Johanna Writes Barcelona

The Move

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We are moving!

No, I'm not moving to another country (thank God!), only to another blog host. This means that you MUST update your feeds and  bookmarks  to www.johannawrites.com

Many people come here via the link www.johannawrites.com/madrid or through one of the old "Anna Dilemna" links. Within the next week, those will probably not be working anymore!

 

Phantoms and Tambourines

Nico and I watched part of "The Phantom of the Opera" last night.

The ensuing discussion:

Nico: Wow, just because you're jealous doesn't mean it's okay to go and throw a tambourine on someone's head.

Me: You mean a chandelier?

Nico: Yeah, that's what I meant... Boy, the phantom's parents really didn't teach him to behave very well!

*IMPORTANT NOTICE! I am moving this blog over to a different host in the next couple of weeks. This means that if you come to this page via any address except www.johannawrites.com, your link will no longer work. Please update your feeds and bookmarks!

Six years worth of blog

I'm in the process of transferring 6 years worth of blog content over to a different host. This means that if you come to this blog through any address other than www.johannawrites.com, you should update it in your feed or bookmarks.

It's been interesting to go back through old posts, especially those written when we lived in Japan. I had forgotten how surreal life could be over there. One post that I started but never published, simply says, "a nurse greeted us at the door bearing a giant syringe and a pair of handcuffs." Just another everyday Tokyo experience... (I'm pretty sure I was writing about our visit to the Alcatraz prison/mental hospital theme restaurant we went to one time in Shibuya).

I love Barcelona but reading these old posts really makes me miss Japan and although I felt ready to leave when we did, I wouldn't object to going back again and I've been subtly planting the seeds of future possibility in Alex's head (ALEX! LET'S MOVE BACK TO JAPAN!!). I want to live again in a place where I can again write stuff like "On my way home from the Straw Raincoat Field Event, I narrowly missed being run over by a young Japanese man on a motorcycle who was blaring Dolly Parton at top volume," or "Now perhaps at this point you're beginning to think that Tokyo isn't really for you. Perhaps you're thinking, "You know, wandering around and eating noodles with a bunch of strangers in their bathrobes under a fake starry sky sounds fine and all... but I don't know if it's really for me. I'd much rather be parading around with a mob of people carrying giant dicks on pedestals. That's what sounds really fun to me" Well guess what people? You can do that in Tokyo too!"

We shall see...

Another thing I realized in looking over the history of my blog is that it has suffered from a serious case of multiple personality disorder. Not only has it changed names twice (or 3 times?) but two babies have been born, three languages have been studied, and three different countries (four different cities) have been lived in. I began a career as a freelance writer, started a food blog and enrolled in culinary school. 

And then we have the hobbies. I've always been one for a good hobby or two (or three or four) but I didn't realize just how many I've bounced through in the last 6 years. There's been knitting, sewing, doll-making, shoe-making, altered books, spinning wool, bag-making and quilting, to name but a few. 

I suppose that most of these interests have developed and endured over time, although all those hundreds of hours spent studying Japanese vocabulary and cutting shoe leather didn't produce too many direct results. Still, I like to think it wasn't a complete waste. I haven't made any shoes, spoken Japanese or spun any wool recently, but I do still make art, write and knit. My cooking has improved and although I never became fluent in either Japanese or French, my Spanish has gotten pretty good.

Can anyone tell that I've gone into self-reassurance mode?

Anyway, it's genetic so not my fault. Over the years my Dad has gone from one obsession to another, including bridge (the card game), bridges (the structures), swing dancing, photography, record-collecting, building a movie library, playing the guitar, hiking, bird-watching, and repairing clocks and radios.  I suppose you could criticize us for many things but we never have to worry about getting bored, right?

What will happen next around here? Well, I'm not quite sure yet and I'm still trying to formulate it in my head. I've been doing more and more illustrations so I'm building a portfolio site where I can show them all in one spot. Other than that, who knows? Basket weaving? Sword swallowing? Sugar packet collecting? Oh wait, I'm already doing that last one. As for the rest, the world is my oyster!

 

 

 

 

Dusty

This is my submission for Illustration Friday. The word this week was "Dusty." I did a few different versions and I'd really like your feedback. Which do you like best and why? The problem I'm facing now is that because I'm fairly new to Photoshop and all its nifty tricks, I sometimes have problems differentiating between what's cool and what's cheesy. This means that I run a very real risk of making perfectly acceptable drawings and photos look like stills from 1980s MTV music videos, if you know what I mean.

Ah Springfield, you Dusty minx! During the sixties you made them swoon when you dressed up in glittering evening gowns and sang about sexy sons of preachermen. As you swayed back and forth, your tall hair swayed with you, every strand firmly shellacked in proper position. Might there have been little animals trapped inside? Perhaps. Could you have wallpapered a small bathroom with all the product used to keep it all in place? Most definitely.

But what really matters is that you were great. Just five years before you died, it became time to dust off the old beehive and be a star once again when Quentin Tarantino chose to include you in the Pulp Fiction soundtrack.

These were the thoughts bouncing around in my brain as I drew "Dusty."

Here is the original pencil drawing. The wig isn't as crooked as in latter versions.

And here is a version where I used my bathroom wall as a background. It seemed deserty to me and just looking at it made me want to cough which I thought was a good sign.

 

On the Radio

I always dreamed that one day I might get to go on Australian radio and talk about tuna fish... Listen here!

The Mother Who Can't Even Count

I know I've said this before but one of the things I like most about living in Spain are the school lunches. Both in Madrid and in Barcelona, Nico has had delicious, healthy and varied lunches at school. Certainly they're a far cry from the tater tots, hamburgers, tacos and overcooked canned green beans that seemed to show up 9 out of 10 times in the school lunches of my youth (although I do long for a good tater tot every now and then). Today, for example, they ate lentils with rice, hake in tomato sauce, salad and seasonal fruit. Tomorrow they'll be having chickpeas with spinach, chicken, salad and seasonal fruit.

One of the benefits of these lunches is that they teach him to appreciate foods that I'd normally never prepare at home. The problem with this is that I have no idea how to make a lot of this stuff in the style to which he's become accustomed.  Lentils and chickpeas are ingredients that show up at least twice a week at school and Nico claims to love both. Whenever I try to make either one however, he complains and says I don't know how to do it right. The infamous "Bottom Soup" is a case in point.

To digress just a bit, I can see that more and more I'm becoming "the weird foreign mother" in Nico's eyes. While American kids of immigrants complain that their mothers talk funny, can't help them with their homework or whip up a decent batch of cupcakes; Kids in Spain with immigrant parents get embarrassed when their moms talk funny, can't help them with their homework or whip up a decent pot of lentils. Also, they don't like it when you pick them up at school wearing khaki shorts (how American!).

I royally embarrassed Nico the other day when as I was paying for some fruit, I started muttering the amount of change I was counting out in Spanish. In reality, I was just saying some of the numbers aloud and muttering the others (as one does while counting change), but to Nico it sounded like this "Two, seven, eight, three, five..." After we left the store, he looked at me in horror and asked "But Mommy, WHY were you counting like that?? That isn't at all how the numbers go in Spanish!" He then proceeded to review with me the numbers from one to ten to ensure that such a humiliating event would never again occur in the future. Yep, I'm that mom now. The one who doesn't even know how to count right.

Back to food though. Lentils are an integral part of Spanish home-cooking, so ubiquitous that I once had a friend in Madrid who complained that the neighbors lentils were always floating up out of her shower drain (ew!).  The lentils I have made up until now, however, could only be described as.... um, well... brown? Brown and boring. No wonder Nico complains.

But now I know how to make a truly delicious lentil dish thanks to my latest class at Hofmann. These melt in your mouth without being mushy and the flavor is divine. So this is where all that lentil-love comes from! Head over to Barcelona Bites for the recipe!

Resolutions

This is the first time I've ever participated in Illustration Friday. This week the word was "Resolutions" and this is my submission-

It's a combination of a drawing and a photograph and since I'm new to Photoshop, please don't judge me too harshly!

As for the list of "resolutions," it's a fake as anyone who knows me could attest. I don't drink, I don't exercise and I would never give up donuts.

Here is my real list:

-Go on more dates with my husband

-Continue to do lots of art and writing without always stopping to ask myself "Why the hell am I doing this?"

-Find the perfect pair of red ballet flats

-Spend more time with my kids without simultaneously making lists in the back of my mind about what I need to do that day

-Be more experimental with how I cook vegetables

I think that should do it.

What I've been reading:

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (amaaaazing!)

Life by Keith Richards

Just Kids by Patti Smith

The Bolter by Frances Osborne

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Steig Larsson

Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

and stranger still

The scatological Catalan Christmas report continues and if you thought El Caganer was weird, wait until you hear this...

So while you guys were attending midnight mass or singing "Frosty the Snowman" or  frantically assembling a Playmobil space navigation station, guess what the Catalans were doing on Christmas Eve?

Now imagine if you got David Lynch and John Waters together and ordered them to devise a Christmas scenario which involved poop. Just think about the possibilities and then understand that reality would still be stranger than fiction.

Because here is what they were doing. They were standing around logs, beating them  with sticks and ordering the logs to poop candies. I'm serious people.

The poor little log is named "Caga Tío" (Pooping Log) and he usually has a face painted on him and is dressed in a jaunty cap and Christmas blanket.

As I understand it, in the days leading up to Christmas, he is fed copious amounts of orange peels (or whatever) which he will then poop out in the form of sweets on the big day. To get him to poop, you must stand around beating him with a stick while singing the following song:

caga tió,

caga torró,
avellanes i mató,
si no cagues bé
et daré un cop de bastó.
caga tió!"

Translation:

"Poop log, poop sweets 
if you don't poop well,
I'll hit you with a stick,
poop log!"

You don't believe me? Look at this video.

Or this one which is even better because Caga Tío has antlers.

Poor Nico. A multi-cultural background is a blessing but it can be quite confusing around this time of year. First we went to a Hanukkah party and ate pumpernickel bagels. Next we started talking about Santa Claus (called "Papa Noel" in these parts) while in his class they constructed Los Reyes Magos (the three "magic kings" who leave presents for Spanish children on January 6th*)  out of play-doh. In the meantime, his Colombian grandmother was asking him what he hoped "El Niño Jesus" would be bringing him, and at school all the kids couldn't stop talking about a log that poops presents.

To top things off, he lost his first two teeth within the past few weeks. The first time he was here and the Tooth Fairy paid him a visit. The second time was in New York City with his Colombian relatives and it was El Ratoncito Perez (a small mouse named Perez who deals with the teeth of the Spanish speaking world) who showed up.

The future therapy bills are mounting...

 *instead of leaving a carrot out for the reindeer, water must be left for the camels

 

 

 

 

The Pooper

Okay I am back with my second installment of bizarre Catalan Christmas traditions.

Let us begin by gazing at the classic nativity scene. There are the wise men, the cows, Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus in his cradle. Oh but wait, who's that over in the corner next to those ceramic shepherds? Is it...? could it be....? A man taking a shit?

Meet El Caganer, the beloved pooping participant of the Catalan nativity scene. There is some debate over the origins and reasons for this tradition but it is generally agreed that El Caganer (literally "the pooper") has been doing his business in Catalonian mangers for at least 200 years.

I'm so not shitting you!

In the United States, you know you are important if your face appears on the top of a cupcake. In the Catalonian region of Spain, you know you've hit the big time if you are made into a pooper. Barack Obama must have been very proud when he saw this:

Apparently there was widespread outcry in 2005 because the Barcelona City Council commissioned a nativity scene that did not include a caganer. The Catalan citizens (who it must be said, are quite sensitive when it comes to any perceived attack on their cultural traditions) were outraged. I would really love to have been a fly on the wall during the discussions that took place regarding the issue.

Outraged Catalan Citizen: "WHERE'S OUR POOPER? Normally he squats over by that dry riverbed, next to the angel, and this year he's GONE! How could you!

City Official: "We felt that in view of the recent law making public defecation illegal, including the pooper in the nativity would set a bad example..."

Outraged Catalan Citizen: "This is an outrage! This is an attack on Catalunya! Bring back the pooper! Independence from Spain!!"

A "Save the Pooper" campaign and general media frenzy followed and in 2006, El Caganer was back where he belonged.

To be continued (and trust me, it gets even weirder...)