really is, after all, mainly a question of hard work and practice. This is the third or fourth article I've read in the past several weeks on this new research. So, kiddies, no excuses. Get working. Brooks refers to a tennis academy in Russia where the students practice rallies without a ball. The idea is to get the student to slow down and focus exclusively on technique. Brooks points out that "in this way, performers delay the automatizing process. The mind wants to turn deliberate, newly learned skills into unconscious, automatically performed skills. But the mind is sloppy and will settle for good enough." Tell me about it! Excepting perhaps basketball, my motto growing up, more than "good enough", was more like "what the hell." (And, unfortunately, for me, the genetic hand I was dealt did not really help in terms of pursuing a future in basketball. See any 5' 7'' white guys in the NBA recently?) As a young woman Marcia Dale Weary clearly understood this reality intuitively. This is why I find seeing a few minutes of a class at CPYB so fascinating. Repeat, repeat... again, again. Stop. Correct. Again... Of course genes play a role, but perhaps we've been giving them way too much credit. There are four principal dancers in New York City Ballet, considered by many the top ballet company in the world, who did their formative training in Carlisle at CPYB. It ain't the water. (You will also find CPYB alums in the principal ranks of many of the world's top ballet companies.) There is a photo, reproduced above, CPYB uses often in their brochures and programs of Marcia Dale Weary down on hands and knees helping a small child get her foot into exactly the right position. It's a charming photo and gets right at the heart of this question: no detail is too small. (And, we might add, the poignant symbolic lesson: no true master is too proud to humble him/herself if it's necessary for the development of the student.) Technical perfection is a prerequisite for those who want to aim high. You can't cut corners. Etc., etc. If ballet were a question of inherent talent, you'd expect the top companies to be populated with kids coming out of little academies from all over the world. But it doesn't work like that. They come mainly from the handful of places where the work and dedication is most intensive. But it's a wonderful thing we have all these little dance schools (and art schools, saturday morning soccer leagues, piano lessons, etc.): life would be pretty darn miserable if we could only experience the new through the filter of intensive training.

Yesterday Soler visited the literature class taught by Antonio Hierro. He came to talk about his work with Banderas on the film adapatation of his novel El camino de los ingleses. It was an excellent session and Soler, as always, made some observations that reminded me of his own experiences and his determination, from a young age, to be a novelist. And not just a novelist, but one of the very best. Work, work, work... and it's paying off. National Critics Prize, Nadal Prize, general critical praise, etc. In the larger photo, CPYB alum Ashley Bouder, critically acclaimed principal at New York City Ballet. So, from top photo to bottom photo we're talking well over 10,000 hours of exhausting training. Literally. I'm guessing Daniela is somewhere between 6,000 and 7,000. Seems pretty crazy, but who's to question another's dreams? And if the dream takes another direction, or simply doesn't work out? That's fine. After all, excuse the cliché, it's about the journey.

Pig Pandemic

The WHO has just raised the alert level to 5, meaning a flu pandemic is imminent. Big deal? It seems we really don't know, but it sure could be big trouble. And for our economies, a lot will depend on how the big media treat it. So far, no cases have been reported in Malaga, where life goes on normally. For today. Daniel Arnedo arrived on Tuesday and yesterday we had a nice lunch with Manolo at Maricuchi, right on the beach in Pedregalejo. Raw clams (concha fina), little clams (coquinas), sardines, little red mullet (salmonete), incredibly fresh grilled shrimp, salads... wonderful. Today Cristi arrives with June and tomorrow Daniela will join us. Tomorrow is May Day: Workers of the World Unite!

European Identity

Yesterday former mayor and Europarliamentarian Pedro Aparicio came to talk to my students. Pedro was mayor from 1979 to 1995 and played a fundamental role in transforming Málaga into the modern city it is today. He is widely admired for his integrity and dedication. And better yet, he is gracious, charming, and always willing to be helpful. (See 4/2/08 entry.) I was supposed to participate with him in a round table session dedicated to the Biblioteca de Autores Malagueños, but am going to have to miss it because I had already committed to going to Madrid for an APUNE meeting. In any case, he addressed the topic of European identity-its possibilities, limitations, etc. It was a great honor to have Pedro with us and he gave an excellent, informative lecture. (One of his better lines, that I fear left the students rather perplexed, was "Europe is Kant.") It's clear that Pedro has become rather pessimistic regarding the "construction of Europe" and the referendum defeat in France on the European Constitution was a great disappointment to him. A few of the students had some excellent questions at the end of the lecture and their contributions were quite gratifying. Afterwards Asun, Pedro and I headed back to the Malagueta to meet with Juvenal and his friends at the Maestranza prior to the presentation of Juvenal's Compañeros de viaje. That presentation went nicely and was well attended. Juvenal read several sonnets, including one he dedicated to me.

Internet and Memory

Perhaps stimulated by a reference I made in my previous post to a past hallucinatory experience, this morning I read an article in the Times about the world of deadheads and the amazing online availability of their concert archives. This led me to a site where by searching "Buffalo, 1979", I had at my instant disposal information that renewed and corrected my knowledge of that memorable weekend. The concert was January 20th, a Saturday night. Shea's Theatre. For some reason, with the passing of the years I had come to think it had been early spring, no doubt because the weather that weekend was very mild. I do recall quite well heading out from the Hamilton campus on a bright sunny morning. The decision to go to Buffalo had been almost spontaneous. I believe it was over breakfast that my fellow Co-op friend, Chris (well, more a good acquaintance than real friend, as today I can't even remember his last name) suggested we head out for Buffalo, four hours away. Buffalo? Dead concert tonight? Sure, why not? So we got a ride to the entrance to the thruway and stuck out our thumbs. Good thing we had the beer in the Coke machine back at the Co-op. On the road with Matts beer and several joints, a sunny day... who cares if we make it to Buffalo. But we did. And incredibly Chris found someone who had extra tickets. Fifteen dollars? The theater was small and beautiful, and I remember being impressed by the nice bar they had set up in the lobby. The last thing in the world I needed was more drugs, but hey, wouldn't a few shots of Jack Daniels be just the thing to get me in the mood for the concert? That and a "hit of acid." Hey, where'd that come from? Booze, pot, LSD... what else could I put in my much abused body? Hey, where'd Chris go? Not much later: where did reality go? Man, the lights in this theatre are soooo strange. And the music is getting really out there. Let's just wander around... I still remember a young woman, around my age, slapping some kind of sticker onto my shirt and saying something like 'check out the party backstage'. Something like that. It's all pretty fuzzy. Anyway, I guess I now had a backstage pass so I headed off in that direction. And I discovered why they call themselves the Dead. Lots of passed out people. Seemed like a caricature, but there really were people just lying around, on the floor, on top of equipment boxes. Crazy. I stayed for a while then at the end of the concert went off in search of Chris. It must have been around midnight when I found him. Hmm, what now? So we just wandered. Wander round: our principle expertise back then. It was actually very funny: we ended up in the "black neighborhood" and strolled into a bar where the looks we got were priceless. Right out of a movie. Two white college kids, looking rather worse for the wear. But we were welcomed in and served our drinks. I think we ended up trying to play some pool. But the bars eventually close, so then it was more wandering. We ended up at a bus station, tried to get a little sleep as we waited for dawn, waited for the drugs to wear off a little, and the energy to head back to the thruway. We had excellent luck and made it back to Hamilton in daylight. And now these memories have a date: January 20th, 1979. And a song list. The dog-turns-into-a-lion trick, alluded to earlier, is a separate memory. "... what a long, strange trip it's been." Indeed.

"Salutat vos... Marcus, filius meus"

Yesterday was the Feast of St. Mark, so in honor of my namesake I spent a few minutes trying to find out a little bit about him. It's not easy: the historical record is quite sketchy. Some of this is probably true: he is commonly understood to be the John Mark of Acts and his mother was Mary (not the Mary) and she had some meetings of the first Christians in her house in Jerusalem. He may have been a cousin or nephew of Barnabus. Paul thought he was unreliable (Sounds familiar!), but later changed his opinion, coming to view him as quite dependable. He is believed to have been responsible for bringing Christianity to Alexandria, where he was martyred, tied to a horse and dragged around the streets until he was dead. (I really want to visit Alexandria some day, and hopefully I will be able to do so without being tied to any horses.) He is symbolized with the lion because his gospel, the earliest, starts with the cry of John the Baptist from the wilderness. Ok, now the cool stuff: in the ninth century two Venetian merchants retrieved Mark's remains from Alexandria and safeguarded the operation from overly curious Muslims by wrapping the remains in pork! Ah ha, no wonder I've always loved ham! Strangely, according to tradition, those inventive but incompetent merchants forgot Mark's head! Many centuries later, the head got lost (Sounds familiar again!), but eventually it turned up in Rome. (How convenient!) In 1968 Pope Paul VI gave Coptic Christians part of Mark's head back (!!!), and they joyfully celebrate its return to Alexandria every year on November 10th!! I think, the story gets complicated here. (See photo.) Now there's a pilgrimage I'd like to make! And how about this other image, above. I haven't been able to find out anything yet about its authorship, but I like the lighthouse in the background. Kind of like me right here, walking by the Farola. Go Marksie! And according to the website "Orthodox America" (watch out!), after being tortured for a day by the evil pagans, Mark was visited first by an angel, then by Jesus himself. Cool! (I can relate, kind of: back in college I did have a psychedelic hallucination once, and it involved a lion! This is true, but it's another story.) Poor Mark, I bet torture could make just about anyone hallucinate. Now, my only question is, given that Mark died from being dragged around behind a horse, I doubt he was in any condition to share his experiences. He sure didn't have a chance to write about them. From what I gather looking at European painting, bishops in medieval times were very prone to visions and other celestial visits during which they were told all kinds of things related to early church history. So, you can't just make it up; at the least, you've got to have a dream. I don't know why, but I've read that if you're having relationship difficulties, pray to St. Mark. And why do I not get as much work done as I should? Because I haven't been praying to Mark's head!

     Finally, speaking of dreams, we'll call this Dream Sequence #43: It's the top of the 36th inning at Fenway Park. The Red Sox lead the Yankess 8 to 5. The bases are loaded and Alex Rodriguez is at the plate. Two outs, full count. The sun is rising as a deep fog begins to lift. At the top of the inning almost no one had noticed a historic substitution: a young woman just called up from who knows where, Rocío De Málaga, jogged out to left field. Those fans who aren't asleep think it's a stunt, a notion reinforced by the fact that instead of cleats, her dainty feet are wrapped in a pair of red hightop Chucky Taylors. What is this girl thinking! Let's get serious! And what's this, her jersey isn't tucked in and it's way too big in the back. Looks like a wedding dress with a long train. Nonetheless, this is The First Female to ever play in a major league game! Timmy Wakefield is on the mound, mug of coffee at his feet. The knuckler doesn't knuckle and there goes an incredible drive to left, a real rocket headed over the wall. But wait, Rocío takes a few steps back, turns, jumps, up, up, up, oh goodness, she keeps going up and snags the drive just as it's set to land in the top row of the monster seats. Yowzer! The fans holler, Ro-ciii-o, Ro-ciii-o! Sox have held on for a big, big win. In the clubhouse after the game, asked about the Chucky Ts, Rocío told reporters she had a hunch she might have to jump.

Another False War

The War on Drugs. What a joke. And what a ter- rible waste of our resources, both financial and human. What sense does it make to keep arresting over a million people (yes, over 1,000,000) every year for drug offenses. As long as the demand for drugs is there, and it seems hard to imagine that demand disappearing any time soon, there will be plenty of people willing to work on the supply side. Control the borders? They've already wasted billions and it doesn't seem to do anything. Folks want to get wasted? Be our guests. Do we really think marijuana is more harmful than booze? Geeze, alcohol is only the third leading cause of preventable death in the United States. The Centers for Disease Control estimates that in just one year (2001) over 75,000 deaths in the US could be attributed to alcohol. But no one is talking about making booze illegal. Of course not, because we know people want to drink. And a lot more people want to drink than want to smoke a joint, snort some cocaine, or do whatever other "recreational" drugs are popular these days. (I have little idea.) So let's just get this madness over with and legalize the stuff. We tax booze heavily, so let's do the same with all these other drugs people want. Share the wealth. And there would be plenty left over for some serious education, prevention, and treatment programs. I have no illusions--legalizing drugs is going to hurt some people, but the overall effect for society would be a great improvement compared to the current situation. (I don't think they're going to want me back on the Cumberland County Drug and Alcohol Commission any time soon.)  Do we really want to keep being a world leader in incarceration rates? Apart from what that says about our values as a society, just think about the human and financial resources wasted in this madness. By our government's own statistics, in 2007 alone there were over 872,000 arrests for cannabis law violations.  Hey, watch out, our children are all a bunch of violent criminals. The War of Drugs is a very lucrative business, overall a scam of gigantuan proportions. Why aren't people scandalized? Check out the "Drug Sense" website. They present some interesting statistics.  (http://www.drugsense.org/)

Powerful Recommendations

Yesterday it was reported that Hugo Chavez gave Obama a copy of Eduardo Galeano's 1971 classic essay, The Open Veins of Latin America. In one day the book shot up from #53,249 at Amazon.com to #7.  I don't doubt the power of the media attention, but I can't imagine there would be enough copies of this book in print to justify it's being one of amazon's top sellers. Or maybe amazon simply doesn't sell as many books as we think. In any case, get the press rolling or that status won't last more than a couple of days because very quickly they'll run out of copies. Good for Galeano, he's a great writer. Truth be told, he's near of the top of my "overdue to read" list. I've read some of his essays and a short stories, but none of his major works. 

    It will be very interesting to see how Obama deals with Chavez, who, scratch the surface a little, seems to be perpetuating the long, sad tradition of caudillismo in Latin America. Last week he expressed most clearly his intention to wipe out all opposition to his rule. He's already pulled a coup with the municipal government of Caracas by creating a new position that effectively replaces the powers of the mayor, who he's opposed to. (In the photo, Galeano.)