Going Dutch

At the end of May, Hisoka and I had our first date. Generally speaking, if there is no second date within six months, there probably never will be. But we are both busy people. We also live in different countries. And I was out of mine for two of those six months.

We kept in touch during the six months and we both happened to go back to Hong Kong at about the same time. So we set up a second date at the end of November.

For our first date, he took me to Hiroshima on a private plane and I spent the night at the most amazing natural hot springs. Our second date was never going to be that noteworthy. We went out to dinner.

In honor of my new job in Amsterdam, Hisoka wanted to take me out to a Dutch restaurant. Hong Kong is not exactly a bastion of Dutch cuisine. I have lived here for years and could not think of a single restaurant. After a little research, Hisoka found a small place above the Paisano's in Mong Kok. It turned out to be a standard Hong Kong style “international” restaurant. He misunderstood the name, Go Dutch Cafe.

Despite the restaurant's name, I let him pay. I usually pay for myself on the first few dates. Some men have strange ideas about money and power. It is simply easier if everyone pays for themselves. At least until you know each other well enough that no one cares. I paid for almost nothing on my first date with Hisoka, but that one was highly unusual. I don't have the faintest idea what half of that would cost. After a year of not working, I did not mind letting other people buy my meals. Dinner at a moderately priced Hong Kong restaurant was never going to break Hisoka anyway. I can't begin to guess his salary, but I don't think he is living in a refrigerator box and eating cat food.

Dinner was nothing special, but I generally don't care where I eat anymore. We had a nice conversation. That was the important thing. He was also in town for a while, so we set up a longer, more interesting third date a couple of days later.

I also let Hisoka pay for our third date, but that was only because we spent almost no money. And what did have to be paid for, I never knew about ahead of time. This all happened at the end of November, but I was still typing about Barcelona back then. Now that I am in Amsterdam working on the future, I can type about my Hong Kong date in the past. Sometimes life moves fast.

As it turns out, there is a supposedly authentic Dutch restaurant in Lan Kwai Fong. Maybe some other time.

Penny Marshall

One of the first pieces of international news I heard when I arrived in Amsterdam was that Penny Marshall had died. The news reports told us that Laverne was dead, but I always knew her as a director. As an actor, she was known for her TV show. Her movie roles were mostly bit parts and cameos. She was not a prolific director, but everything she did is worth watching.


Jumpin' Jack Flash
directed by Penny Marshall
starring Whoopi Goldberg, Stephen Collins, Carol Kane, Annie Potts, Roscoe Lee Browne, Jonathan Pryce

Big
directed by Penny Marshall
written by Gary Ross & Anne Spielberg
produced by James L Brooks & Robert Greenhut
starring Tom Hanks, Elizabeth Perkins, Robert Loggia, John Heard, Mercedes Ruehl

Awakenings
directed by Penny Marshall
written by Steven Zaillian
starring Robin Williams, Robert De Niro, Julie Kavner, Penelope Ann Miller, John Heard, Max von Sydow, Anne Meara

A League of Their Own
directed by Penny Marshall
written by Lowell Ganz & Babaloo Mandel
produced by Robert Greenhut
starring Tom Hanks, Geena Davis, Lori Petty, Madonna, Rosie O'Donnell, Anne Ramsay, David Strathairn, Garry Marshall

Renaissance Man
directed by Penny Marshall
produced by Robert Greenhut & Penny Marshall
starring Danny DeVito, Gregory Hines, Cliff Robertson, Ed Begley Jr, Stacey Dash

The Preacher's Wife
directed by Penny Marshall
starring Denzel Washington, Whitney Houston, Courtney B Vance, Gregory Hines, Jenifer Lewis, Loretta Devine

Getting Away with Murder
directed & written by Harvey Miller
produced by Penny Marshall
starring Dan Aykroyd, Lily Tomlin, Jack Lemmon, Bonnie Hunt

With Friends Like These...
directed & written by Philip Messina
produced by Robert Greenhut & Penny Marshall
starring Adam Arkin, David Strathairn, Jon Tenney, Robert Costanzo, Amy Madigan, Laura San Giacomo

Riding in Cars with Boys
directed by Penny Marshall
produced by James L Brooks
starring Drew Barrymore, Steve Zahn, Brittany Murphy, Lorraine Bracco, James Woods, Sara Gilbert

Cinderella Man
directed by Ron Howard
produced by Ron Howard, Penny Marshall, Brian Grazer
starring Russell Crowe, Renée Zellweger, Paul Giamatti

Bewitched
directed by Nora Ephron
written by Nora Ephron & Delia Ephron
produced by Nora Ephron & Penny Marshall
starring Nicole Kidman, Will Ferrell, Shirley MacLaine, Michael Caine, Kristin Chenoweth, Stephen Colbert, Steve Carell, Amy Sedaris, Richard Kind

Christmas in Amsterdam

I will be in Amsterdam this Christmas. I have been out of the country for a couple of Thanksgivings, and I spent a Halloween in Tel Aviv, but this will be my first Christmas outside of China since I moved here. I have what might be high expectations.

Tokyo and Barcelona are not the ideal cities for Thanksgiving. They are far from the worst places, but neither country cares about the holiday. Halloween night in Tel Aviv was just like any other night. Fridays and Saturdays always get interesting in Tel Aviv, but I think Halloween that year was on a Monday.

In contrast, Christmas in Amsterdam just feels right. Not only is it a country that actually celebrates the holiday, but they have snow. I have not seen snow on Christmas in a long time. Christmas in Hong Kong is hot and humid. Some people wear coats and scarves because it is December, but it never comes close to freezing. You can't make a snowman out of warm rain. I suppose you could make a snow angel in the dirt and garbage on the street, but that might be dangerous.

The obvious downside to Christmas in Amsterdam is that I will have absolutely no one with me. I am going there to work, so it is not like I will be locked in a room and staring at the wall all day, but I don't know any of the people I will be working with yet. I would not be at all surprised if I make some genuine friends before it all ends, but probably not in a week. I think I'm pretty easy to get to know, but I rarely trust someone right away. I assume there will be some kind of Christmas party at some point in time. No one has told me anything so far, but it is almost inevitable. I have mixed feeling about office Christmas parties, but obviously I will go if I'm alone in a city I don't really know as well as I think I do.

Back in the Zadel

After a year of working on the sidelines, I am now partially employed in my chosen profession. I have been teaching ballet to little girls since March, but now I am finally back on stage. It is only a part-time job and 6,000 miles from home, but it's a lot better than nothing.

Before I went to Barcelona, I considered that they might offer me a more permanent job. It was certainly never guaranteed, but stranger things have happened. Instead, I was asked by a visiting choreographer to audition for a company he worked with in Amsterdam. I went to Amsterdam on vacation a few years ago. It is a great city, but nowhere near Barcelona. Fortunately, KLM has several flights every day. Unfortunately, I would have to pay for it. Once you have the job, plane tickets flow like wine, usually in business class. Before you get the job, no one wants to pay for anything.

Having already flown from Hong Kong to Doha, Doha to Barcelona, Barcelona to Porto and Porto to Barcelona, a quick flight to Amsterdam was practically routine. One of the great things about Europe, at least the EU parts, is that it is easy to fly or take a train from here to there. The bad news for people who like to collect stamps in their passport is that none of the airports ever stamp anything. They put an exit stamp when I flew out of Barcelona back to Doha, since I was leaving the EU, but there are no entrance stamps anywhere. I went to five different airports and took eight flights on this trip and my passport was only stamped once.

The detour in Amsterdam meant that I would lose two free days in Barcelona. Instead of seeing the sights, I went to another country. It was far from a waste of time. The choreographer told me who to talk to. I would love to say that I gave a spectacular audition because of my natural talent and grace. The truth is, I had been working practically every day for almost two months just before the audition. When you dance with people who are better than you are, it only makes you better. Had I auditioned straight from my dormant year in Hong Kong, the outcome might have been less exciting.

Much like I did with Tel Aviv, I will be commuting back and forth between Hong Kong and Amsterdam. I will never be in Holland long enough to have any kind of residency status, just like Israel, but that usually means lower taxes. I will have to look into EU tax laws. Israel was surprisingly accommodating to foreign workers. Americans love to complain about taxes, even though we pay less than most of the world, but I am already paying in two different countries. Holland will be number three, so the less they gouge me, the better.

One of the biggest differences between Amsterdam and Tel Aviv will be the living arrangements. In Tel Aviv, they put me up at the Melody Hotel, across the street from Independence Park, which is a short cliff away from the beach and Mediterranean Sea. This was a charming little boutique hotel with bicycles that I rode to work and the best hotel breakfast I have ever had anywhere in the world. I'm sure there are plenty of nice hotels in Tel Aviv, but this one will always be my first choice whenever I go back.

In Amsterdam, I am on my own. No one is putting me up in any hotels. Fortunately, there are other dancers in the same position. Finding a house to share was pretty easy. I was in Amsterdam for two days and I found a place before I left, excluding a few phone calls and emails. It is almost like a time share. When I'm there, everyone else will be somewhere else. I currently have one roommate, and will eventually have two, but I will almost always live there alone. I will probably treat it more like a hotel than a house, except there is no front desk, housekeeping, swimming pool or gym. But there is a full kitchen with everything I would ever need. It is a full-size house, but I am renting a bedroom and sharing a few common rooms. I look at it as an apartment. As an apartment, it is more than big enough for me, but it is enormous for a hotel room. Three people could easily live there at the same time.

One thing Amsterdam has in common with Tel Aviv is the bike culture. Both cities are easy to ride in, and Amsterdam takes bike riding to another level. Riding a bike to work in Tel Aviv was easy. The bike was owned by the hotel, it is a mostly flat city and it was only a two mile ride. Amsterdam is also flat, but there are no free bikes. When I started to seriously think about working in Amsterdam, I looked up bike rentals. It turns out there are a million places I can get one at a reasonable price. But then I found the house. It is less than a mile to the theater and even closer to the rehearsal space. If I don't feel like walking less than 20 minutes, there is a tram a block from the apartment that goes straight to the theater. I like the idea of riding a bike to work, but it is so close, I don't need to in Amsterdam.

I have been to Amsterdam, twice now, but I know nothing about living there. Americans can easily visit without a visa, but anyone who works there has to endure government bureaucracy. I figure the Netherlands cannot possibly have more paperwork than Israel or, the emperor of bureaucracy, China. If I can successfully navigate China's labyrinth, any other country should be easy.

The hardest part about working in another country is usually finding a place to live. It only took a few weeks to find my first apartment in Hong Kong, but we searched for three or four months to find the one we are in now. I'm told that it is pretty hard to find a place in Amsterdam. Obviously, I got lucky. My accidental timing must have been perfect. It also helps that I will not be living there full time. Roommates are easy when you are all in the apartment at different times.

I don't speak a word of Dutch. Some of it looks pretty easy. Yes is ja and no is nee. Some of it might be more challenging. Liability insurance is aansprakelijkheidsverzekering. Then again, I don't know much Hebrew either, and I was fine in Tel Aviv. And almost everyone in Amsterdam speaks English. If I were living there full time, I'm sure I would learn a lot. Since I will only be there in short spurts, and mostly working, I am worried that I will not learn anything. I worked in Israel for a year, but I know precious few words and phrases and can't read any of it. At least Dutch uses a recognizable alphabet.

I miss going to Tel Aviv. The people were as friendly as can be and I ate some of the best food in the world. Amsterdammers seem pretty friendly, but it is too soon to tell. You don't really know what people are like when you go there on vacation. You have to deal with and/or cause local problems.

Amsterdonians? Those Dam people? Yet another thing to figure out.

l'Apartament de Barcelona

I shared an apartment in Barcelona for two months with a lovely young dancer from France. Being French, she provided me with an opportunity to practice the language when we both should have been studying Spanish. Or Catalan.

When you work in a foreign country, it is always best to have someone living with you. A local might be ideal, but I like exploring a new place with other foreigners. A local can show you the ropes and make it easier, but you can share the experience with another foreigner. In this case, I did not pick my roommate or apartment. I just got lucky.

The outside door to the Barcelona apartment looked like every other door on a street full of residential buildings that all pretty much looked the same. It took a few days to find the right door on the first try. Beyond the front door was a dark and gloomy hallway that I imagine would have been right at home behind the Iron Curtain. I'm still surprised whenever I see anything in Western Europe that reminds me of Eastern Europe. Up several flights of constantly cornering stairs was another door that looked just like every other door. The only saving grace was that there was only one door per floor. As long as you were on the right floor, it had to be the right door.

Everything changed as soon as that door was opened. The apartment interior was bright and airy. The high walls and ceiling were all various shades of white and there were large windows taking up an entire wall of the living room and kitchen. The bedrooms had smaller windows and they faced south, so there was less light. The living room and kitchen faced east, letting light flood in almost every morning, weather permitting. There was only one bathroom, unfortunately, and it was tiny and dark. The building was at least a hundred years old. Probably older. The kitchen was obviously remodeled some time in the last five years. The living room and bedrooms were decorated in a different decade, but everything was clean and in one piece. The bathroom might have been older than the building. I have seen better equipped outhouses.

The bathroom was clean, but almost useless. The water pressure was a joke. Turning the shower up all the way provided little more than a trickle. We adjusted the water heater in every way imaginable, but that did nothing for the pressure. Eventually, a maintenance person told us that Barcelona was simply a city of low water pressure. I could not help but think he was just being lazy. The water pressure in the kitchen sink was amazing. It was so high that it forced a bowl out of my hand one of the first times I washed dishes. In the kitchen, we had to turn the water as low as possible. In the bathroom, nothing worked better than a bus station.

The bathroom and kitchen were night and day. I loved everything about that kitchen. Not only was there more than enough light in the daytime, there was more than enough counter space at all hours. The refrigerator, oven and washing machine were all new and high tech. Each could be programmed a million different ways that we never understood. Partly because neither of us were used to appliances that require an internet connection and mostly because we both arrived knowing pretty much no Spanish. The kitchen came loaded with all manner of dishes, utensils, silverware, pots and pans. We were surrounded by food all around the city, but could make practically anything in that kitchen.

The apartment had doors everywhere. Each bedroom had a door that led to the living room and another door that led to the hallway that led to the front door. Both the living room and kitchen had doors to the hallway and another door that separated the two. On our first few nights in the apartment, we closed all of the doors for safety, but quickly abandoned that idea and left most of the doors open all the time. With doors open, the light from the living room and kitchen went almost everywhere. Except the bathroom.

The front door was the most complicated. From the outside, there was a single lock that could only be closed by pulling the door tightly shut and forcing the key far more than felt right. From the inside, there were three different locks, one of which had different layers of latching. When we were home, it would have taken a battering ram for someone to force their way in. When we were out, a simple credit card could do the trick.

The best thing about the apartment was that it was an actual apartment. I stayed in an apartment when I worked in Paris and it made all the difference in the world. It felt like I was living there, if only temporarily. The Barcelona apartment was less elegant, and the neighborhood was not as photogenic, but it felt far more genuine than a hotel. I would never want to buy that particular apartment, but it was a nice place to stay for a couple of months.

Veneza de Portugal

Aveiro, a tiny coastal village in central Portugal, is called the Venice of Portugal, for some reason. It has a few canals running through the city, but is above sea level and not likely to be flooded into extinction any time soon. I have never been to Venice, but I have to assume it is far more beautiful.

We took the train from Porto to Aveiro, which is a pleasant little 45 minute ride along the Atlantic coast. Unfortunately, we spent less than 12 hours in town, and I was working about half of that time, so what I know about Aveiro can fill two or three paragraphs.

Aveiro is not a crowded town, at least not in October. The largest crowd we saw on Aveiro day was at the Porto train station. Porto is not nearly as big as Barcelona, but there were more people milling about the station than I would have expected. The Porto train station is a popular tourist site, mostly for the murals on the ceiling, but once you pass the lobby, the crowds thin out. There were hundreds of people in the station, but almost no one waiting for our train.

Aveiro is famous for salt, I have been told. Everywhere we went, people were selling salt. I never bought any because salt should cost less than 20 euros for a 4 ounce bottle. Salt in different colors and mixed with herbs and spices does not impress me much. The ceramic trinkets and knick knacks were more impressive, but I generally don't buy souvenirs if they are only going to sit on a shelf and never do anything.

Aveiro also has colored boats that take people around the canals, but I never went on one.

During my time in Porto, several people said nice things about Aveiro. I'm sure there is something to it that I missed, but I was simply not there long enough.

John Lennon

1940-1980

We don't care what flag you're waving
We don't even want to know your name
We don't care where you're from or where you're going
All we know is that you came

You're making all our decisions
We have just one request of you
That while you're thinking things over
Here's something you just better do

Free the people now
Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now

We were caught with our hands in the air
Don't despair paranoia is everywhere
We can shake it with love when we're scared
So let's shout it aloud like a prayer

Free the people now
Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now

We understand your paranoia
But we don't want to play your game
You think you're cool and know what you are doing
And 666 is your name

So while you're jerking off each other
You better bear this thought in mind
Your time is up, you better know it
But maybe you don't read the signs

Free the people now
Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now

Well you were caught with your hands in the kill
And you still got to swallow your pill
As you slip and you slide down the hill
On the blood of the people you killed

Stop the killing now
Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now
Bring on the Lucie

Pearl Harbor

“Yesterday, December 7, 1941 – a date which will live in infamy – the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

“The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleagues delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. While this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.

“It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.

“The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu.

“Yesterday, the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong. Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam. Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine islands. Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island. And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island. Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation.

“As commander in chief of the army and navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. But always will our whole nation remember the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.

“I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us.

“Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger. With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph, so help us God.

“I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.”

--President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 12/8/1941

Pearl Harbor National Memorial

A Invicta Cidade do Porto

While I was struggling with Spanish, made harder by the fact that the language of Barcelona is Catalan, we went to Portugal. Catalan feels like a dialect of Spanish, but I'm told it branched out of Latin, independent of Spanish. In writing, Catalan looks similar to French, but the pronunciation sounds slightly more Italian. Not that it ever really mattered. Everyone I met spoke Spanish. If you grew up in Catalunya, you learned Spanish in school. Older people were even forbidden to learn Catalan when they were younger. And a lot of people in Barcelona speak English. Except at Tim Hortons, for some reason. No one who works there spoke English. Fortunately, I know how to say, “Diez timbits para llevar, por favor.” What flavors? That is why pointing was invented. Even if everyone in the donut shop speaks the same language, you point at what you want. Except at Krispy Kreme. Then you only have to tell them how many boxes of glazed donuts you want.

Portuguese is a horse of a different color (un caballo de un color diferente, probably something diferente em portugues). In writing, it looks similar to Spanish, but nothing sounds the same. Read something aloud in Portugal the way you would read it in Spain and the person you are speaking to will have no idea what you are talking about. Let them read the paper and they will understand it completely. It reminded me of Chinese, except that Portuguese and Spanish are entirely different languages while Chinese and Chinese are region specific.

We spent a week in Portugal, in the small coastal city of Porto. By Portuguese standards, Porto is considered a large city. It has about as many people as Richmond, Virginia, so I consider it a small city. When you live in China, anything with fewer than 5 million people is a small city. Under 500,000 is a tiny village. Porto is one of those little European villages that likes to think it is an old city. As an American, I'm supposed to be impressed by how old it is. Porto was founded almost one thousand years before my home state. But again, living in China changes your perspective. By the time Porto got its own flag, China had already had a hundred civil wars, rebellions, insurrections, uprisings, insurgencies and revolutions. One hundred might sound like embellishment or hyperbole, but I'm probably low balling it.

We flew to Porto even though there are plenty of trains to and from Barcelona. The idea was that planes are faster. But with a train, you buy your ticket and get on the train. You can arrive at the station five minutes before your train leaves. There are probably restrictions on what you can bring in your luggage. Bombs and rocket launchers might not be allowed. But no one ever checks. Bring whatever you want on the train. Airports are a little more strict. Water, of all things, is forbidden. You can bring water on the plane, but you have to buy the $10 bottle from the airport. A two hour flight takes seven hours, at least. Then you have to get from the airport to wherever you are going. Airports are rarely anywhere near the city center. Train stations are mostly downtown.

Downtown Porto was a nice looking city. I can't say it was the best looking city in Europe. There is too much competition for that title. But it was nice to look at, especially at night. The lights along the river and across Ponte de Dom Luis I were far more subtle than anything I see every day in Hong Kong. When you are in Porto, you have to walk across the bridge. It's like going up the Eiffel Tower. You never see the locals doing it, but it is always packed full of people.

We rarely used the metro, but it looked like your typically efficient European public transportation. And it has to be. Porto is a hilly city. It's like San Francisco on steroids, with cobblestones instead of smooth pavement. And more hills. San Francisco has the Embarcadero and Golden Gate Park. I never saw any flat areas in Porto. Even the riverbanks went from water to hills. Walking around the city counts as a daily workout. There are a couple of streetcars, so you can get around and still see the city, but they are overpriced and don't really go anywhere. I think they are strictly for the tourists.

When I walked around, I saw construction. Everywhere. I don't know if it is always like this because of all the old buildings or I came at the wrong time, but it felt like every corner I turned led to more scaffolding and large machines making heavy noises. Mercado do Bolhao, easily the most famous market in the city, was completely closed for renovation. There was a temporary market a block away, but it was much smaller and had absolutely no charm.

It was also impossible to walk anywhere without a busker around the corner. I only saw one or two in Barcelona, but they were out in force in Porto. I can only imagine what it is like at the height of tourist season. Most of them were not especially good, but they all played songs I recognized. One busker at the Ribeira stood with his back to the river and sang “Tiny Dancer”, “Imagine” and REM's “Nightswimming”. He only had an acoustic guitar and a weak voice, but he obviously loved what he sang. Hearing familiar songs in public is becoming increasingly rare the further I grow out of touch with today's music. The buskers of Porto, at least, were as stuck in the past as I am.

Just outside the city, at the mouth of the Douro River, is the Atlantic Ocean. As oceans go, it was a nice change of pace. There were long beaches along the Foz do Douro, but it was still not good beach weather. It was a sunnier day than when I went to the Barcelona beach, but it was still October. I'm sure the Atlantic Ocean is colder than the Mediterranean. I have nothing to back that up. It's just an assumption.

In Porto, we stayed in a hotel that called itself an apartment. The Barcelona apartment was an actual apartment. It looked and felt like an apartment, and had obviously been around a while. The Porto “apartment” was shiny and new. It had a tiny kitchen and separate living room/bedrooms, but it felt nothing like an apartment. Since we were only there for a week, it never really mattered. A week in a hotel can be a nice break. For a month or two, a genuine apartment is always better. Hotels can get old pretty fast, and you always feel like a visitor. In an apartment, you can pretend you actually live there. The funny thing is, I spent twice as much time in Barcelona as I did in Paris a few years ago, but I felt more like I was living in Paris. Maybe it was a greater familiarity with the language and culture. Or maybe I just like Paris better. Barcelona seems like a good place, but I never felt any real connection. Maybe I have to go back some day.

La Capital de Catalunya

I spent almost two months in Barcelona, but I really can't say much about the city. I spent most of my time working, and we did a quick tour in Portugal. I saw very little beyond the immediate neighborhood around my apartment. I walked past la Sagrada Familia and a couple of Gaudi houses almost every day, but I never went inside any of them. In another neighborhood, I took the telefèric up to Castell de Montjuic. But I don't know anything about the castle's history. I do know there are great views of the city from the castle and cable car. I think the most time I spent outside of work was at el Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya. The building and grounds were works of art as much as the collections inside. At the top of a lot of steps, it also had great views.

The people in residential areas were friendly, but the more crowded areas had too many tourists. The first time I went to la Rambla was a Saturday night, so I thought that was why it was so crowded. I went again on a Wednesday morning and it was almost as bad. I think there are simply some parts of Barcelona that are unbearable no matter what time or day.

You would think living in Hong Kong made me immune to immense crowds, but there is something oddly different about Chinese overpopulation compared to overcrowding in places like Europe and North America. It is almost comfortable in China. Maybe not comfortable. Tolerable might be a better word. Trudging through an endless river of bodies in Europe is one of my least favorite ways to spend the day. Other than la Boqueria, I did not see much reason to visit la Rambla. Unless you like overpriced shopping. La Boqueria was a loud little market, infinitely better in the morning than later in the day. It reminded me of le Marché Provençal in Antibes. It was nice, but far from the best local market in the world. That would be Mahane Yehuda in Jerusalem.

The Barcelona metro (el Metro de Barcelona) was efficient, but there does not seem to be a smart card system like Hong Kong's octopus or Tokyo's Pasmo. There were a million different ticket types, so I just went with the monthly pass. Much like Paris, every station required walking up and down multiple flights of stairs, with only the occasional escalator. I don't know how people in wheelchairs get around. Europe has some amazing looking cities to walk around, as long as your body is fully functional.

Unfortunately, I can't say anything about the food. I ate plenty of it. I usually eat a lot while rehearsing, and maybe a little less between shows, so I used to have plenty of opinions about the food around me. In Barcelona, I had some empanadas, escalivada, and a lot of potatoes, mostly with aioli. I don't think you are allowed to eat potatoes without aioli in Barcelona I ate paella because you have to when you are in Spain. That's another law. And tapas, of course. You can't walk two blocks in Barcelona without running into a tasca or tapas bar. There were a lot of tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant and peppers in practically everything. Before this trip, I could not remember the last time I ate eggplant. In Barcelona, I can't remember a day without it. The city is on the Mediterranean, so there was plenty of olive oil everywhere. No hummus, though. That was disappointing. I'm sure there is some somewhere, but I never saw any.

I don't know what anything tasted like, but most of the food looked familiar. Empanadas are essentially the same as sambousek. Dough stuffed with food is pretty common all over the world. Paella is Spanish jambalaya. Tapas and dim sum are the same concept. I had crema catalana in Barcelona, which is crème brulee, and pastel de nata in Portugal, which is available at bakeries all over Macau and Hong Kong.

Interestingly enough, tortillas in Barcelona are nothing like Mexico. They are omelettes, frittatas or any similar egg dish. I saw a sign for tortillas at one of the stalls at la Boqueria and thought about bringing some back to the apartment to use later. The stall owner was confused when I wanted a dozen. I was pretty sure it was not a language issue. I know that doce means twelve, and I know what a tortilla is. Or so I thought. When he held up a large plate of an even larger omelette, I learned what a tortilla is in Spain. I never found any Mexican tortillas, under any name, in any of the grocery stores. I guess they never confuse the two if they only have one.

I can't say much about the beaches. October/November is not ideal beach weather and I only went once. It looked like it was going to rain the entire day, so the only people out beyond the promenade were the surfers. It is probably a nice area during summer.

Shopping is ridiculously easy in Barcelona. My apartment was between a large Carrefour and a small Condis. There were tiny 24H convenience stores every two blocks in every direction. They all seemed to be owned and/or operated by Arabs, which only reminded me of Apu and the stereotype of certain minority groups covering certain occupations. We don't see a lot of that where I live. In China, every 7-Eleven is staffed by Chinese people. Every taxi driver is Chinese. Every gardener is Chinese. The richest people, and those who do all the work for them, are all Chinese.

The apartment was in a residential neighborhood, but only a few blocks from la plaça de Catalunya, probably the most important plaza in the city. As far as I could tell, plaça de Catalunya is the shopping, entertainment and transportation hub of the entire city. It is surrounded by shopping malls, department stores and pedestrian malls. Several museums are just north of the square, with theaters and churches in every direction. You can catch several different L trains, a few R trains and dozens of buses, including the airport express bus. Most importantly, it had a Tim Hortons.

La Boqueria is the famous market, just south of plaça de Catalunya and a 20 minute walk from the apartment. But there are less crowded options at el Mercat de la Concepció, just off el Passeig de Gràcia, and el Mercat de Santa Caterina, a few blocks from the Cathedral. Unlike Paris, Barcelona does not close on Sundays. There was no reason to go hungry, so I never did.