Last night I finally had the opportunity to watch Thom Andersen’s superb meditation on the politics, public relations and naivete of filmmakers who have used Los Angeles as a backdrop or a character in their movies. Andersen who grew up in Los Angeles, was associated with the USC film school and now is a professor at Cal Arts, created Los Angeles Plays Itself in 2003. The two-hour film is apparently “unplayable” outside of personal screenings because it makes use of clips of more than 200 copyrighted works to demonstrate Andersen’s points about what is and is not in the frame. Obtaining the clearances for these beautiful images (including some from my personal favorites: from Kiss Me, Deadly to Zabriskie Point to The Long Goodbye) apparently would require a very large budget (perhaps AFI could step in and foot the bill?), so you have to find a time and place where Andersen might want to show the film privately if you want to enjoy it on the big screen.
However,the film is available on YouTube either as a single video, or in a series of 12, with an index to the set provided on the Open Culture website, which is the way I saw it. After watching you can see also find the complete list of films referenced in a posted copy of the script or in a Letterboxd list. All that remains is for the book to be published, with footnotes to further reading on the history of Los Angeles’s studios, city politics and events.
Andersen covers the Los Angeles built environment in the first half of the film but then gradually shifts focus to the social. In his view of the history of movie-era Los Angeles, there are a series of earthquake-like events that have occurred decade after decade and that reveal how the public image of Los Angeles as portrayed in just about every Hollywood production (as well as in the movies of artists and European outsiders) has become ever more distant from the reality on the ground. He also goes to other well-know critics of Los Angeles’s built environment, David Gebhard and MIke Davis, to support his argument of the social decline of Los Angeles.
Chronologically, he relates these damaging events:
The 1920’s consideration and subsequent rejection of a regional, municipal trolley system that would have been a complement to the ever expanding influence of suburban development and the dominance of the automobile.
The Zoot Suit riots of 1943, that exposed the cruel victimization of the Los Angeles Latino community.
The 1949 Los Angeles City Council rejection of a light-rail plan, in favor of postwar freeway expansion.
The debate over public housing in 1951-53, where newly appointed police chief William Parker conspired with media and business interests in the McCarthy era to portray the public housing movement as Communist-influenced. The program was abandoned, prefiguring the further decline of poor areas of Los Angeles.
The Parker era’s step-by-step deepening of a climate of paranoia (coinciding with the Film Noir years), where the L.A.P.D. strove to meet the idea robotic, all-powerful, all-seeing ideals of Jack Webb’s Dragnet.
The Watts riots of 1965.
The destruction of downtown’s Bunker Hill neighborhood, unleashed by real-estate deals set up by the Richard Riordan administration from 1973-86.
Coincident with the sterility of downtown redevelopment was a planned further deteriorization of public transit. Andersen gives examples that were brought in a class-action suit: reductions in routes, de-publication of route maps, etc.
The Rodney King riots of 1991.
Andersen carefully observes how “enlightened” filmmakers from the Hollywood tradition realized how Los Angeles’ dream era has ended and that the social fabric is torn, but could not work outside of their privileged viewpoint and their scant knowledge about the vast plain of the Los Angeles basin, confining their protagonists’ psychological problems to the white suburban motifs of Raymond Carver (as in Altman’s Short Cuts). Finally, Andersen finds praise in the film’s last segment for the more truthful people- and family-focused work of African-American neo-realist filmmakers working in the 90s in the films Bush Mama, Killer of Sheep and Bless Their Little Hearts. He also returns again and again to the rarely seen Kent MacKenzie neo-realist picture about Native Americans in downtown, The Exiles, made in 1971, at a time when the dream mirror was really cracked.
Parallel to the main line of social commentary, Andersen does bring up the treasure trove of film stock that can be mined for archeological and historical purposes. For me, an outsider who arrived in Los Angeles in 1973 to study its architecture, and remained there until 1982, watching the film was a beautiful nostalgic journey, and the concept of nostalgia or period-piece films is a large theme in Los Angeles Plays Itself. In particular, I now need to find a copy of Jacques Deray’s 1973 film The Outside Man, which Andersen describes as an almost perfect snapshot of the city at that moment in time. He separates the non-Hollywood films of the 70s and 80s as either “low-tourist” or “high-tourist”. The distinction for me is that “low-tourist” films play Los Angeles for laughs or thrills through stereotypes, and “high-tourist” films attempt to reveal the kitsch, the ugly and the dysfunctional parts of the basin with more sublety, using art-film techniques.
I found a few of Andersen’s grind-axes a bit humorous. He is a consummate East sider and mocks the gilded movie-industry that can’t bear to locate a movie east of Vine St unless the location is in the hills, at landmarks like Griffith Park or Union Station, or downtown with its dead-world skyways and office towers. He does admit to overcoming his East-sider prejudice against Jacques Demy’s exquisite Model Shop, on subsequent rewatching, at least. And he is repulsed by the acronym “L.A.” That kind of crankiness is widespread in the Bay Area, too, where “S.F.” and “Frisco” and “San Fran” are looked down on. I love L.A.
I had a few great flashbacks while enjoying Los Angeles Plays Itself. And I will be adding some of these great and not-so-good films to my Letterboxd watchlist, thanks to Andersen’s teasers: D.O.A., Detour, The Night Holds Terror, The Street With No Name, Love Streams, Messiah of Evil, and Gone in 60 Seconds (the 1974 H.B. Halicki original, that Andersen describes as the best car-chase movie ever made). I don’t think I will be watching these however (you have to draw the line somewhere): The Glimmer Man, The Omega Man, Earthquake, Escape From L.A., L.A. Story or Hanging Up.
If you love or hate Los Angeles (Andersen delights in showing quite a few apocalypse-L.A. film clips), don’t miss this film.
Just purchased a BeagleBone Black kit from MakerShed as part of my retirement planning (entering a 4th career phase as a tinkerer/coding teacher).
First off, had a bit of a problem finding a 5V DC power supply. One that I spent $25 on didn’t work, then found a “Verizon” 4A power adapter recommended by another Beagler. Meantime I’m testing out the networking of the little guy.
# opkg update
# opkg upgrade
That took about 3 hours, but in the midst of it, the ethernet connection was established, and I could find out the IP address of the Bone by using nmap. So far so good.
Now I’m installing emacs and trying to get the Realtek wi-fi dongle to work with my home network. Apparently emacs doesn’t work (swallows keystrokes when used over ssh). So I’ll have to learn nano.
The wi-fi connection is a mess. The opkg upgrade did seem to install the realtek drivers. Then you modify /var/lib/connman/wifi.config, and hope you put in the right parameters. I have to reboot everytime I change this file. Then you might try removing the ethernet cable, or just use a heftier (2A minimum) power supply, or turn off powersave for wlan0 (on startup?),:
# iw wlan0 set power_save off
Or you might have to disable IPv6 (how?). Here’s some information from dmesg (and a little help for the reason codes):
[ 22.481941] wlan0: authenticate with 88:1f:a1:44:f3:ec
[ 22.527731] wlan0: authenticated
[ 27.594450] wlan0: deauthenticated from 88:1f:a1:44:f3:ec (Reason: 2) <- not authorized
[ 27.820069] wlan0: authenticate with cc:a4:62:cb:9b:f0
[ 28.449651] wlan0: authentication with cc:a4:62:cb:9b:f0 timed out
[ 29.338261] wlan0: authenticate with 88:1f:a1:44:f3:ec
[ 29.399841] wlan0: authenticated
[ 29.595382] wlan0: deauthenticating from 88:1f:a1:44:f3:ec by local choice (reason=3) <- went offline
I had the pleasure of spending three hours with Marin County educators and our special guest, George Couros, the Division Principal of Innovative Teaching and Learning at Parkland School Division in Alberta, Canada. The discussions and presentation that George brought were thought-provoking, and I’m sure everyone who attended had a busy mind throughout the hours after the meeting.
Here are some of the ideas I took away from the afternoon:
Everyone in the education community needs to be on a continual learning path (students, teachers, administrators, board members and parents). When you get to the point where you know it all, you really should change jobs. If administrators and teachers can model learning themselves, it will start to create a culture of innovation.
To explain to others why innovation might improve learning for students, you have to be convinced yourself and communicate ideas from the heart. Blogging and getting involved in discussions can help hone your ideas.
There is tremendous power in one-on-one learning for staff (or even small group learning) where teachers and administrators can ask questions and work on solutions relevant to their practice.
Isolation is a choice that educators make. Sharing through blogging and Twitter makes learning happen faster; we can learn so much more from sharing with others and from others.
There’s also a great benefit of transparency if teachers and educators consistently use a district Twitter hashtag to connect educators, students, parents, community, as well as to invite in educators from around the world to share their learning. Everyone in George’s district uses the #psd70 hashtag whenever they post information about what they are learning.
Right before I went to George’s roundtable and presentation, I had been working on our new elementary school report cards, which were developed collaboratively by our teaching staff and a consultant from the County Office of Education. The teachers decided that two profiles that students would be assessed on are the “Self-Directed Learner” and the “Collaborative Communicator”. I suddenly had a brainstorm that these categories would also be relevant for our staff, and that maybe I should start assessing my own abilities and actions according to these profiles. For example, here are the standards that we will be assessing our fourth graders on:
Works toward personal best
Respects classroom expectations
Respects school expectations
Stays on task
Organizes self and materials
Completes classwork on time
Completes homework on time
Checks work for accuracy
Presents work neatly and legibly
Recognizes and respects authority
Contributes relevant ideas to discussions
Works with diverse partners
Applies constructive feedback
When I thought of how I would start to evaluate my own performance, I also thought of the norms that our Board of Trustees grades itself on:
Focus on the best interest of all students at every grade level
Begin and end on time
Work as a team
Respect and listen to all options, opinions, and styles
Actively participate in meetings, workshops and district events
Come prepared and be fully present and engaged
Be open to new ideas
Exhibit positive body language, mannerism, and tone of voice
Engage in active listening; do not interrupt; avoid side conversations
Assume good will
So maybe here is the beginning of a self-assessment report card for educators, incorporating what I learned from George:
Is open to new ideas
Is always looking for ways to improve student engagement and learning
Is always looking for ways to reach each student or staff person in his or her own learning process
Questions his or her own comfort
Is not afraid to play and experiment if he or she doesn’t know the answer
Is persistent in finding solutions to problems
Reaches out to peers and mentors face-to-face and through social networks to learn from others
Communicates from the heart
Shares with others regularly face-to-face and through social networks
Respects and listens to all options, opinions, and styles
Is not afraid to disagree agreeably
Builds teams with peers
So, for you educator readers, what other standards should we be using to gauge our effectiveness as learners and communicators?
Fresh from a fascination with Henry VIII, thanks to Hillary Mantel’s Wolf Hall and the Korda brothers’ Private Life of Henry VIII, I started thinking about how Hans Holbein’s the Younger’s portrait of Henry’s fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, was powerful enough to change history. I guess Hans was the instant messenger of his day, sent over to the continent to bring back a picture for Henry’s Facebook wall, a picture that Henry’s friends could comment on and persuade him of Anne’s overwhelming beauty (which according to legend did not measure up in real life, leading to a quick annulment, but that’s another story).
What impresses me is that a simple portrait could have so much power. The painting, a watercolor, is now in the Louvre’s collection; I may have seen it on a visit to Paris eleven years ago without knowing about its legends. In any event, it’s now on my portrait bucket list, so that if and when I return to Paris, or if it ever travels to a distant shore as Anne herself did, and lands in San Francisco, I will seek it out.
And that got me thinking on what other portraits I would consider worth traveling to see. I’d start with the ones I’ve already seen, that have captured my attention for long minutes when the rest of the gallery has faded away and I have been left one-on-one with a vibrating image a few feet away from me.
Antonello da Messina’s Virgin Annunciate, in the Palazzo Abatellis in Palermo.
John Singer Sargent’s Daughters of Edward Darley Boit at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Of course if I ever do see this painting, it will require a revisit to the Prado for the Velasquez original and to Barcelona for Picasso’s meditations on Velasquez).
Edouard Manet’s small portrait, Angelina, in Velasquez’ black palette that I saw at the Musee d’Orsay’s traveling exhibition, The Birth of Impressionism.
Any and all of Joaquín Sorolla’s loving portraits of his wife Clotilde at the Museo Sorolla in Madrid.
And the entire portrait collection at the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza in Madrid. The Ghirlandaio portrait of Giovanna Tornabuoni is just an example of the depth of this collection (which also has one of Holbein’s Henry VIII).
My father-in-law, Roger Hooper, died earlier today at age 93. While I don’t expect to be eulogizing him at his funeral, I would like to note why I considered him to be a significant person in my own life and a great man in his.
Roger attended Groton and Harvard (Art History as an undergraduate, Architecture in graduate school) in the 1930s and 40s with names that have made headlines: statesmen-to-be such as JFK and Bill and MacGeorge Bundy; and influential architects like Marcel Breuer, Walter Gropius, Philip Johnson, and I.M. Pei. His own father wanted him to follow family tradition and become a Boston Brahmin lawyer, but Roger had fallen in love with the Pacific and the promise of postwar California. So instead of having his name etched in hardwood in the hallowed halls of a law office overlooking the Boston Commons, he left his mark by creating his own architectural partnerships in the back-alley haunts of North Beach and the San Francisco waterfront.
How liberating and engergizing it must have been for him to explore the possibilities of modern design in wood and glass in the era when building codes were not restrictive, redwood and fiberboard were cheap, and clients could afford spectacular settings in the San Francisco Bay Area, Big Sur and beyond. Competition must have been fierce; I picture Roger winning over prospective clients with his sociability and good taste, and giving those clients a 110% effort after the contract was signed. Listening to Roger and his architect partners, you could tell that he loved all of it–discussing the program, sketching the designs, producing the construction drawings, making decisions with clients and contractors, working with the amazing landscape architects of those times, getting the photography and publicity for the finished projects. And there was his ongoing appreciation of great European architecture; after each of his extensively photographed trips to France, Spain and Italy, his family (now including me) would be treated to his entertaining slide shows that might go on for two or three hours. That was a great lesson for me–that you must love your calling and profession if you want to live a happy life–and certainly reinforced my own decision to go to architecture school after college.
Balancing his dedication to his work was the energy he gave to his home life. He and his wife created and lived the Bay Area dream in Marin County, moving their growing numbers from Sausalito, to Corte Madera, to a run-down but unique Bernard Maybeck house in the then-sleepy town of Ross, to a summer place in Inverness, and finally designing and building their stunning glass-house home for the next 45 years on the top of a Ross hill. His son and daughters grew up learning to hike, swim, sail, go horseback riding, and play tennis, all in the great outdoors of Northern California. When I met Roger (he was in his 50s, my future bride his daughter in her early 20s), it seemed that every weekend, he was dedicated to sharing the fantastic opportunities of Marin County with his family–I was immediately recruited for small sailboat races on Tomales Bay, or asked to informal doubles matches at the local tennis club, or to barbecued steak dinners cooked on the porch of their Ross house. He enjoyed life and his surroundings, but more importantly, he wanted his family and friends to enjoy it with him. This I also consider an important lesson.
Finally, Roger gave his family and friends important daily lessons about appreciating and enjoying the natural environment. Because of his interest in Democratic politics, he and his wife became intimate friends with many important leaders in the environmental movement in San Francisco in the Rachel Carson era, at America’s awakening that strong political action had to be taken if the destructive effects of development and industrialization on the environment were to be reversed. Many of Roger’s close friends in the 1960s and 70s, such as Clem Miller, Peter Behr and Marty Griffin, helped create the incredible coastal preserves of Point Reyes National Seashore and the Golden Gate Recreation Area. Roger gave what free time he had to the cause by becoming a board member of the Marin Conservation League and a supporter of the Marin Agricultural Land Trust in their efforts to channel Marin’s necessary growth into areas and practices that would create the least damage. He passed on these important environmental values to his wife and children, who are all involved in one way or another with environmental efforts small and large. This is another thing about great men: they don’t have to do everything, but if there is something they see as wrong that they can help right, they step in.
So I will think in awe of Roger Hooper as a great man long after his death, by looking at his architecture, his family, the open space that was saved in Marin County, and that my wife is saving throughout California in her profession as an environmental lawyer. I have no such feelings of respect for most of the conventional “great men” whose autobiographies fill the best-seller lists. Roger’s passing leaves me with immense admiration for what he accomplished in a lifetime of 93 years, and humbles me.
My wife and I just returned from an extremely pleasant vacation to Spain, which like most of the industrialized north, is trying to cope with the economic recession by (too little, too late?) pumping money into public works. We were really impressed to see how many freeways and bright blue highway bridges are popping up to connect underpopulated areas of Aragon, and it’s starting to look like Spain might out-TGV the rest of Europe in the near future. The Zapatero government’s response is called Plan E (E for Estímulo, Economía, Empleo and Español–they really know how to alliterate in Madrid!).
We did our best to enjoy Spain by spending as many euro as possible in shops, hotels and restaurants, but felt that just wasn’t enough. I worried that our stimulus money was probably being filtered through management, portions going to the IVA, banks, etc. So I personally took the initiative while my wife was checking into our hotel in Barcelona to implement Plan B (B for Bufone in Barcelona) and let the marvelously well organized BCN underground take advantage of me and remove a few trinkets from our rental car in broad daylight at a busy street corner in the trendy Born district, which like so much of Barcelona, is a bit of upscale SOHO overlaid on a former working-class neighborhood.
For those of you visiting this wonderful city (no sarcasm intended), I wanted to provide some advice on how you can help if you want to transfer a bit of wealth directly to those who need it most, the drug addicts and petty criminals working for the Barcelona union of organized pickpockets and car thieves. Here’s the eleven-point plan I worked with (see if you can improve on it).
11 Steps to Success
1. Ignore All Those Warnings and Bits of Advice
Of course I had been lectured many times about bag-grabbers and other nastiness in Barcelona (which is running ahead of Naples now as the prime picking for tourists; my guess is that BCN still has a way to go to catch up with, say Istanbul or São Paulo, but it’s still a world-class city for parting with belongings). So my wife and I considered safety belts, wire-mesh-reinforced fanny packs, and other ridiculous apparati, but supposing I still had some New York smarts still with me, we never used them.
We arrived in Spain after 29 hours of flying, and picked up our pretty new diesel Renault Clio at the Pamplona airport; the plan was to visit the Basque country and then drive to Barcelona. The first thing I noticed when getting into the car was a small notice placed on the dashboard (Europcar’s form E-20919), proclaiming in four languages:
Organised gangs who rob rental vehicle users have been reported in the area. The most usual ways they act are:
Stealing luggage at the counter while the documents are being prepared and/or in the parking lots while loading or unloading luggage from the vehicle. PLEASE WATCH YOUR LUGGAGE AT ALL TIMES.
Puncturing the vehicle tyre. They then tell the driver from another car. When the driver stops, they “kindly” offer help to change the wheel and tack advantage to steal your belongings. PLEASE DO NOT ACCEPT HELP IF IT IS NOT FROM THE POLICE OR CIVIL GUARD AND DO NOT STOP UNTIL YOU REACH A PETROL STATION OR POLICE STATION.
Do not leave or hand over the keys to your vehicle at any time, as there are cases of thieves ransacking houses or apartments [you’ve got to be kidding–Ed.] and taking the keys and the vehicle and people passing themselves off as rental company employees and asking you for the vehicle keys. Remember that you remain responsible for the car and its keys until Europcar has taken reception of these. PLEASE KEEP THE VEHICLE KEYS WITH YOU AT ALL TIMES. KEEP THEM IN YOUR HOLDAY HOME’S SAFE WHEN YOU ARE OUT OR AT NIGHT AND DO NOT HAND THE KEYS OVER TO ANY PERONS, EVEN IF THEY CLAIM TO BE AN EMPLOYEE. RETURN THE KEYS TO THE CAR HIRE OFFICE.
Of course I looked around and severely doubted that Pamplona airport was the spot for people to ransack me for car keys (well, maybe during the San Fermines, but not now in September). Make sure to ignore any thing that the car company tells you. I would wait until arriving in Barcelona to seek out those organised gangs.
2. Arrive in Barcelona by Car. Never Take Plane, Train or Taxi
Barcelona is like every other great old city–there is no place to park. When you first arrive in a rental car, unless you’re staying at a 5-star hotel, you are basically stuck with your car on the street until you find out where to dump it. If you come in by some other means of transportation, how are the street gangs going to be able to rob you?
3. Find A Place to Stop the Car That Is Easily Spotted by the BCN Syndicate
The theives of Barcelona are constantly cruising popular spots. My careful observation (after I was robbed) is that there are spotters who prowl around, whistling and calling for backup on mobile phones when they think they have a good opportunity. So you want to make sure to park your car somewhere with many sight lines, just to make it obvious that you want your stuff to be lifted. I think the intersection I stopped at (Carrer de la Princesa and Carrer de Comerç; see map link) was pretty good in this regard. It was pretty much a 5-way (maybe 6-way) intersection and Carrer de Comerc has got a lot of traffic.
4. Safety in Numbers – Not!
There are going to be at least three of them, so you don’t want to scare them off by keeping your wife, kids or other travelers with you; make sure that you are alone with the car.
5. Make Sure You Are (and Look) Dog-Tired
We came in on a Friday afternoon, after about 5 hours of driving in pouring rain through mountain passes, and then finished up in the usual Friday afternoon traffic. This ensures that you will look and feel completely out of it–they can spot this bleary “where am I” look and it will definitely increase your chances. Get out of the car and wander around aimlessly for a while as well to make sure you are spotted. And any little touches that can add to your look of innocent stupdity can help thieves dial you in. I chose to wear alpine gear (fleece vest, sweater, heavy jeans, hiking boots) and of course the weather in Barce was the usual 80 degrees F–but you have so many other choices to make you stand out in the crowds; be creative!
6. Advertise Your Presence by Turning on Emergency Lights
Just in case they can’t figure out that you’re a tourist, turn on your emergency flashers. Of course no Spaniard would ever do this; if they want to double-park, they just leave the car there.
7. Leave the Car Windows Open and All Doors Unlocked
It helps to forget where the window controls and emergency panic button (the one that locks all doors instantly–it’s right next to the emergency flashers you just turned on). Then open at least the driver’s side window–that’s where they will want to get your keys.
8. Showcase Your Treasure
This really helps. Now that the car is completely vulnerable, open the trunk and start moving your belongings around. Take interesting things (iPhone accessories) and move them from one bag to another. Lift your backpack out of the trunk, unzip it, and stuff things into it. By now you should notice that four young guys on the corners are starting to drool and flash hand signs back and forth. You are almost there. Put the backpack back in the trunk (but don’t lock the car–remember!) and then just stand around aimlessly again.
9. Action! — Handling The Approach
By now, you want to get to know the group that will be robbing you. The tall, ugly, threatening guy is the one who will be distracting you; he’s supposed to scare you. The normal, “Barcelona-cool” guy on the bike (with castellano features and the inevitable baseball cap) is the getaway guy. And there’s the rest of the team: the lookout and the assistant who will be executing the hand-off of valuables to the bicyclist. Make casual eye contact with these folks so they know you are ready for them. When the scary guy approaches for the set up, get back in the car defensively and politely say, “No thanks, I don’t need your assistance” (following the Europcar guidelines to “not accept help”).
10. The Handover: Accomplish The Transfer With Feigned Protest
While the scary guy is pulling on your unlocked door handle, complain loudly (but still leave the car unlocked; resist the logical thing which would be to press the panic button). Keep this up for at least 30 seconds. This is the time required for the assitant (with the cooperation of the lookout) to open the trunk, remove your backpack, and hand it to the nonchalantly pedaling getaway guy. Now you can start cursing at the top of your lungs (I used the “f-word” for authenticity) or honk the horn, etc., since they have gotten what they want.
11. Finale: Lock Car and “Chase” the Thief
Since by now you have an audience of amused tourists and locals (who are probably seeing this for the third or fourth time today) watching the whole thing, it looks a little more convincing if you chase after the getaway guy. He has to blend in, so he’s wearing your backpack and just treading along on his beater bike at a few km per hour, looking like any other resident. Walk, do not run, after him. Sadly accept the advice of locals who know him when they warn you, “Whoa, don’t go there, man”, and then tell them what happened. “Where did he go?” “Right down there [Carrer dels Assaonodors].” “What did they take?” “My backpack.” Etc. This kind of conversation helps make your gift look more convincing. Pat yourself on the back for a job well done, and head back to your hotel for “consolation”.
Reflections and Continuous Improvment
When you tell the bemused hotel deskperson about the incident, she will refer you to the Comisario of Police, located somewhere “underground in Plaça Catalunya”. I did actually pass by Plaça Catalunya the next morning, and although I found the underground Metro station, parking garage, and official tourist office, there was no trace of a police desk, nor any signs of where it might be. Needless to say, I saved my self hours of precious tourist time by not reporting the crime and having to fill out papers, bring the car down for fingerprints, get Europcar involved, etc. etc.
Luckily for my wife and me, as soon as we changed out of our mountain gear and went back on the street, there were numerous immediate opportunities to quaff cava, rueda, rioja, ribera del duero, txakoli, mojitos, and caipirinhas (more mojitos served in BCN than Habana, more caipirinhas than Rio, I’m sure), as well as the unworldly Gaudí architecture to take our minds off material things.
Looking back on the incident, about the only thing I didn’t do correctly (in order to accomplish maximum transfer of wealth) was to put anything of real value in the backpack. When the theives got to the trunk, they had several choices of pickings: a monstrously heavy suitcase, several plastic bags containing ugly US running shoes, a small point-and-shoot camera case that I foolishly left obviously empty, and the backpack that they had seen me stuffing with goodies. As it turned out, the only things that were in the backpack they stole were a terrific new novel written by a friend of mine (and not available yet in Spain–maybe that was the attraction for them), a few outdated guidebooks, a couple of pairs of socks, and the chargers for my iPhone and digital camera battery. (By the way, I can highly recommend the excellent staff at fnac, the Spanish national department store, to help with the replacement of any kind of electronic devices you may lose while in Barcelona or Madrid.) Sure, the items that we lost will no doubt help the needier elements of Barcelona find their way around town and learn about 19th century history, and might even fetch a few euro at a flea market; but next time I should stuff credit cards, passports and wads of 50-euro notes in there to really help out. But all and all I consider the operation a great success. My wife and I were able to spend the next four days in the city of Modernisme enjoying the food, shopping, and ambiance knowing that we had done our part.
It’s really every visitor’s duty to participate in whatever way he can–here’s hoping you can make Plan B a success!
Other Views and Resources
I like this justification (and the speed of transfer), from a British visitor:
“The thieves of Barcelona seem to be operating a one-city crusade to recover from English tourists all the treasure lost to the British Navy in four centuries of war (native Barcelonans blame most of the crime on Morocan immigrants, in which case much of the booty would drain out south across the Straits of Gibraltar). Eve and I went to take some pictures in the Parc Guell. Within minutes of our arrival, a pickpocket had opened her purse and taken her wallet.” [Philip Greenspun on photo.net]
Even George Orwell remarked in the efficiency of young Barcelonans to lighten the loads of foreigners during wartime:
“The younger militia boys, who seemed to regard the whole affair [the 1937 armed riots in downtown Barcelona] as a kind of picnic, were prowling round and trying to wheedle or steal rifles from anyone who had them. It was not long before one of them got my rifle away from me by a clever dodge and immediately made himself scarce.” [George Orwell, “Homage to Calalonia”, p. 124]
Bob Arno is in the business of researching and interviewing thieves and scammers. Besides the car dodge I got going here are a dozen other ways to lose your loved things in Barcelona. He doesn’t have much to say about the vehicle thief however:
Summer 2010 Update: “I was robbed in Spain” Facebook Page
The author of this Facebook Page asked me to post a link. I guess he collects such tales of woe to share them with the rest of the world. Enjoy the schadenfreude. Also, you might want to read a Google Knol on the subject. (Hat Tip to Andrew Korff for this one.)
It’s been nearly a year since I posted about being swept away by Belen Maya in Carlos Saura’s “Flamenco”. Maya and her young Malaguena dance partner, Rocio Molina, recently performed their latest exhibition of Flamenco energy, “Mujeres”, at Jacob’s Pillow Dance Festival in Becket, Mass.
Due to good fortune (who says 2009 is unlucky?) the stars aligned, and my wife and I made a quick getaway/pilgrimage to the East Coast to see the show. We and our friends were not disappointed. Experiencing in person the tremendous accomplishments of these two women is something I find akin to the feelings I sometimes get while watching this year’s Tour de France every morning: here are athletic artists at the top of their form, giving every moleculue of their body and soul to their craft. And there is the danger that the young artist presents to her mentor, as well.
Once again, I am out of my league as someone who knows absolutely nothing about dance. But you cannot avoid being affected by the physical and emotional confrontation of these two women, or by the music of the cantaores and guitarras who back them up.
You can’t really describe these ephemeral passages of sweat, anger, motion, and despair, with a bit of happiness. After coming home, I got around to reading Alastair Macauley’s words from the New York Times review. There was an extract that resonated with what I cannot put out of my memory of that June evening. “[Rocio Molina’s] shoulders are on the high side, but there’s no undue tension in them or in the neck. Just the side tilt of her head or the isolated roll of one shoulder can be unexpected and delectable. Her neck and shoulders can yield creamily, and her head falls back, ecstatically.”
We were seated two rows away from those amazing shoulders. The roll of Molina’s shoulder and her twisting fall can be frightenting as well as delectable. The photo (from a performance in Malaga) captures a little of Molina’s mood.
In the meantime, Saura’s latest film, “Fados”, has come and left the Bay Area too fast for me to catch it, even though the reviews for it had an eerily similar mention of the fado performers’ power and intensity, caught by Saura’s unflinching lens. Maybe it will come back to town or to PFA. I’m there as soon as it does.