Cambrils before the tourist season starts
Cambrils, like Salou, has a great beach on the shores of the Mediterranean. During the summer months it is so crowded with tourists that my friends in Reus complain there is almost no room to put a towel down so they can catch a few rays. Unlike Salou - which is flooded with restaurants, gift shops and all manner of stores - Cambrils is a small place and it does not attract a lot of tourists during the cooler months. When I went there a few days ago, in fact, the mile-long beach, which is a couple of football fields wide at least, was empty. Out on the Med there were a few sailboats taking advantage of a strong breeze and the boardwalk was fairly busy with walkers, runners, skaters and a few folks on bicycles but the beach, with its vast expanse of cafe-au-lait sand, was as empty as the Sahara at high noon.
I brought a book with me, as well as a notebook because I can't seem to break the habit of a lifetime, and spent a couple of hours reading and jotting down a few notes as well as a couple of haiku. I have no idea what use the notes will be but, as I said, it's a lifelong habit. Maybe one day they'll find their way into a novel... or not.
I won't be spending any time there this summer because we're due to leave for New Zealand on June 15th but that's okay... I'll be back just after the tourists go home to London and Paris, Prague and Munich and, then, I'll have the boardwalk and the beach all to myself once again.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Driving in Catalunya
When I left Englewood, Florida to move to Spain I donated my old Jeep to the Phoenix Project because I didn't plan to drive here.
Turns out that was a wise move on my part: I'm too old and too slow to drive here. The reason: To drive (and survive) in Reus and the rest of Catalunya you need more than a rudimentary knowledge of the rules of the road. You also need the finesse of a cat burglar, the guts of an infantryman and an enormous amount of faith in the nameless, faceless engineers in Tokyo, Detroit and Seoul who designed the brakes for your car.
I moved to Reus because it's a great city to walk in and because there is a wonderful public transportation system. That said, I do find myself occasionally sitting in the passenger seat of a friend's car as he or she speeds through the narrow streets of Reus, dodging cars and pedestrians in much the same way a toreador dodges a bull's horns except the toreador isn't also fiddling with the radio, talking a blue streak and sometimes glancing out the side window to look at something interesting.
These days, my rosary beads are worn down to the size of BB's.
Turns out that was a wise move on my part: I'm too old and too slow to drive here. The reason: To drive (and survive) in Reus and the rest of Catalunya you need more than a rudimentary knowledge of the rules of the road. You also need the finesse of a cat burglar, the guts of an infantryman and an enormous amount of faith in the nameless, faceless engineers in Tokyo, Detroit and Seoul who designed the brakes for your car.
I moved to Reus because it's a great city to walk in and because there is a wonderful public transportation system. That said, I do find myself occasionally sitting in the passenger seat of a friend's car as he or she speeds through the narrow streets of Reus, dodging cars and pedestrians in much the same way a toreador dodges a bull's horns except the toreador isn't also fiddling with the radio, talking a blue streak and sometimes glancing out the side window to look at something interesting.
These days, my rosary beads are worn down to the size of BB's.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Girona in the rain
Girona, which is about two hours from Reus by car, is a city with a history dating back to pre-Roman times and much of that history involves enough blood and gore to make any Hollywood producer swoon with delight.
In short, the city has been in and out of war for more than 2,000 years.
That's changed in the last few decades, however, and these days it's known as one of the major centers of Catalunya's on-again-off-again independence movement as well as a city of remarkable architecture. It also has one of the best- preserved ancient Jewish quarters in Europe. The Call de Girona, in fact, attracts scholars from all over the world to study this ancient seat of Jewish learning because it dates back more than a thousand years. Spain expelled the Jews in 1492 but the quarter was not destroyed, as were so many across Europe during its periodic forays into violent intolerance. Girona, which is built at a point where four rivers come together, is also known for its bridges, including one designed by Gustave Eiffel... yeah, the same guy who built that big tower in Paris. It's pretty gaudy... if you go, you won't be able to miss it and, in truth, you probably won't want to because it makes for great photos.
These days Girona is also known for its annual flower festival, a week-long event that floods the city with visitors from all over Spain and throughout the rest of Europe. I went there with friends on the festival's last day and despite the fact that it was pouring rain (I've since learned that's not all that unusual in Girona) there were literally thousands of people crowding the narrow streets of the city's oldest sections to see the more than 50 displays of floral designs. Catalans are, apparently, unfazed by a little wet weather and, it turns out, the same holds true for people who really like flowers.
The streets were so crowded that when it came time to eat the waitress at the small restaurant where we decided to have lunch told us that ordering something as simple as a plate of spaghetti meant a wait of between 40 minutes and an hour. The reason: "We are so overwhelmed with people for the festival and, of course, the owner is too cheap to put on extra help for the day..."
I'm pretty sure I've heard that lament before...
In the end we settled for tapas, which came almost immediately, instead of ordering. Turned out to be an excellent choice.
In short, the city has been in and out of war for more than 2,000 years.
That's changed in the last few decades, however, and these days it's known as one of the major centers of Catalunya's on-again-off-again independence movement as well as a city of remarkable architecture. It also has one of the best- preserved ancient Jewish quarters in Europe. The Call de Girona, in fact, attracts scholars from all over the world to study this ancient seat of Jewish learning because it dates back more than a thousand years. Spain expelled the Jews in 1492 but the quarter was not destroyed, as were so many across Europe during its periodic forays into violent intolerance. Girona, which is built at a point where four rivers come together, is also known for its bridges, including one designed by Gustave Eiffel... yeah, the same guy who built that big tower in Paris. It's pretty gaudy... if you go, you won't be able to miss it and, in truth, you probably won't want to because it makes for great photos.
These days Girona is also known for its annual flower festival, a week-long event that floods the city with visitors from all over Spain and throughout the rest of Europe. I went there with friends on the festival's last day and despite the fact that it was pouring rain (I've since learned that's not all that unusual in Girona) there were literally thousands of people crowding the narrow streets of the city's oldest sections to see the more than 50 displays of floral designs. Catalans are, apparently, unfazed by a little wet weather and, it turns out, the same holds true for people who really like flowers.
The streets were so crowded that when it came time to eat the waitress at the small restaurant where we decided to have lunch told us that ordering something as simple as a plate of spaghetti meant a wait of between 40 minutes and an hour. The reason: "We are so overwhelmed with people for the festival and, of course, the owner is too cheap to put on extra help for the day..."
I'm pretty sure I've heard that lament before...
In the end we settled for tapas, which came almost immediately, instead of ordering. Turned out to be an excellent choice.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
I miss my Mr. Coffee
Like many Americans of a certain age, I am addicted to coffee. My nutritionist friends disagree, of course, but I consider coffee a major food group, as essential to my life as bread, water and pizza are to others. Therein, as the Bard once so aptly said, Lies the Rub: Reusians make their coffee in these tiny little pots that brew two small cups at a time. It's not a terribly complicated process and after a couple of attempts I learned to make a reasonably good cup of coffee. The problem is, to brew the five-to-seven cups I normally drink in a day I have to keep repeating the process.
The result: I am pining for my old Mr. Coffee, which reliably produced 10-12 cups at a time. Friends here tell me that making that many cups of coffee for one person in a day is something akin to barbaric. "Making two cups is more civilized," one told me. Perhaps, but I miss my Mr. Coffee nonetheless and if I ever find one in a store I'm going to don bearskins, become a full-fledged barbarian, and buy it.
That aside, adjusting to life here has been surprisingly easy so far. Reus is a city with many small parks and squares and it's not unusual to turn a corner and be delighted by something new and interesting. Recently, for example, I discovered a tiny square dedicated to the artist Fortuny complete with a statue of a young nobleman copied from one of his paintings. A couple of hours later I discovered that there is an exhibit of Fortuny's paintings at a museum here in Reus and, in the company of a friend who is an architect, I went to see it. Fortuny was born in Reus and in the latter half of the 19th Century he literally took the Paris art world by storm. He died at 33 before he realized his enormous potential but what he left behind is extraordinary.
Now, if only I didn't have to make a fresh pot of coffee when I returned...
The result: I am pining for my old Mr. Coffee, which reliably produced 10-12 cups at a time. Friends here tell me that making that many cups of coffee for one person in a day is something akin to barbaric. "Making two cups is more civilized," one told me. Perhaps, but I miss my Mr. Coffee nonetheless and if I ever find one in a store I'm going to don bearskins, become a full-fledged barbarian, and buy it.
That aside, adjusting to life here has been surprisingly easy so far. Reus is a city with many small parks and squares and it's not unusual to turn a corner and be delighted by something new and interesting. Recently, for example, I discovered a tiny square dedicated to the artist Fortuny complete with a statue of a young nobleman copied from one of his paintings. A couple of hours later I discovered that there is an exhibit of Fortuny's paintings at a museum here in Reus and, in the company of a friend who is an architect, I went to see it. Fortuny was born in Reus and in the latter half of the 19th Century he literally took the Paris art world by storm. He died at 33 before he realized his enormous potential but what he left behind is extraordinary.
Now, if only I didn't have to make a fresh pot of coffee when I returned...
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Here I am, living in Spain...
I am a writer but I do not come from a long line of writers. My father, for example, was a marine engineer and executive who always wondered when I would get a real job.
I do, however, come from a long line of wanderers. Billingtons seem genetically unable to remain in one place for long periods of time and so it is that after 65 years of living all over the United States I am now living in Spain.
Reus, Spain to be precise.
I won't be here for long. Well, that's not exactly true. I do plan to be in Reus at least for the next five or six years but sometime in June I expect to leave for New Zealand. My friend Dr. Elena Padrell has been offered a four-month temporary position there. She has invited me to come along as a companion for her somewhat rambunctious son Josep who, at 13, thinks he is quite capable of managing on his own. In this digital age he's probably right but I'm not one to turn down a chance to see new things and so I said I'd certainly tag along. Josep and I will have to return to Spain in late August so that he can start school on time. Elena will stay in New Zealand for another few weeks to fulfill her contract.
In the meantime, I'm adjusting to life among the Reusians. I moved here from Englewood, Florida in early May. Englewood is a wonderful beach town on Florida's West Coast. It's on Lemon Bay and separated from the Gulf of Mexico by a narrow strip of land known locally as Manasota Key. I worked there for nearly five years, first as the editor of the Englewood Sun newspaper and later as its publisher. I've told people many times that while working there was not the most exciting part of a journalism career that spanned nearly a half century, it was the most satisfying and, in that respect, the best. In my career I was fortunate enough to cover a lot of big stories: Hurricanes Andrew, Hugo, Gilbert, Katrina and Rita; Operation Desert Storm; Operation Just Cause; the Rwandan Civil War; the Love Canal environmental disaster and the crash of a United Airlines jetliner just outside Shanksville, Pa. on 9/11. I lived undercover with white-power extremists; investigated abuses of the Florida Contraband Forfeiture Act by police who were literally stealing cars, boats, airplanes, homes and money from people without ever charging them with a crime and wrote a long series of articles shedding light on the shameful fact that Delaware once had the highest infant mortality rate in the United States. (Delaware now ranks about 25th... not wonderful but so much better than being 50th.)
Those were important stories to be sure. In Englewood, however, I was able to do what I have always thought newspapers should be about: Serving the community rather than standing aloof from it. At the Sun we not only covered the news of the day, we got involved in the day-to-day life of the community. We helped support a local food pantry, for example, helped to support the Lemon Bay High School theatrical department as well and even rang bells during the holiday season for the Salvation Army. We judged chili contests and Christmas parades and I once dyed my beard red, white and blue to enter the annual Pioneer Days beard contest. (I won... if you can imagine.) To promote breast cancer awareness month one year I even had my fingernails painted bright (really bright) pink. Those are not things I could have done in the days when I was running around the world chasing stories for much bigger newspapers.
The problem with living in Englewood, for me, is that my legs no longer work very well. For all of the wonderful things about Englewood, the one negative is that you pretty much have to drive to go grocery shopping, go to the beach or to a restaurant... the problem was that as my legs grew steadily worse it became harder and harder for me to drive safely. That not only forced me to retire before I planned to it also forced me to realize that I was going to have to move to a city that allowed me to walk to stores and restaurants and use a well-developed public transportation system to get elsewhere. I had been looking around for just such a city when I visited friends here in Reus in October, 2012. They suggested that this city of about 100,000 would be an ideal place for me. It's a very pretty city, they pointed out, and I have friends here that could make the transition from Florida to Spain easier. Reus is also close by the beach at Salou, not far from Barcelona, has plenty of things to see and do and, in short, is, in their opinion, the ideal place for an aging American to relocate.
I wasn't sure about that at first but the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree with them.
Add to that the fact that moving here also means that I get to spend a few months wandering around New Zealand for free and the decision to become a Reusian was all but a foregone conclusion.
So, here I am. Let's see what the future brings...
I do, however, come from a long line of wanderers. Billingtons seem genetically unable to remain in one place for long periods of time and so it is that after 65 years of living all over the United States I am now living in Spain.
Reus, Spain to be precise.
I won't be here for long. Well, that's not exactly true. I do plan to be in Reus at least for the next five or six years but sometime in June I expect to leave for New Zealand. My friend Dr. Elena Padrell has been offered a four-month temporary position there. She has invited me to come along as a companion for her somewhat rambunctious son Josep who, at 13, thinks he is quite capable of managing on his own. In this digital age he's probably right but I'm not one to turn down a chance to see new things and so I said I'd certainly tag along. Josep and I will have to return to Spain in late August so that he can start school on time. Elena will stay in New Zealand for another few weeks to fulfill her contract.
In the meantime, I'm adjusting to life among the Reusians. I moved here from Englewood, Florida in early May. Englewood is a wonderful beach town on Florida's West Coast. It's on Lemon Bay and separated from the Gulf of Mexico by a narrow strip of land known locally as Manasota Key. I worked there for nearly five years, first as the editor of the Englewood Sun newspaper and later as its publisher. I've told people many times that while working there was not the most exciting part of a journalism career that spanned nearly a half century, it was the most satisfying and, in that respect, the best. In my career I was fortunate enough to cover a lot of big stories: Hurricanes Andrew, Hugo, Gilbert, Katrina and Rita; Operation Desert Storm; Operation Just Cause; the Rwandan Civil War; the Love Canal environmental disaster and the crash of a United Airlines jetliner just outside Shanksville, Pa. on 9/11. I lived undercover with white-power extremists; investigated abuses of the Florida Contraband Forfeiture Act by police who were literally stealing cars, boats, airplanes, homes and money from people without ever charging them with a crime and wrote a long series of articles shedding light on the shameful fact that Delaware once had the highest infant mortality rate in the United States. (Delaware now ranks about 25th... not wonderful but so much better than being 50th.)
Those were important stories to be sure. In Englewood, however, I was able to do what I have always thought newspapers should be about: Serving the community rather than standing aloof from it. At the Sun we not only covered the news of the day, we got involved in the day-to-day life of the community. We helped support a local food pantry, for example, helped to support the Lemon Bay High School theatrical department as well and even rang bells during the holiday season for the Salvation Army. We judged chili contests and Christmas parades and I once dyed my beard red, white and blue to enter the annual Pioneer Days beard contest. (I won... if you can imagine.) To promote breast cancer awareness month one year I even had my fingernails painted bright (really bright) pink. Those are not things I could have done in the days when I was running around the world chasing stories for much bigger newspapers.
The problem with living in Englewood, for me, is that my legs no longer work very well. For all of the wonderful things about Englewood, the one negative is that you pretty much have to drive to go grocery shopping, go to the beach or to a restaurant... the problem was that as my legs grew steadily worse it became harder and harder for me to drive safely. That not only forced me to retire before I planned to it also forced me to realize that I was going to have to move to a city that allowed me to walk to stores and restaurants and use a well-developed public transportation system to get elsewhere. I had been looking around for just such a city when I visited friends here in Reus in October, 2012. They suggested that this city of about 100,000 would be an ideal place for me. It's a very pretty city, they pointed out, and I have friends here that could make the transition from Florida to Spain easier. Reus is also close by the beach at Salou, not far from Barcelona, has plenty of things to see and do and, in short, is, in their opinion, the ideal place for an aging American to relocate.
I wasn't sure about that at first but the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree with them.
Add to that the fact that moving here also means that I get to spend a few months wandering around New Zealand for free and the decision to become a Reusian was all but a foregone conclusion.
So, here I am. Let's see what the future brings...
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