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June 8-16, 1999 BARCELONA, SPAIN
Barcelona, Spain is an ancient city in Spain, which was once surrounded by a big wall to keep all the riff-raff out. This was before it was discovered that the riff-raff had a lot of disposable income and were interested in their statues of famous dead folks, castles, and artists who took way too many cheap drugs. Once it was discovered that this riff-raff, now more commonly known as tourists, were willing to depart with their Dollars, Pounds, Lira, DeutchMarks, and various other bits of coinage, the city expanded out past the original walls.
Back a long time ago, the Spaniards had themselves a little religious celebration that they called the Inquisition but this was discovered to be bad for the tourism industry so they canceled it. (The Inquisition is still happening today, but now it is performed at Bingo Halls and Country Clubs instead.) They also had a Civil War or two but that was killing off all the young people needed for the service industry so they stopped that stuff as well.
In 1492, this drunken sailor named Christopher Columbus showed up in town. He was trying to convince some of the rich folks that the world was really round and that he knew a shortcut to India where they had a lot of the really good drugs. For proof he showed them statues of people with elephant heads and fourteen arms, it takes good drugs to think of cool stuff like that.
Now anyone who has ever walked a mile or two or sailed upon a ship, already knew that the world was round. That left out all the rich folks. These rich folks were long on cash but short on smarts. Remember that Royalty in this era had been inbreeding so long that they made Jesse Helms look somewhat normal. Queen Isabella thought Columbus was kind of cute so she gave him a bunch of money and told him to pick her up a couple of kilos of the good stuff and a copy of the Kama Sutra.
Columbus is credited with the start of several of new occupations and traditions in Barcelona, as well as the rest of Spain. One is that of begging. They have invented more ways to part the riff-raff, I mean tourists, from their money than Reverend Ernest Angley has. The biggest beggars you will find are those who claim to practice the profession of artist.
There is an extensive art scene in Barcelona. That's because this was the home of Pablo Picasso and Gaudi. As a result there are a lot of people here who are extremely talented. There are also a lot of people here who aren't, but think that they are. I know I shouldn't judge another man's art. As a picker, I know that in comparison to most of my picking buddies, I suck. But I have to call things the way I see them. Anyway, art is in the eye of the beholder. Let me tell you about the art I saw.
They have these guys called Living Statues. What they do is spray paint themselves all over and stand really still on a box for a long time without moving so that you will give them money. Some were kind of cool, but most were pretty lame. If you happen to get short of cash while in Barcelona, all you need is a coffee can and your Count Chocula Halloween Costume and damn if you aren't suddenly a starving artist instead of just some ordinary winehead bumming quarters.
There are a lot of street performers here too, everything from the very talented, to those people who truly suck. I saw Spanish Guitarists whose fingers sparkled with fire, piano players pushing their piano from cafe to cafT, magicians, flamenco dancers, and people who juggled fire. Then I saw an extremely obese, elderly, drunken belly dancer, a kazoo player, people playing out of tune guitars, a washboard player and everything in between. Some you tip because they are talented, some you tip just so they will go the hell away. Especially elderly, obese, drunken, half-naked belly dancers. There are also the people here who just plain beg. These beggars, in the tradition of Christopher Columbus, don't just sit passively by and wait for the generous to contribute. Instead they get up in people's faces, make eye contact and refuse to leave until they get paid, a lot like Television Evangelists.
Christopher Columbus also did a lot more than make begging an Olympic Sport. Besides discovering the New World and killing off most of the native people for Jesus, he also brought public displays of sexuality back with him. All those half-naked little Indian girls running up and down the beach dodging bullets and drunken Spanish sailors were a definite hit. So Columbus brought topless beaches back to Spain. That's a good thing, A really good thing. He should get more credit for that than getting lost and finding Santa Domingo.
Europeans are much more sexually open-minded than the prudish Americans are. Europeans also don't eat as much of a fat and protein enriched diet, nor do they continuously sit upon their fat lard asses watching cable television. Instead Europeans are actually forced to get out of their houses daily and interact in their communities. No wonder they are such losers. But they look damn good on the beach. All the women were firm and perky and all the men were well hung. Not that I was paying particularly close attention or anything, but what clothing was worn on the beaches here wouldn't even make a good Band-Aid.
Being a history buff and wanting to experience as much Spanish culture as I possibly could during my visit here, I, of course, was forced to visit the beach during my stay. As I was walking down the boardwalk, praising God and Mr. Jesus for their good work, (Jesus, would you look at her? Good job God!) I watched what, at the time, I thought was a unique beach game that I had never seen anywhere else before.
I watched two kids playing sand tennis. Each had a wooden paddle and they were hitting a rubber ball back and forth. When one of the kids missed the ball, and it went over his head, they instead started hitting a rubber stick looking object back and forth in its place. The shape of this thing made for some pretty unpredictable bounces and therefore took a little more skill to keep in the air that the plain rubber ball did. They kept this up for a few minutes before it too was hit over one of the kid's head, where it just so happened to land at my feet. They immediately went back to the rubber ball and I reached down to throw the stick thing back. As I bent over to pick it up, I noticed that it was really a large rubber dildo they had been hitting back and forth. I decided to just let it lie there.
Since all of the beaches are topless and a lot of the women wear thong bikinis, there are no strip clubs in Barcelona. With that type of competition, why bother? Instead of strip clubs, there are live sex shows that feature audience participation. I didn't attend any of these, I swear. I heard enough about it from a shipmate to ensure that I didn't want to. My shipmate had been out drinking with a bunch of Spanish and Turkish sailors and walked into a club that advertised itself as a disco. It turned out that this disco was actually a live sex show. There were about a half of a dozen tired looking women up on stage in various stages of undress. I was told that when the show started, they asked for a volunteer from the audience to come up on stage with them. They selected a young Turkish sailor from the audience, and drug him up on stage. Once they got him up on the stage, they quickly undressed him, and sat him down in a chair. Then one of the women spent about 30-45 seconds in foreplay before wrapping him in a condom, then jumping on him and riding him like a mechanical pony out in front of Walmart. After being on stage for less than a minute, he's done his job for God and Country, and is ready for his post-coital cigarette. His Objet d'amour jumps up, yanks off the condom, quickly ties a knot in the end, and starts swinging it around her head like a lariat and wahooing like she's watching Jeff Gordon wiping out in the third turn at Taladega.
First and foremost, I'm not really sure I would trust her knot-tying ability, much less her grip on that young sailor's lust filled balloon. I would surely hate for her to lose her grip and have that thing come flying across the stage to nail me right in the forehead. I want nothing to do with whatever is inside that zeppelin of love, much less whatever is coating the outside of the thing.
Another thing I would have a problem with would be performance anxiety. How does a man do something like this? It's bad enough at home trying to hold off so the wife can at least pretend to enjoy it too. But how does one do this in front of an audience of drunken tourists and rowdy sailors who are screaming out suggestions, critiquing performance, and making disparaging remarks about your endowment? If by some miracle I could have gotten it up, It wouldn't have stayed that way for long. Not that I would have had the opportunity anyway, My wife made me leave my pecker at home before I started this trip.
Barcelona is not really the best place to go if you want to experience Spanish Culture. I don't think I actually met anyone who was originally from Spain. Barcelona seems to be more akin to New York City than anything else. Every language but English is spoken here. I was unable to find a single Spanish restaurant, however I did find a lot of McDonalds, Burger Kings, Pizza Huts, KFCs, and Chi-Chi's restaurants. The city also had its share of hookers, indifferent cops, and tattoo parlors. Like everywhere else in Europe, you take your life in your hands trying to cross the street. Since Barcelona is a major tourist city, there are lot's of pickpockets here too. Seven people from my ship were either mugged or had their pocket picked. One of our guys was trying to get himself a piece of ass and instead got his throat cut. It wasn't serious, he only required four or five stitches, but they took all of his money and he ended up restricted to the ship because he had gotten separated from his liberty buddy. Even though he didn't get that piece of ass, he still got screwed.
The United States Navy has in place a program where in order to leave the ship in a foreign port, you have to have a liberty buddy. Yes, I said liberty buddy. You have to sign out with this individual and sign back in with them. Never mind that I am 38 years old and I have been in the Navy almost 20 years with twelve of that being at sea. I also have absolutely no desire to mess around on the wife (I talk in my sleep and she's a redhead, a very dangerous combination), and I don't drink. Instead I would rather get off the beaten track, meet some of the locals, and check out all the museums and monuments to famous dead folks. Then at night I would like to sit at a sidewalk cafe and play music until the sun comes up. None of this sounds very interesting to any of my 20 something year old shipmates who are instead more interested in seeing how many tattoo's they can get, how many times they can get laid, and how much alcohol they can get down before passing out. If that was all I had wanted to do, I could have just stayed home and gone to see Willie Nelson.
Don't think for a minute that I didn't get out there and play some music. I grabbed Rick, the Chief Petty Officer that I work for, and took his John Cougar Mellonhead loving ass out to play some music. The first night we went out together, Chief Rob, and Chief John also accompanied us. (I'm not using last names here. Hopefully that will keep the death squads at bay) The nice thing about this is that for once, I wasn't the oldest person of the group.
Rob is originally from Monahans, Texas and lived in Austin during the late 60s and early 70s. The cool thing is that we are both big fans of era Austin music. We sat down at a sidewalk cafT and Rick and I started picking. I immediately started preaching to the infidels from the gospels of both St. Buck and St. Hag. I think I might have lead a few toward the righteous path. At least I saw a few muttering Jesus' name as they walked away.
Europeans are big fans of Country Music. But they only know the really good country stars like Kenny Rogers and John Denver. Being ignorant, I didn't know any of these songs so instead, I ended up playing lots of Buck Owens, Merle Haggard, and Johnny Cash tunes. The fellows I was with invented a new game called
'Lets Stump Wall" by seeing how many Johnny Cash tunes they could name, and see whether or not I knew the tunes. I wish we had been playing for money. They picked the wrong game and the wrong artist. I might not of been able to play the entire song, but I could at least get through the chorus of every Johnny Cash tune they could name.
Rob and I started talking about the Austin music scene. As we sat there talking about Rusty Weir, Willis Alan Ramsey, Jerry Jeff Walker, Guy Clark, and Ray Wylie Hubbard, everyone else looked at us like we were speaking a foreign language. At the mention of the Great Cowboy Twinkie himself, Rob asked me if I could play "Up Against the Wall Redneck Mother". I'm glad neither Jerry Jeff nor Ray Wylie were there to hear it, but I must say I did it right. With each spelling out of M-O-T-H-E-R, I changed what each letter stood for. The fun part was making up new bumper stickers each time. If you're not sure of what I'm talking about, go listen to Jerry Jeff Walker's great album "A Man Must Carry On"
Most of the people we met were British, Dutch, Swiss, Peruvian, and from every place in the world other than Spain. We ran across a bunch of Scots wearing their Kilts. Following the example of young French women, Scots don't wear anything underneath their Kilts, or so the rumor goes. I really have no desire to verify it, at least not the Scots part. The French part on the other hand...
The Scots were a rowdy bunch. When you realize that beer in Barcelona is served in one liter mugs you can imagine how bad things got. When the Scots saw that we were picking guitars, they came up and sat around to sing with us. Right in the middle of a song, one of the Scots fell out of his chair and did a nose- dive for the pavement. He thumped on the ground pretty good but managed to never spill his beer. I was impressed. I always admire a professional. As he was lying there stunned, one of his mates took his beer and poured it over his head. He didn't appreciate this at all. Things started to get really ugly then. Where I was sitting, I was trapped between a wall of drunken Scots and a large concrete column. I handed my guitar back to one of the Chief's I was with and told him if a fight broke out, to please save the guitar. Broken bones heal, broken guitars do not.
Luckily the Scots kissed and made up, but then they started pouring beer over top of each other. One of the Scots came up and grabbed one of the beers from our table and threw it on one of his mates. This was not an idea that was well received by the beer owner. Rob exploded. Rob is a pretty big old boy, and being from Monahans, Texas, he is very experienced in the art of taking an asswhipping. This overly large Scot came up and emptied his beer in Rob's mug by way of apology. Rob just looked him in the eye and called him a "Fat Freaky Fuck". I thought I had left all this excitement behind when I quit drinking.
After the Scots bought a couple of rounds for everybody (including two Cokes for me) everyone was lovey-dovey again. Thank you Mr. Jesus. By the way, It's true that Scots wear nothing under their kilts, but a fat, drunken, hairy, Scots' ass is not the thing you really want to see at three am.
The ship had set up a few tours for the crew of things that they thought we might find interesting. The wine tasting tour didn't look very appealing to me, as I had no desire to get arrested or fall off a mountain. Again. I mean, once is enough for either of those events. There was a bullfight tour but I had no desire to watch a bunch of folks kill a bull to prove their machismo. If they really want to make it interesting put the bullfighter out there with a Buck knife and let him and the bull go at it. No helpers on horseback jabbing the bull in the ass with spears unless they also jab a few into the bullfighter. We have Bullfights in the States too. We take a leather strap, wrap it around the bull's balls, and then some dumbass crawls on top of the bull and tries to stay on for 8 seconds without getting his head stomped into pudding. Some people, including me, would say that the inside of a bullrider's head was already filled with pudding. Bulls don't die from American bullfighting although sometimes the riders do. After the fight, the bulls get fed and then are let out in the pasture with a couple of really cute Holsteins. If the cowboy is lucky and didn't land too hard on his balls, he might find him a cute heifer too. In the end, everyone is happy. In Spain they just keep sticking the poor critter until he's dead. And since no one in this country has a damn clue how to properly cook a steak, it just seems like a waste of cow to me.
There was a historical tour that I was planning to take but was unable to. Here's why. Back in March, I extended my enlistment by another year. Insanity runs in my family. I left with this ship for a six-month deployment in April and in May I was discharged from the Navy, but they forgot to tell me. I found out when I didn't get paid on June 1st. Since I didn't get paid, my wife didn't get paid either. This is not the way to keep Mama happy. By the time I got it all straightened out, I was due a couple of hundred bucks in back pay. My wife was due a bunch more than that but she doesn't allow me to have money because I always spend it on foolish things like food and rent. I had two hundred dollars that my Mother had sent me to pick her up some stuff in Italy, and I had a little bit saved that the wife didn't know about as well. The day before we pulled into Barcelona, I had a total of $610. I was planning on using this money to buy my fifteen year old son a really cool birthday present, maybe a sword, a bottle of Sangria, and a couple of cute Spanish chicks. That's what I wanted when I was fifteen. My wife and Mama have the same birthday as each other. Recently they both turned 28. I was planning on picking them up a little something as well, maybe a couple of swords, some Sangria, and a couple of cute bullfighters. Anyway, I had all of this money and I put it into my wallet, buried it under a bunch of stuff in my locker and locked it all up.
The next morning, we pulled into Barcelona. As soon as the Sea and Anchor detail was over, I ran to my locker to get my money. It was gone. At no time do I remember ever leaving my locker unlocked, but I must of turned my back long enough for one of my shipmates to rob me. Either that or Houdini has returned from the dead.
I share a berthing compartment with 85 people. The racks are stacked three high. There is three feet of aisle space between me, and the guy next to me. Such close living quarters allows you to get to know each other, often much better than you would like. How come I never get to sleep across from the really hot looking guys? When I first came into the Navy, Shipmate was a special term. Ity meant that although I might not like you personally, I felt a level of responsibility for you. We watched each others back, we helped each other move, we drank with each other, we cried on each others shoulders, we stole each others girlfriends, and took each other home to meet the parents. Being a shipmate is at times as close a bond as marriage is, or being in a band together. One thing you would never, never do to a shipmate is steal from them. Sure, you might steal a screwdriver, a television, food or anything else purchased by the Navy from one workcenter or ship, for your workcenter or ship, but you never took personal belongings and you never ever took anything for personal gain. One of the guys had a carton of cigarettes stolen. Another guy had a package that his wife had sent him sitting out on his rack. Someone went through it, took out all of his cigarettes except one pack, and all of the phone cards his wife had sent.
There is a special level of Hell reserved for shipmates who steal from shipmates. And the person who took my kids birthday money is destined to end up there. I hate a thief worse than anything on earth. What's done is done and I can't change it now, but remember buddy, what goes around comes around, and if I catch you, you better be able to tread water for a long time and it might be difficult with a couple of broken arms.
Since I had no cash, I was unable to take any of the organized tours. But I wasn't broke. I had snuck out of the house with my ATM card and I found out that it worked in the ATM's over here. I called the wife and begged her to let me take out a little bit of money. It took some hard negotiating on my part, but she finally relented, but I have to provide itemized receipts for every nickel spent. Since I couldn't take of the real tours that the ship offered, I just decided to make up my own tour.
One of the most impressive things about Europe is the architecture of the churches. Those Catholics sure knew how to build a mighty impressive church. I don't know where they found the time between all of the Crusades, Inquisitions, and all the exploring that they were busing doing. A Catholic church is a mighty impressive place, but you haven't seen anything until you see these really old European Cathedrals. These places are so huge, I don't know how they are able to conduct Sunday Services. If you were to accidentally drop a snake, you wouldn't have time to find him before next week's services. Buying replacement snakes could get awfully expensive, but I guess the Pope can afford it.
As I mentioned before, Pablo Ruiz Picasso is from around here.. Born here in 1881 and dead in 1973. Pablo is probably most well known for painting pictures of people with all the eyes and appendages on the same side of their head so that everyone looks a bit like a flounder. There is a Picasso museum here and I had to go, being the artsy, fartsy, sensitive 90's kind of guy that I am. It was some kind of impressive, let me tell you.The museum is in what I suppose used to be Pablo's house or estate. You go walking up a bunch of narrow alleys praying that you don't get mugged and suddenly there it is. Admission is 700 posadas, we call them potatoes, It works out to about $5 US. Selling fucked up looking art must be pretty profitable because the Picasso museum is huge. Too bad it was all in Spanish so I had no idea what the plaques said, but I'm pretty smart for a hillbilly kid though and I think I figured it out. I'll explain it to you.
like if he painted them that way. He found out that they looked pretty damn stupid, but along about this time the Hippie counterculture scene was just starting to bloom in Europe. Picasso found that these doped up longhairs actually preferred paintings of women with their nose stuck behind their ear and an eye upon their forehead, so he started doing a lot more of them. As a result, Pablo got laid a lot and made a filthy amount of money.
Picasso died in 1973 and then decided to give up art for a while. He was a man that was constantly reinventing himself and his work and he didn't have to do something stupid like cut off his damned ear to prove it.
The main drag in Barcelona, or at least the main tourista drag is called The Ramblas. Ramblas is a Spanish word that means "walk your ass off". It's a long street where the center walkway is bordered on each side by one way streets. Just about anything you are interested in can be accessed from the Ramblas. This is the area where the street performers hang out, as well as the hookers, restaurants, live sex shows, souvenir shops, millions of people, and stores of every description.
Cigarettes here are about $3 a pack. Wine and beer are cheap, cheaper than soda in fact. Cuban Cigars run anywhere from $1-$5 a piece. Fidel still makes some good cigars. Too bad my wife won't let me smoke them at home. She says they smell like burning goat turds. There are open-air flower merchants, open-air pet stores selling fish, birds, and lizards. A wonderful open-air vegetable, fish, and meat market. More than enough shoe stores to keep all the women folk happy for a long, long time. This is the area that contains all of the American Fast Food restaurants, as well as the Hard Rock Cafe, and there are lots of open-air cafe's. These are a wonderful place to sit and watch people as well as meet new folks. One of the things I am sad to report is that the only impression most people have of America is from what they see on Television. The Jerry Springer Show is shown everywhere in Europe. I can't count the number of times that show was mentioned to me. "America? Ahà . Jerry Springer!! Is all of America like Jerry Springer?" "No, just Kentucky." It's kind of sad that the image we project to foreign shores is of Monica Lewinsky, Jerry Springer, and Ronald McDonald.
I enjoy watching people. All people, not just the women. Okay, mostly the women, but what can I say? For those of you who are interested, here's the Jeff Wall fashion report from Spain.
- - Red Hair is in. The brighter and more shocking red the better.
- - Platform shoes are in, the taller the better.
- Hiphuggers are also back in. Skintight hiphuggers. YES!! Lets hear it for Retro!
- Underwear is out as are bra's. If you absolutely must wear underwear, it is the thong type. I'm not making this up, come over here and see for yourself! 75 year old grandmas wearing hiphuggers and thongs. It can be downright scary.
Spain is pretty. Don't bring cash, use American Express instead. A Pitbull won't hurt any either. Go on a diet and hit the gym before venturing out to the beaches (unless you are just a natural born stud like I am). Be careful of the nightclubs you go into as you might be asked to participate in the festivities. If you do, tie your
own knots. The place is expensive but the art and architecture are worth it as are the beaches. Sign up for the tours, and try to show the world that not all Americans have appeared on the Jerry Springer show. Hostels are abundant and much cheaper than hotel rooms. Bring plenty of Guitar strings and picks as I have not found a decent music store in all of Europe.And finally,
Large breasted European women dig Hillbilly singers and Buck Owens songs really get them hot.
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