Barcelona photos

Here is a little collage of some pictures taken in the last few days in Barcelona. A couple of things I've really appreciated -

* tons of green. It seems every street is lined with trees!

* nothing - well almost nothing more than 5 stories high. To our surprise looking over the city from the Parc Guell we could still see the Cathedral's spires - and that was built in 1200 something

* bicycle rental scheme, pick up and drop off from practically everywhere.

* quirky little shops everywhere. Sure there are the major chains, but they're more than compensated by individual boutiques, artists, funny little cafes, pastelarias, tapas bars, specialist book stores with only books on ships or pirates or music or art or whatever.

* random bits of art or architecture spotted around everywhere. At any point you just look up or down or around and be surprised by something special.

We had dinner with one of H's friends from his study days in Vancouver. This being Spain, dinner of course only started at 9.30pm and consisted of tapas. Since she and her partner are child-free they had no baby sitting suggestions, so the kids came along with us. They're adapting well to the life here, late nights and even later mornings - thanks to solid curtains and dad putting a black plastic bag over the obligatory emergency door at the light - heaven knows who decided a room of less than 3m2 would need a light which is impossible to switch off over the door. I'm sure there is a whole EU department devoted to this type of thing. They sat drawing pictures, picking at food and flirting with the waiters. Nice to be in a place where everyone seems to enjoy having kids around no matter the time of day or night...

The hotel we're staying at , Hotel Constanza, is entirely satisfactory. Garnered from my favourite "secretplaces.com" which hasn't failed us yet. It's small, intimate, clean, reasonable priced with super friendly staff, and within walking distance of all the major sights and sounds of the city.

Yesterday and this morning were devoted to Gaudi, with a visit to Parc Guell and the Casa Battlo this afternoon was Joan Miro, which R was entranced with in particular. He insisted on buying a postcard of the large wall tapestry (with his own tooth fairy money) so that I could replicate it as a duvet cover for him.

Of course to H's delight the tour de France entered and departed from Barcelona in the last few days, and he disappeared for a few hours yesterday morning to realise a childhood dream of seeing the start, spending some time with the Dutch Rabobank team.

This evening we're thinking of going to see Stomp at one of the local theatres. So that's it for today, I'm being called to action. Photos taking too long to upload, so that will have to be done tomorrow or later tonight.

poverty

No, it is not merely the lack of private health insurance or poverty. Since, as I think it was the prime minister of Egypt commented after the G8 summit yesterday, poverty in Western Europe is a completely different affair to that in the 3rd world. It is a question of degree and no longer that of life and death.

The difference was far more subtle. It was the absence of accompaniment in the form of family. It was in the kempt or unkempt appearance. The little things that said "I care about myself and how I am presented to the world." And there was a lack of the more obvious signs of substance abuse. Although of course they may have been there. But the facade could successfully mute their signs.

All those little things that don't divide the rich from the poor, but the poor from the middle class, for the petite bourgouis. I had plenty of time to mull on that as the doctor's office was amply provided with copies of the "Hola" magazine, that stalwart with the exploits of sundry royalty, film and TV stars, footballer's wives and other wannabes.

The end of the saga, R's cast could be removed completely. He's not delighted as he has become accustomed to it and is very nervous without it. The scan (my first - wow, that's super high tech)) confirmed that nothing was broken, so the doctor consented to removing my cast as well, after also confirming that putting it in a cast was a good move in the first place as this type of fracture could take a few weeks to reveal itself. It's still enormously painful, so he suspects a rather bad sprain and prescribed a wrist brace (which of course neither he nor the hospital provided, this being Spain not HK, so medical cross selling is still in its infancy!) which I duly got from a special orthopaedic store dedicated to the foolish and the old.

P.L.U.

A while ago, Batgung had an article about 'white people' it was amusing at the time. On Tuesday, after we arrived in Barcelona I had plenty of opportunity to think about a related topic - "people like us"

I'd asked the hotel where we could find a hospital with x-ray facilities for the follow up of R and my arms and they'd pointed me to the local hospital near the beach. After unpacking we decided to head there immediately to get it all out of the way so it didn't interfere too much with the rest of the holidays - particularly I was tired of the plaster cast and swollen and painful thumb where the cast was particularly tight. The GP in Switzerland had said she wasn't sure if it was sprained or fractured and only a scan would tell and only after 10 days. So with that in mind we arrived at the hospital at the emergency section. We explained it wasn't an emergency, just needed to be checked on and that R's cast was about ready for removal but he needed one extra x-ray to confirm it was all in order. We were pleasantly met, handed over ID and credit cards to guarantee our ability to pay and were ushered into the system. Or as I prefer to think of it, into the first circle of hell.

H and the kids were told to go to a paediatric waiting room and I suddenly found myself alone in the adult waiting room. There were 10 other assorted people around me. White walls with posters advertising the helpline for women who were the subject of domestic abuse, plastic seats bolted to the filthy floor. Which was black. But that didn't hide the fact that it was dirty. The aircon was set to HK levels. In the far corner what appeared to be a long haired emaciated women in a string vest sat in a semi-conscious stupor. Swollen feet in white worn havanianas. Across my way was a swarthy greying man with a beard, blowing into his hands and sniffing - to check if his breath smelt of alcohol? On each of his 10 fingers he had a large golden ring, several of which appeared to depict the heads of animals. He was flanked by a youngish chap in a wheelchair and a large cast covering his head who looked a little worse for wear. In the far corner, past an electronic sliding door, sat an older man moaning in the corner, the moans varied in intensity depending on whether an orderly was walking by or not. A lady in her 50's with an arm sling strode between that side and ours moaning about the cold, while another large lady with whispy wild hair and still in her duster coat sat on another wheel chair complaining. The doors between the entrance corridor and the the waiting room and the waiting room and the medical staff areas / doctors opened and shut intermittently admitting more people, doctors, stretchers, and more people. I was in a slight state of shock by now. An older man shuffled in with a bloodied nose with a wad of toilet paper stuck in it. He looked around in disgust. Asked for the newspapers and then complained that there weren't any. In fact there was nothing except the abuse posters. The cleaning ladies walk past. They drag their mops from the one sliding door to the next without managing to make any visible difference in the floor. It's still filthy. Two younger men had been admitted separately and were complaining bitterly about the waiting time, the standard of care and the fact this was Spain in the 21st century, those were the bits I could understand. I had nothing with me at all. No book, no soduku puzzles, no phone, no money, no ipod, nothing. All in the bag that H had with the kids. Finally he ventured in. He brought me a soduko book and said he had to rush back, he'd left the kids alone, they weren't allowed in the adult waiting room. Thank god I said. And indicated around me. Well, he said cheerfully, it must nearly be your turn. And then R is apparently just after you. The children's waiting room is ok, it has some books and things. And so I waited and waited. And more people came in and were seen and came and went. After 2 hours, the orderly saw me still sitting there and said - another minute or so, then you. I gave it 1/2 an hour, walked out, went to find H and the kids and said, we're out of here. It was shortly after one of the young guys walked back into the waiting room with half of his hand covered in plaster, with bits of plaster all over his hand. It looked like a kid had done the job. Maybe it was a temporary job while he waited for a specialist. I wasn't waiting to find out. The stupified person in the corner had woken after 2.5 hours - sort of - and revealed a rather frightening figure, man or woman, it wasn't clear.

We went back to the admissions and explained to lady and gentleman there that we were well aware that we weren't the first priority, but it was taking a little long and perhaps we'd be better off somewhere where we could make an appointment. They were very sweet about it, and de-admitted us and gave us the number of a private hospital, and even rang it to find out if they had the necessary x-ray and scanning equipment. While this was going on, R was standing at the door, transfixed by the ambulances coming and going, people being placed on stretchers, others standing smoking outside. I was trying to protect him from the the sights and he was having nothing of it. When we finally left, he made a very astute comment about the number of people on stretchers accompanied by a motorbike helmet.

By then it was getting late, we were all hungry and tired and decided to leave our next hospital experience for another day. I could well understand how medical dramas taking place in emergency rooms could be excellent TV fodder. Sitting as a passive observer, without much linguistic skills in Catalan, is another story altogether though. I sat trying to meditate. Trying to breathe, trying to observe lovingkindness and all the rest. And all I could think was "I don't belong here". Is that terribly elitist?

The next day we went to the Teknon hospital. A large private hospital on the hill. We started at emergency, but were quickly taken by the lady there to "customer services" who rang an orthopaedic surgeon in the out-patient section who agreed to see us. The hospital was spotless with vast beige marble floors, piped quiet music and an art exhibited on the walls. And more than that. It was filled with PLU. I've been thinking for the last 2 days about what it is. What is the difference between the population of a private and public hospital. Besides the obvious health insurance?

....

the hotel is shutting down the lobby. So more tomorrow.

Back in the 21st century

We're in barcelona, and wifi in the hotel room, mobile connections, TV, stop lights, auto vias- Yuck. Highways must be the ugliest way of getting from point A to B.

So in the mean time some pretty French pictures.

Emotions

I've managed to make sort shift of all the "light" books I'd brought along on holiday, partially due to my broken hand which limits the physicality of this holiday so far. So I'm left with the "hard" books which take considerable effort in reading. But on the other hand they do reveal gems. One such a book which I've been meaning to tackle for a while is "Destructive emotions" a dialogue with the Dalai Lama narrated by Daniel Goleman. A fascinating insight from yesterday was "The first task Matthieu set himself was to address the gap between the Buddhist and English terms for emotions. ...The English word 'emotion' comes from the Latin root emovere - something that sets the mind in motion, whether toward harmful, neutral, or positive action.

In Buddhist terms, on the other hand, one would call emotion something that conditions the mind and makes it adopt a certain perspective or vision of things. ... he described a standard very different from that used in the west for marking an emotion as destructive: not just whether it results in obvious harm, but whether it causes a more subtle harm - distorting our perception of reality.

The only other antidote to this rather heavy going is "the easy way to learn Chinese Characters" - since its been a while since my last Chinese class I'm trying to get back into it again before my study begins in September.

Finally this afternoon we're in a town in a bar with wifi. So I've uploaded my one finger typing efforts for now and a few pictures and that will be that until civilization....

keep the comments flowing in the mean time.

And a question... how do I get around the video zoning thing on a mac? I order DVD's from all over and usually play them on my multi-system player at home. But i can only change the zone on the Mac 4x ....

French vignettes

Truly the middle of nowhere

H comes to pick me up at Toulouse airport. I'd been allowed on the plane notwithstanding some questions and several frantic phone calls from the Swissport guy at the gate to see if someone in my condition could truly fly. And a very pleasant flight indeed. A small airline called Baboo with charming in-flight staff (would I mind terribly if they moved me from the emergency exit - where H's miracle worker secretary had managed to seat me - since - well, I'd not be really much use in the event of an emergency...), and delicious snacks - I could nearly imagine I was at a cocktail party being served canapé's rather than on a low cost airline. The difference? No plastic tray et al. Rather, each part individually served with the staff walking up and down the isle. The benefits immediately obvious - less waste and no annoying tray on your table for the entire flight.

The round trip to our rented parsonage is 5 hours... We literally are in the middle of nowhere. We are so nowhere that there isn't even mobile coverage - not without driving 15 minutes up the road. Heavens knows where the closest wifi spot would be. WEEEFEE c'est qoui? Luckily the kids could stay with the grandparents who were here for a couple of days en-route to their next destination. They'd just been victims of a particularly brutal drive-by mugging - car window smashed in while they were parked at a lay-bye having a snack.

We finally arrived. Not a single light in sight. An old parsonage attached to a church and cemetery dated 1639. The kids are having a ball - R in searching for bugs of which there are a profusion and N in sketching the buildings and graves. After a 2 day search and trying one huge antique key after another, she finally managed to find the right key to the church and we entered its musty spider-webbed depths. Of course this is wonderful for a girl with a surplus in imagination and fantasy. The reality is a little less prosaic - the church was last used for a baptism in 2002, and the local population of 3 houses - ours which is intermittently used by the owner included, doesn't justify its upkeep. Our accommodation inside is about 10 degrees cooler than outdoors. I guess mainly due to the 1/2 metre thick walls, small windows and shutters. And we hear nothing. Really nothing. Well maybe some insects, but no other noises.

'Till the cows come home

In a rural place like this it is not hard to see where old expressions come from. Each morning at almost exactly 8 am the cows leave the neighbouring farm and go out to the fields and at 8 p.m. they come home. The kids find it quite hilarious that they're allowed to be outside playing "until the cows come home"

Fun with French

Shortly after we arrived the local dog stuck his head in to see if anything was to be gained by begging. "Allez, Allez!" shouted H's mum. The dog duly left the kitchen with R running after him saying "Allez, Allez, come here, come here let me pat you"

Do we have to sign up?

Yesterday we had evidence we are bringing up a bunch of heathens. At 7pm the church bells in the village we wew visiting started ringing. Questions as to what they were and why. We explained they were calling people to the evening mass. N's question : "how do you go to church, do you have to sign up for it like a course?

A note for the security check

My friend and I went for a hike up in the Swiss slopes yesterday with another friend of hers. W took the little cog train from Montreux via Glion and Caux to Rochers-de-Naye wand walked back down. Those trains are amazing. There bits of track have been around for nearly longer than the existence of Hong Kong. You go up and wonder what on earth possessed the people to look up at the mountain and think it ought to be conquered. Particularly when you look down and see a coat line that is not exactly overpopulated - particularly not by HK standards. A great need for a lot of personal space? A feeling that now that cogs have been perfected in watch making there has to be further application in the wider world? Or did the train cogs come first and then the clocks and watches? Whatever the reasons - we have a beautiful legacy suiting locals and tourists alike.

My friend is Nigerian and her friend is Kenyan. Since we'd just met we were asking the usual questions about how long we'd been in our respective countries, family etc. I asked how she like Switzerland, to which she replied they she couldn't wait to get back to Nairobi. She said problems, warts and all, being away had made her appreciate her homeland infinitely more. The lack of hustle and bustle was the one thing, but worse still was the lack of human warmth. As we boarded the train on the way up, a very old, very frail lady struggled down on her own lugging a huge trolley bag. The conductor courteously offered her a hand, and the chap behind her reluctantly put the bag down the stairs. I assumed he was with her, but he wasn't. She was completely alone. You see what I mean, M exclaimed, that would /nEVER happen in Kenya. Nigeria neither said my friend. HK neither I exclaimed. Is no one going to help her down the stairs? I was ready to jump to her aid - she was bent double with osteoporosis and the stairs looked so daunting to me. We need to board, and she'll talk the lift or escalator said M.

The walk was lovely, but as loud cover was low, slippery. At one point I fell rather badly, breaking the fall with my wrist and hitting my ribs on my camera. It was ok - a bit tender. But on the way home really started aching. So we went past the Urgence. By then it was agony. A few X-rays later (really painful as the moved the hand into the right position) - ribs fine albeit bruised, but a suspected fracture on my hand. Suspected? Well the Xray showed something, but the doctor on duty was just a GP and it would need scanning by an orthopaedic surgeon to know for sure and she didn't think it e\urgent enough to call one out - let alone the cost factor. They'd put it in a cast and I could have it checked out properly in 10 days, by which time it would either be the same, better or worse....

Oh, and here is a note for airport security. I'm barely following this as my French is pathetically worse than my Chinese. A note for the security. Yes, that you've been treated by us and the cast is real. We look baffled. Drug smuggling she explains. Oh, we say. The bandaging and cast specialist arrives. He has an accent. I try guessing at his encouragement. Not Italian, Portuguese, Spanish - warm, but wrong continent. Blow me down if the guy isn't from Columbia. M and I look at each other and can barely stop ourselves from laughing as she clutches the note for airport security. Oh, Spanish I way, i can manage that better than French, and I try. It's been a year and I've spent 4 days trying to make myself understood in French. What comes out is a mixture of French, Chinese and Spanish. He's not impressed. You spent how many years in Spain? 4 I mumble. when you were a cild? No, 3 years ago I humbly offer. And this is all you have to show for it? I protest that I've been learning Chinese in the mean time and haven't spoken it in a while, he pushes the drying cast down extra hard to tell me just what he thinks of that lame excuse. I yelp. He turns to M - sensitive little thing isn't she? M rises to my defence, well she's in quite a bit of pain and the drugs they've given her don't seem to be kicking in yet...

We go and pay up - more expensive than my son's episode for a lower level of expertise (GP vs. Orthopaedic surgeon) and it took a lot longer.

ch ch ch change

You've got to trust me when I'm not the type of girl unaccustomed to change. In the past in fact i thrived on it. Sought it out even. New country? when do I fly? New continent? Which plug system should I stock up on? I'm becoming a little more settled now and one of the thing I love about my annual visits to Switzerland is that things here largely stay the same. My first shock was directly at the airport. I went into the Presse to buy my favourite Milka chocolate and there wasn't any. I found it a little strange, but carried on to he train assuming I'd find it elsewhere. nada. The whole 4 days here have been a fruitless search, even after enlisting the aide of my friends! I've no access to the internet so i can't do some research into this sorry state of affairs. even those large posters of purple cows have disappeared.

Next stop - drinks and dinner with IB GF (Investment banker girlfriend). Her shocking news - she's no longer got a job. I'm too discrete to ask if she jumped or was pushed. I had found it strange to find her in Lausanne on a week day, let alone available at 6pm for drinks. She was slightly shell shocked in the way that victims of trauma are. Luckily I had all the time in the world to listen to the stories off all her deals of the last few years. And that's just it - she was in deals all the time. ones that got executed I suggested that she now spent a little time on her personal life - like if she found a new job at least ensuring it was in the same country, if not town of her long standing long distance boyfriend for example. The worst of it all for her was that in her particular bank they've given the keys to the asylum to the lunatics. the very people who'd bankrupted the system were not only still around but were running the show.

At IMD I hear stories of changes made by the new president. after 15 years with Peter Lorange thing had a certain course and certainty. Like the Berlin Philharmonica after the death of van Karajan, the orchestra conducted itself. And even though all these sane and intelligent people could rationalise the change and even their reactions to it, it was still change. and change, when it's not exciting, is uncomfortable.

After resisting for a few days, I go and have a look at my emails. A person I respect hugely has decided to withdraw his child from ISF. I'm devastated. I'd known his issues, and they're similar to mine, but the last chat we'd had we'd both pretty much decided to wait and see what the change of a new principal and head of primary would do. I'd been cross at discovering that they're changing the math curriculum for the 3rd time in as many years. and the trend is not for the better. Going from Singapore math to NSW math to my despised Everyday math is not what I view as a positive change. That was perhaps the final straw for him as his child is talented in Math, whereas for me the Chinese is paramount and maths secondary. But

i shouldn't speculate.

Last night I was chatting to BI GF (Big industry Girlfriend). She's been away with her kids in Germany so I haven't been able to see her this trip. We were debriefing on her last performance appraisal and she was saying how part of her just wanted to stay in her current town and job and industry forever. And part of her ... at this point I thought she'd say "wants to go back to X" - her home country. She is after all, a single mother in a foreign country. But no, she continued that part of her wanted to go to INDIA and work there. I applauded her enthusiastically and emphasised the positives of such a move. She's never been a girl to let social convention tie her down, so why should she start now. And change, as hard as it may be, it makes us stretch and grow and challenges our assumptions - not the least of which is what we are what we want and why.

bdpq

I may have mentioned earlier that R is seeing a behavioural opthamologist to help with his tracking and reading. Thanks to the anonymous commenter, he's very happy going to Polyvision and eagerly works with his therapist who seems to have a good affinity with him - even in his most exasperating moments. The good doctor is also obviously very experienced and makes extremely insightful comments during the sessions. Like on Tuesday when he said to me, that the problem with kids like him was not that they didn't try hard, it was that they were unable to relax, because if they were not in overdrive they wouldn't be able to function, relaxing was the problem. As I observe him I think how true it is. And how exhausting his life must be at times.

Yesterday's session was to introduce some exercises (the sessions introduce the material and then I spend 15 minutes a day inbetween practising with him) to help conquer the confusion between b, d, p & q. He drew a little man for R (see above) and said, look, this is the man, this is you. And he placed it in front of him so that it faced outward. He said, your right hand goes up for a "p", your left hand for the "q", your right foot goes out for the "b" and your left foot for the "d" Inbetween he had to stand to attention.

Then he showed a sheet of paper which looked as follows:

---------------------------------
bbpqbdp
bpbdbqp
dbpqbdp
pbdbqpp
bdpqbdp
bdbqppq
bdbqbdp
bpddbqp
----------------------------------------

R had to read each letter aloud and at the same time move from standing at attention to having the correct foot or arm in the correct position.

Now this is the amazing bit. He practised it with the doctor for a few lines = a little hesitantly since this is a major difficulty for him. Today we did a whole sheet in a few minutes and he neither read a single letter wrongly nor used the wrong foot or arm. I'm truly impressed!

I leave tonight. I don't feel ready to go, but I'm definitely ready to escape the heat.

H has been working flat out all week with overseas board members to present to, introduce to important clients etc. etc. He's exasperated. Primarily on the cultural insensitivity. Yesterday he was raging that someone hadn't bothered to be on time for a meeting with one of HK's movers and shakers. The said M&S then kept this man waiting 15 minutes. To which he commented, "oh, just as well I wasn't on time" and H had to subtly explain the nuances that the M&S was making a point due to having been kept waiting ...
And then of course the joy of having these lords bring along some consultant from the home countries who hasn't a clue, spouts all kinds of wisdom and doubtless will come with a report or presentation which will keep them busy implementing some insanity for the next year ... sometimes I"m glad I don't work!

one more night ... and day

I leave tomorrow night. So I've been doing the dreaded packing for myself and the kids. Instead of doing it in a quick burst of activity like any sane normal person I've managed to prolong the agony over 2 days. Inbetween kids playdates, football, making meals, picking up suncream, downloading music, blogging, writing minutes and enrolling for ...
yup, I've decided to enrol for the HKU putonghua course. Been mulling about doing it for the last 3 years, but now's the first time both kids will be full time at school. So in a snatched conversation with H this afternoon inbetween making dinner and finding my old mobile phone and Spanish sim card I hauled out my old university diplomas so they can check them, made copies and filled in the application form. They asked for my Chinese name. I was tempted to put in Gweipo, but they may not see the joke or the poignancy of the journey I've had in the last 3 years from being a ghost being to getting some form and substance.
The other alternative was to study to become a librarian. Why didn't I? Well because I'd also need a teaching certificate to become a school librarian, the local courses may not be well recognised internationally, and they're part time. I want full time during school time, not when the kids need me. Distance learning was a strong option, but that would isolate me, and i need to be among people. A friend is doing a masters in psychology, that sounded interesting, but where would it take me? Where will the Chinese take me? Nowhere realistically in 2 years, but at least I may be able to part of my children's lives. Already N has overtaken me and will probably always be ahead. Maybe at least I'll be able to read her report card?
Why this need to do something. Envy for one. H is learning piano and comes home every evening and practises. I need something to apply myself to. Something with a goal post. I'd like to work, but work becomes too all encompassing for me. And I'd prefer not to repeat last year's experience. I need people around me, so starting up something myself is not an option.
So, off we go... hope it's the right choice as it's not cheap! H joked now he has 3 dependants at private schools ....