La Huelga General and Camp Nou-with pictures!
Karaoke is a great thing. Its one of those activities that is as much fun to watch people do as it is to do yourself , kind of like Kinect Dance Central. And just like Dance Central, there are some people who would rather die then get up there and sing (or dance). It’s funny how self conscious we can get in front of total strangers. Then again, put a few beers in everyone and the karaoke queue stretches out the door. It’s a powerful combination, and bars the world over know this well.
What do you know, I went to a Karaoke Erasmus night on Monday, urged by a friend. (Erasmus is the European study abroad program that makes it very easy to study in other EU countries) Given that our rendition of the classic “Everybody” by the Backstreet Boys was accompanied by raucous cheers and a row of Slovenian girls going crazy in the front row, I’d say we did well. Then again, our spot was rather late in the night, so it may have been the beer.
Alcohol consumption is considerably more fun when there is an activity involved, in my opinion. Karaoke, dance competitions, and pub quizzes are all dramatically different experiences sober, and while they are fun in their own right I would say their chemically addled versions are far more successful than the sober ones, as I noted above. Drinking just to drink isn’t nearly as fun, and this is a fact that drinking games the world over need to learn. The best games are fun on their own, and made better by the addition of beer; their point is not simply to drink, unlike many “drinking games” like beer pong. Who plays water pong? It’s only fun because of the beer – lame.
Let’s move on to the highlight of this week - la Huelga General, or Worker’s strike. When last we left our intrepid traveller he had predicted fiery dumpsters, and indeed there already was one afire the night before the strike. That Wednesday morning, I ventured out into the streets to see what all the fuss was about. At first, nothing seemed amiss other than fewer car traffic and more foot traffic around the city, but then I caught sight of no less than four SWAT vans moving in unison towards the central area. I pursued them on bike, and came upon a few closed streets in the dead center, with people milling about, a few spontaneous fireworks, some people on loudspeakers talking about rights, and a higher than usual concentration of people with dreads and/or gauges in their ears. (funny how stuff like this always seems to pull those people out)
Some buses were stopped in the middle of the streets nearby, as crowds had surrounded them and pasted the front drivers window with stickers so that he could not see and was forced to stop. Then they spray painted anarchist phrases on the side, but other than that there was not much vandalism. In front of the main entrance of the superstore El Corte Ingles, there was a 20 man strong line of riot police with their faces covered making sure that nobody made a racket, while allowing normal shoppers through. Exciting, but not that exciting.
The real attraction came after nightfall, when a massive rally/march ended in the middle of the old town, in front of the regional police station. The street was choked with people as far as you could see in all directions, with vague chantings and more spontaneous fireworks every now and then. In the main side streets that branched off this main one (Via Laetania), you could see police lines composed of vans and several policemen outfitted in full riot gear, with strobing blue lights and shields. You could walk past this lines individually, but it was obvious that they would not let the mass move that way. Every now and then, the crowd would break and run away from the center road block en masse, presumably in response to unseen police advances. That was a novel experience – when else do you have a huge line of people sprinting towards you with no regard to whats in their way? It made me understand how people get trampled sometimes at concerts and stuff.
We worked our way to the center showdown, where even more policelines held position, aided by massive riot control guns that let off loud cracks every time they fired fist size rubber munitions to keep the crowd in check. Militant youngsters were breaking from the crowd every now and then to throw stuff, and the girls I was with were uncomfortable with the rising tension, so we ducked down a side alley after someone threw some kind of orange smoking road flare thing. At my behest, we circled back and came to another side street touching the main street, and watched another mini confrontation between a smaller crowd and two SWAT vans that came screeching up out of nowhere, disengaged about a dozen gorilla suited men with batons who lay into the crowd with abandon until they dispersed into the side alleys. The crowd didn’t fight back, but did inch towards them whenever possible and yell insults. Less than a minute after they arrived, these new men loaded back up into the vans and screeched off to who knows where.
We cautiously peeked into the main street, which was now totally empty of people and home only to a few stragglers and many SWAT vans careening both ways, as well as a few flaming remnants of trash. Looks like we missed the big flush – bummer – we called it a day and headed back.
On Thursday I hosted ten Germans at my apartment, where I attempted to cook burgers for them. Apparently it went well, as nobody was poisoned. That night I learned that until recently, in Germany the childhood game we call “Sharks and Minnows” was called “Who is afraid of the black man?” I’ll leave it at that- but remember that it is no longer called that.
That weekend I went to see my first Barça football match, against Zaragoza. Camp Nou was huge and decently full. I realized that this was my first live sports event in years – I really don’t care about most professional sports – but when in Barcelona you simply have to go to a Barca match, as I understand. Our seats were first tier, and the game sufficiently tense. It certainly is quite a different experience watching futbol live instead of on a TV, as you don’t get any instant replays and the only reason you know when someone scores is when the crowd stands up, because you cannot actually see the ball most times. Overall, I was satisfied but not impressed with the experience. Of course, Barca trounced them 3 – 1.
On Sunday my visiting friend Patrick and I checked out Tibidabo, the amusement park/church on top of the mountain in the back of Barcelona. Great views, but not all that much to do up there for someone older than elementary school age. Much more exciting was immediately after, when our local friends Clara and Jaume took us power kiting.
Power kiting is a relative of kite surfing where you fly a powerful kite that lets you jump longer and higher, and pulls you around the beach leaving furrows in the sand. Although it wasn’t incredibly windy, it was fun trying out such a novel sport and being dragged around a little bit. It is very tiring fighting against the kite the whole time, but I suppose once you know what you are doing it is more like working together with the kite, like Jaume seemed to do. Great opportunity.
Next week is Prague! Woo hoo eastern Europe. A possible CS host told me they do not like to be called eastern europeans, though, I'l have to watch my mouth.