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Message |
| Posted By: |
UT |
| Date: |
29-Apr-2007-11:18:40 |
| Subject: |
Chocolate and Churros in Heaven |
A day in Heaven tends to start with a chocolate a la taza (essentially a hot chocolate pudding so thick that the spoon stands up in it) and churros from Churrateria Charlie's. Mmmmm...filling and full of all those essential vitamins and nutrients that one can only get from fresh organic food sources like chocolate and fried dough. :-)
I am told by locals that this breakfast is essentially a type of rehab therapy for the body and the soul, often occasioned by too much late-night partying the night before. Because the bars and nightclubs stay open so late, many are stopping in here for their rehab breakfast before even going home. Very different from French culture, and that's a good thing; change is good.
So what can I tell you about the north of Spain, having been here only a few days? Well, not much. Blondes are rare, and most of the lighter hair colors you see obviously came out of a bottle. But that's Ok with me, because I was never a big fan of blondes other than the natural Scandinavian sort anyway. The younger women here tend to be more
attractive than the older ones; that's a big contrast to France. Another contrast is that Spanish culture is lived more on the streets and in cafes than is French culture (if you can believe that), and that suits me just fine, because a large part of my life is spent in cafes. Also, you tend to hear more languages spoken around you here than in France -- the most frequent being Catalan, the next Spanish, then French, then English, and then a smattering of Dutch, Swedish, German, Basque, Japanese, and whatever.
I guess the most interesting thing, from a spiritual point of view (Ramalila *is* supposed to be a spiritual group, after all) is the change that has taken place in Spain since I was last here. That was when I was 15, when Spain was in the heights (or depths, as it turns out) of the Franco era. My memories of Spain from that time center around the color black. The streets were full of women and men dressed head-to-toe in black, and with faces that made you wonder whether a smile had ever been allowed to dance across those faces. Back in 1960, there were an equal number of Guardia Civil storm troopers on the streets as well, equally dressed in black, their faces exhibiting the same lifelong smilelessness, their oerfectly-pressed uniforms accessorized by the obligatory machine gun. Not a happy place.
Based on that early experience, I've never been exactly tempted to return. Until recently, that is, when friends I trust spent some time down here and came back raving about the place and its people. So I had to check it out, and am pleased to report that all of that Franco-era stuff has been relegated to the same dark corner of history that they swept the Inquisition into when its time was past.
The people are -- on the whole -- happy, outgoing, and exceedingly friendly, FAR more friendly to strangers than their French counterparts to the north. Just judging from posters on the walls, there is a strong interest here in yoga, meditation, and Things New Age, again a striking contrast to many parts of France.
The air quality in Barcelona limited my stay there to a couple of cough-filled days. The architecture is wonderful, as is the liveliness of the culture, but man!...I've seen and breathed cleaner air in Los Angeles. So I've gravitated to Sitges, a beach town about half an hour south by commuter train or car. All the difference in the world. The constant ocean breeze keeps the air clean, and I'm told that this particular town had a rep for being full of outlaws and artistic types even back in the repressive Franco era, which to me is a really good indication of the general "vibe" of the place and the freewheelin' nature of its "power-placeness."
The most spiritual thing I've seen here so far? Well, that was this morning. It was raining for a short while and, as I was walking along the beach, I came across an old man who was obviously Down On His Luck, sleeping in the middle of the sidewalk, getting wet. As I walked past, two modern Guardia Civil troopers, dressed in *non*-black baggy uniforms (baggy uniforms are important -- one of Uncle Tantra's laws of the universe is that you simply cannot be a Fascist in a baggy uniform; you need sharp creases and jack boots to be a good Fascist) walked up to him, woke him, and helped him to the shelter of a nearby tree, where he wouldn't get so wet. Then they said "Bon Dia" to him in Catalan, and left.
Then I stopped at this WiFi cafe and logged into another "spiritual" chat group I frequent and found the people there arguing about the Hindu caste system, and trying to justify it as highly evolved, a kind of social structure bestowed on lesser human beings by the gods. I logged off in disgust, and came here, where at least people are talking about stuff that actually seems to have some relationship to spirituality.
Me, I'm going to spend my Sunday sitting in cafes and writing and enjoying the sun now peeking out of the clouds and the dark-haired beauties walking by. For some people, this may not seem a terribly spiritual pastime or lifestyle. But for me, it's basically Heaven. The people on that other group can wait for the Heaven On Earth (TM) that their spiritual teacher promises them (for a price) if they want, or for a better life in the off-world colonies of Bramaloka, but that stuff just doesn't float my boat.
When it comes to Heaven, I like mine Here And Now. I hope your day is as heavenly as mine promises to be...
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