Barcelona forever
In this day before Christmas, the capital of Catalonia, magnificiently sunny, was a real present I have to enjoy between two trains, for the duration of 4 hours. The mediterranean town, city I have most visited in this day after Lyon, received me for the sixth time. Nevertheless, it's important to come back to the beginning of this trip about 28 hours and 8 minutes, which drove me from the rain of A Coruña to the snow of Saint-Etienne.
The rain before the anthem, as a last symbol.
In the Andaina's College, as also in the kindergarten and the primary school which are added, that's a custom to celebrate Christmas on the last day of work. The tutor of the 5°EPO classroom gave a lot of himself about the organization. The tutor of the 6°EPO classroom seems also to be worry about the wednesday. The pression of the parents, the kids, the resistance in front of the decompression because of the end of the year are preventing fortunately any relax.
On wednesday the great day is coming. The weather decided to go on holidays one day before and I find again, the duration of a morning, a fog and a rain very galicians. The secondary's teacher give the famous boletins (report cards) with the appraisals. The pupils are protesting and ask justifications, in spite of the quantity of lines written by the teachers. Blas and Pablo Caballero (two pupils of 2°ESO), are desesperatly watching out how is the weather with the ball between their feet. The football turnament, in which I was registered also, and the basket-ball tournament are cancelled. The frustration is terrible.
The gymnasium has been moved to a discotheque but it is not well equipped for the musical love and the projectors. The karaoke machine makes a furious competition to the disc jockeys and I interfere quietly in a real agglutinated herd behind the TV set. Two young pupils are singing into the microphone, scoring points each time their voice is approaching the Spanish's popstar voice they are following passionately. All the charts are listened, with the indispensable Waka Waka from Shakira in the original version.
The same success which makes impossible any arts classroom in primary school. In fact, the kids know the song by heart and the swaying hips of thighs are succeeding inevitably, irresistibly to fine drawing of pencil strokes. Usually, only the little Rosalia, whose has yet a professional level of draw at only 10 years old, stays immutably concentrated on the task. There, she opens herself. Letting the pop music of the 40 principales to the teenagers, I will go to discover the parchis (the Spanish ludo) and the futbolin (local baby-foot). If the base of the games are common, the rules are very different. Anton, who I usually attribute the nickname of "tormented soul", enjoys of my lack of knowledge of the Spanish rules to qualify me as a "tramposo" (cheater). I answer to him that he wouldn't have to talk about it. The futbolin is played with 3 defenders, 4 midfielders and 3 forwarders, that is disturbing me a few, as more as any control is possible. The funniest is that it puts in the grips the merengue and the azulgrana (Real Madrid / Barcelona) as ours brings into conflicts the green and white to the white, blue and red (A.S. Saint-Etienne / Olympique Lyonnais). Oh rivalry, when you hold us !
The teenagers have any freedom and autonomy in the preparation of their party. The teachers intervene just a few. I will look for a few of the Christmas'spirit with the youngest. Ana, from 6°EPO, is leading the show and she is very comfortable with the microphone in hands in front of the parents. I'm a little less when she's proposing to me to sing a French bed song alias "Meunier tu dors".
Let's going to taste if the wine is good to taste.
Andaina's team was invited by himself to celebrate Christmas... but more surely the exit to holidays during a dancing dinner in Cambre (inner suburbs of A Coruña). The aperitif was served in a all Spanish hour, at ten o'clock, and will end in a rustic meal, maid of little bread and cold meat, with wine (of La Rioja, evidently), and champagne. It seems that Logroño's wine is only driken for the dinner... I understand more tasting it, with a taste much more powerful than a Beaujolais'wine from 2010.
There was no other invited than the educative centre's team, who could enjoy it to lead the evening at will, all in an perfectly unstressed ambiance and good-natured. We were all placed, the secretaries mysteriously placed in the middle of the table. Dancing numbers (cabaret, macarena) were hidden behind little papers that we get all on our table, and we had to present per couple to the public. I enjoyed to slide sometimes some very French games, totally improvised. The secretaries for usual were moved to a jury, attributing some delirious artistics evaluations but finally realist in the light of the quality of the delivery (1 to 4). Sometimes, the evaluations was exaggerated or meaning a bad spirit from the jury (69). That did not impeach come back with a basket filled with some regional specialities and discover a party face of Galician people, which belongs for good to Spain. More when Xabier, Spanish teacher and usually so right, is using the opportunity to dress up like and old heavy metal music's player...
At the end of this evening, which swamped a lot on the December 23th, I decided to come back with the English teacher. That's the moment when the assembly decides to offer to me the Galician anthem (excepted the English teacher, who is German, and the material responsible, who is from Venezuela). It's for my come back to France to spend the holidays of the end of the year. So there are about 30 people to sing to the glory of the white and blue country. The sequence, which the duration is about more than 4 minutes, is emotional and evidently it belongs to me to reply with the Marseillaise with a so solemn tone also. From the beginning of the EVS, which is symbolizing at the end a large period of my life abroad, I'm lucky to represent France, with all that is characterizing it, under the Spanish eyes, even if the fronteer does not exist for me anymore. I have never been so happy to be French as in Spain, being at the opposite of the patriotic spirit, focusing on the most possible the intercultural intakes. The English teacher is so disturbed when it's about to sing any anthem. An English woman teacher, German, from Andalusia, speaking fluenty Spanish language and living in Galicia, is representing the world.
Thursday is not a day anymore. It's a rush, a career for the luggage preparation for a trip in France. The night has been short and it has overwhelmed a lot on the morning yet. How many put all in the luggage, with the presents ?
Barcelona forever
For budgetary reasons, I decided to choose the reclining seat in the Trenhotel instead of the bunk. Luggage control, less strict than in Barcelona. The train is leaving quietly San Cristobal at six o'clock p.m., at the sunset. I don't find the sleep easily even if the cosy ambiant and the night have to help it. The animation is just consisting in one panel. It's about the speed (60 kilometers by hour at the mean, 200 at the maximum), the next train station and the temperature, which variates quickly from 10°C in A Coruña to 1°C in the mountains. I begin my sleep finally near Burgos to wake me up near Tarragona. In Catalonia, the sun is rising one hour before Galicia. The landscape changed : it's dryer, much more luminous. Houses are smaller, in a unic tone : the white. The Mediterranean sea is appearing soon. The train is coming in the subway train station of Sants, a real factory. It's eight o'clock in the morning in Barcelona, with a shining sun.
I come back to Barcelona with the most important pleasure, even if I have only four hours behind me, before taking the train to Figueres-Vilafant. I discover a new urban park, ultramodern, remarkably managed and an ambiant very dryer than in Galicia. It's an enormous city but I have all my visual marks, contrary to Madrid. In six visits, I had never the freedom to visit it (scholar trip, management of disabled young people, schedule constraints). After the Spain's place, I finally come back to the Montjuic's park, where I start the rise walking.
Very quickly, the sight is opening and I find again familiar shapes : the parish of the sacred heart of Jesus in the Tibidabo's place, which is dominating all the city at about 600 meters of height, the tower Jean Nouvel, new, and the Sagrada Familia's cathedral. If it was a country, it would be Spain. If it was a place in Spain, it would be Barcelona. If it was a place in Barcelona, it would be Montjuic. There is everything there : the intellectual, the arts, the sports, the sight, the mystery. The garden are fairy tale. After a two hours fairy taile, when I have seen a lot of planes march until the far airport of El Prat, I come back to the town, which has got a lot of centers.
I find again a market, I'm walking in a maze of streets. As in a modern part of Galicia, the streets are perpendicular. But the small flats of bricks, with tiny terraces, bathed in the sun, inspire to spend more time in this December, 24th. I have the "auberge espagnole", the French movie of Cedric Klapisch, in my head, and I imagine it take place behind my eyes there, if I met young students. Barcelona, it's a meeting in the corner of a street, a different life in each neighbour, a symbol lost in an urban ocean, where the sea itself seems to be small. So each time I am crossing this city, I eat a part but the rest escapes from me. However I'm still hungry. Maybe Ferrol doesn't have any soul, Santiago has got one, Barcelona has got several, about an eternal youth.
A quarter past midday. Come back to the Barcelona's train station, which as the size of a plant. Like in the train station of Lyon Part-Dieu, there are for all the directions but there, there are all the languages. The new international line has been inaugurated on December, 19th. Renfe's crew is not well oiled yet and after the new usual control of tickets and luggage (x2), I finally find my way and exit myself from a neverending tail, composed by a lot of numerous compatriots coming back like me in their country. The train for the new train station of Figueres-Vilafant is surprisingly empty. I sit near a Santo Domingo's beauty and near a lady of 56 years, who has got the particularity to be perfectly bilingual French - Spanish, to live in the both country and to own a 10 kilo's cat ! So I am so happy to speak a last time in Spanish with all linguistic safety ! I discover the AVE's site, which will permit to connect Paris and Barcelona in 5 hours of trip in 2020. We fly over the very beautiful heart of Girona but the train, however new, takes 20 minutes late ! The SNCF's company receives us at the new train station, where we just have time to jump in the TGV. It's the end of the cornice of Portbou, so beautiful and so slow. Let's the dazzling modernism take place. I have never crossed the Alberes mountains so fast (25 minutes).
Snow will fall on Christmas.
In Perpignan city, I'm discovering a other face. Two policeman are trying to wake up a person without home in the indifference, in the enclosure of the train station, which Dali qualified before as the "world center". A sign is translating the picture of the new coloured train station : the new world center. In this new world, have the people without home finally the right to the freedom of speech ?
A young lady is swearing and crying, in front of the North's wind. The first picture of France is freezing, in all the meaning of the word. An old person tells to me she wanted 3 hours before she talked with a correspondent... I give to her some minutes, however without find a correspondent at the other end of the line. There is a strike also and some regional trains are cancelled. In the train Narbonne - Lyon, people are silent and as the announcements of the SNCF are mechanics. It could at least say "Merry Christmas !" The snow is drizzling the capital of the "Gaules" but it takes really feet on the Saint-Etienne Châteaucreux train station. So another magic decor is waiting for me after 1 688 minutes of trip.
This is the magnificien Galician anthem called "Os Pinos" and its origin, with beautiful pictures about Cape Finisterre, A Coruña, Lugo and Santiago of Compostela.
The gymnasium has been moved to a discotheque but it is not well equipped for the musical love and the projectors. The karaoke machine makes a furious competition to the disc jockeys and I interfere quietly in a real agglutinated herd behind the TV set. Two young pupils are singing into the microphone, scoring points each time their voice is approaching the Spanish's popstar voice they are following passionately. All the charts are listened, with the indispensable Waka Waka from Shakira in the original version.
The same success which makes impossible any arts classroom in primary school. In fact, the kids know the song by heart and the swaying hips of thighs are succeeding inevitably, irresistibly to fine drawing of pencil strokes. Usually, only the little Rosalia, whose has yet a professional level of draw at only 10 years old, stays immutably concentrated on the task. There, she opens herself. Letting the pop music of the 40 principales to the teenagers, I will go to discover the parchis (the Spanish ludo) and the futbolin (local baby-foot). If the base of the games are common, the rules are very different. Anton, who I usually attribute the nickname of "tormented soul", enjoys of my lack of knowledge of the Spanish rules to qualify me as a "tramposo" (cheater). I answer to him that he wouldn't have to talk about it. The futbolin is played with 3 defenders, 4 midfielders and 3 forwarders, that is disturbing me a few, as more as any control is possible. The funniest is that it puts in the grips the merengue and the azulgrana (Real Madrid / Barcelona) as ours brings into conflicts the green and white to the white, blue and red (A.S. Saint-Etienne / Olympique Lyonnais). Oh rivalry, when you hold us !
The teenagers have any freedom and autonomy in the preparation of their party. The teachers intervene just a few. I will look for a few of the Christmas'spirit with the youngest. Ana, from 6°EPO, is leading the show and she is very comfortable with the microphone in hands in front of the parents. I'm a little less when she's proposing to me to sing a French bed song alias "Meunier tu dors".
Let's going to taste if the wine is good to taste.
Andaina's team was invited by himself to celebrate Christmas... but more surely the exit to holidays during a dancing dinner in Cambre (inner suburbs of A Coruña). The aperitif was served in a all Spanish hour, at ten o'clock, and will end in a rustic meal, maid of little bread and cold meat, with wine (of La Rioja, evidently), and champagne. It seems that Logroño's wine is only driken for the dinner... I understand more tasting it, with a taste much more powerful than a Beaujolais'wine from 2010.
There was no other invited than the educative centre's team, who could enjoy it to lead the evening at will, all in an perfectly unstressed ambiance and good-natured. We were all placed, the secretaries mysteriously placed in the middle of the table. Dancing numbers (cabaret, macarena) were hidden behind little papers that we get all on our table, and we had to present per couple to the public. I enjoyed to slide sometimes some very French games, totally improvised. The secretaries for usual were moved to a jury, attributing some delirious artistics evaluations but finally realist in the light of the quality of the delivery (1 to 4). Sometimes, the evaluations was exaggerated or meaning a bad spirit from the jury (69). That did not impeach come back with a basket filled with some regional specialities and discover a party face of Galician people, which belongs for good to Spain. More when Xabier, Spanish teacher and usually so right, is using the opportunity to dress up like and old heavy metal music's player...
At the end of this evening, which swamped a lot on the December 23th, I decided to come back with the English teacher. That's the moment when the assembly decides to offer to me the Galician anthem (excepted the English teacher, who is German, and the material responsible, who is from Venezuela). It's for my come back to France to spend the holidays of the end of the year. So there are about 30 people to sing to the glory of the white and blue country. The sequence, which the duration is about more than 4 minutes, is emotional and evidently it belongs to me to reply with the Marseillaise with a so solemn tone also. From the beginning of the EVS, which is symbolizing at the end a large period of my life abroad, I'm lucky to represent France, with all that is characterizing it, under the Spanish eyes, even if the fronteer does not exist for me anymore. I have never been so happy to be French as in Spain, being at the opposite of the patriotic spirit, focusing on the most possible the intercultural intakes. The English teacher is so disturbed when it's about to sing any anthem. An English woman teacher, German, from Andalusia, speaking fluenty Spanish language and living in Galicia, is representing the world.
Thursday is not a day anymore. It's a rush, a career for the luggage preparation for a trip in France. The night has been short and it has overwhelmed a lot on the morning yet. How many put all in the luggage, with the presents ?
Barcelona forever
For budgetary reasons, I decided to choose the reclining seat in the Trenhotel instead of the bunk. Luggage control, less strict than in Barcelona. The train is leaving quietly San Cristobal at six o'clock p.m., at the sunset. I don't find the sleep easily even if the cosy ambiant and the night have to help it. The animation is just consisting in one panel. It's about the speed (60 kilometers by hour at the mean, 200 at the maximum), the next train station and the temperature, which variates quickly from 10°C in A Coruña to 1°C in the mountains. I begin my sleep finally near Burgos to wake me up near Tarragona. In Catalonia, the sun is rising one hour before Galicia. The landscape changed : it's dryer, much more luminous. Houses are smaller, in a unic tone : the white. The Mediterranean sea is appearing soon. The train is coming in the subway train station of Sants, a real factory. It's eight o'clock in the morning in Barcelona, with a shining sun.
I come back to Barcelona with the most important pleasure, even if I have only four hours behind me, before taking the train to Figueres-Vilafant. I discover a new urban park, ultramodern, remarkably managed and an ambiant very dryer than in Galicia. It's an enormous city but I have all my visual marks, contrary to Madrid. In six visits, I had never the freedom to visit it (scholar trip, management of disabled young people, schedule constraints). After the Spain's place, I finally come back to the Montjuic's park, where I start the rise walking.
Very quickly, the sight is opening and I find again familiar shapes : the parish of the sacred heart of Jesus in the Tibidabo's place, which is dominating all the city at about 600 meters of height, the tower Jean Nouvel, new, and the Sagrada Familia's cathedral. If it was a country, it would be Spain. If it was a place in Spain, it would be Barcelona. If it was a place in Barcelona, it would be Montjuic. There is everything there : the intellectual, the arts, the sports, the sight, the mystery. The garden are fairy tale. After a two hours fairy taile, when I have seen a lot of planes march until the far airport of El Prat, I come back to the town, which has got a lot of centers.
I find again a market, I'm walking in a maze of streets. As in a modern part of Galicia, the streets are perpendicular. But the small flats of bricks, with tiny terraces, bathed in the sun, inspire to spend more time in this December, 24th. I have the "auberge espagnole", the French movie of Cedric Klapisch, in my head, and I imagine it take place behind my eyes there, if I met young students. Barcelona, it's a meeting in the corner of a street, a different life in each neighbour, a symbol lost in an urban ocean, where the sea itself seems to be small. So each time I am crossing this city, I eat a part but the rest escapes from me. However I'm still hungry. Maybe Ferrol doesn't have any soul, Santiago has got one, Barcelona has got several, about an eternal youth.
A quarter past midday. Come back to the Barcelona's train station, which as the size of a plant. Like in the train station of Lyon Part-Dieu, there are for all the directions but there, there are all the languages. The new international line has been inaugurated on December, 19th. Renfe's crew is not well oiled yet and after the new usual control of tickets and luggage (x2), I finally find my way and exit myself from a neverending tail, composed by a lot of numerous compatriots coming back like me in their country. The train for the new train station of Figueres-Vilafant is surprisingly empty. I sit near a Santo Domingo's beauty and near a lady of 56 years, who has got the particularity to be perfectly bilingual French - Spanish, to live in the both country and to own a 10 kilo's cat ! So I am so happy to speak a last time in Spanish with all linguistic safety ! I discover the AVE's site, which will permit to connect Paris and Barcelona in 5 hours of trip in 2020. We fly over the very beautiful heart of Girona but the train, however new, takes 20 minutes late ! The SNCF's company receives us at the new train station, where we just have time to jump in the TGV. It's the end of the cornice of Portbou, so beautiful and so slow. Let's the dazzling modernism take place. I have never crossed the Alberes mountains so fast (25 minutes).
Snow will fall on Christmas.
In Perpignan city, I'm discovering a other face. Two policeman are trying to wake up a person without home in the indifference, in the enclosure of the train station, which Dali qualified before as the "world center". A sign is translating the picture of the new coloured train station : the new world center. In this new world, have the people without home finally the right to the freedom of speech ?
A young lady is swearing and crying, in front of the North's wind. The first picture of France is freezing, in all the meaning of the word. An old person tells to me she wanted 3 hours before she talked with a correspondent... I give to her some minutes, however without find a correspondent at the other end of the line. There is a strike also and some regional trains are cancelled. In the train Narbonne - Lyon, people are silent and as the announcements of the SNCF are mechanics. It could at least say "Merry Christmas !" The snow is drizzling the capital of the "Gaules" but it takes really feet on the Saint-Etienne Châteaucreux train station. So another magic decor is waiting for me after 1 688 minutes of trip.
This is the magnificien Galician anthem called "Os Pinos" and its origin, with beautiful pictures about Cape Finisterre, A Coruña, Lugo and Santiago of Compostela.
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