Back in Stuttgart

I've been back here for a week now, getting used to the fact that I'll have to start school again soon. I'm both dreading and looking forward to the new term in school.

Anyway, I've been trying to make the most of these days to get to know this damn city, and not just sit about moaning about how boring and shit it is, without actually seeing any of it. I went for a few nightwalks (and day walks) around the town in the last few weeks, and here's a few pictures I captured.

There's a piercing light around this time of year; in fact throughout most of the year here in Stuttgart. I don't know what it is, probably some deadly chemical from producing Daimler Chrysler cars or something. But the light, particularly in the mornings, is fantastic.

The German course is going well ('I become a sausage' for the insiders). I've now been positively crammed with Konjunktiv II, and will puke if I even have to hear the term again in the next decade of my life. But to good purpose. I've started understanding a bit more about what people are rambling about when I'm in shops and eavesdropping people's private conversations (like there's anything of interest going on where I am).

Got hold of a book called 'The Fabric of Reality' by David Deutsch (appropriate name for my current life phase, as Isabel pointed out), which my brother-in-law Jan gave me a loan of. Really inspiring stuff; a sort of mish-mash of philosophy of science, astrophysics theory and artificial intelligence anorak material in a well-written, accessible narrative, which doesn't leave outsiders like me high and dry. He basically argues that science is about explanation and not prediction, and goes on to try to prove that it is therefore possible to construct a 'Theory of everything', which could unite all the different kinds of scientific explanation we have to date. Pretty pretentious, but tasty Theory of Knowledge material. Pity they're taking my damn class away or I'd actually be able to use this as a class reader, which I've been after all goddamn year with my Grade 11 class. Grrrr.

Better go. Going to a friend's birthday party, and need to do about a week's washing up in 8 minutes before I catch the train.

Schizophrénie a la gare de Narbonne

J'ai faim. Assis sur un banc a Narbonne, j'attends le train. Ma vie ronronne comme un moteur bien huilé. Chaussettes oranges et t-shirt blanc; au rang des miseres, j'ai le droit de me taire. A tout compter, ma vie est bonne.

Mais je me plains d'avoir trop de choix, grandes ambitions. Acteur, musicien, des idées qui bourdonnent, mais en meme temps je bougonne, j'arrete jamais de foutre le camp. L'air de rien, cinq pays en cinq ans, il est temps de choisir entre les endroits que je tatonne.

Déconne pas, Dave. Regarde un peu les gens autour de toi. Si tout le monde bougeait dés qu'il avait fini son pain blanc, les trains et les bancs seraient bondés et y'aurait pas un gland pour poinconner les billets. Plus personne!

Une jeune femme souriante bourdonne devant les WC de la gare, rayonnante. En fin de journée elle compte son accompte cinglant, clinquant les 10, 20, 50 centimes. Vie intime avec ses deux mouflards, hagarde, elle s'étreint de gagner sa vie, hardie, en tant que bonne.

Laver les pissoirs, c'est pas rigolo; se frotter les paluches pour décalquer la senteur d'urine. Ben si elle décampait mine d'hermine hermite a chaque pépin, ben mine de rien son bambin ne pourrait champignonner qu'au déclin de la déconne.

Champion de foot ou nonne, c'est en faisant le ménage qu'on devient sain; dame pipi psychologique il est temps d'écrire tes tryptiques elliptiques pour frotter a la brique de savon de marseille ce subconscient qui se pique de tripes filmiques d'artiste en éveil.

Ecrire sur un banc en vulgaire t-shirt blanc et chaussettes oranges de prof de lycée; vis un peu ton présent dans un apartement allemand avant d'aller chasser des chateaux en Espagne. Bateau ivre, livre-toi aux livres pour grimper au vermeil avant de chercher l'or, ma mignonne.

Barcelona

This is possibly the most fascinating city I've been to, and really lives up to all the hype. As you can see from the pictures, it's architecturally unbelievable (1). Everywhere you walk you run into buildings you wouldn't dream of finding anywhere else in the world. The facade with the dragon sticking out of it was on a street corner near the hostel I stayed in.

I spent most of my time walking about town, just taking in the feel of the place (and dodging the thousands of other tourists doing the same thing). The old centre is mostly pedestrian, so you can really get about the place on foot. The church (2) above is Montjuic, which was also a smack in the mouth. I walked up there from the last place the train takes you, and had this tremendous view over Barcelona. When I got to the top and did the rounds of the church, I treated myself to dinner in the restaurant, which has a view over Barcelona.

It's strange. I don't understand why tourists prefer to eat overpriced snacks on a terrace, which ulitmately end up costing them more than buying a proper meal, rather than spend about 5 euro more to eat in a proper restaurant. I was the only person eating in this place, to begin with, and then only two groups showed up, both of whom were locals, the whole time I was eating there. For 20 euro, I ordered veal in a roquefort sauce, a half bottle of a local red wine, and a really good dessert and coffee. After walking the whole day to get up to this place, it didn't go amiss.

As I got the train (3) to get back into town, I thought that Barcelona is one of the only places I've been to in Europe where the city would commission artists to spray paint trains. In Paris, they'd throw them in jail overnight, or put them in straightjackets.

That evening, I wandered into the Harlem Jazz Club, which was literally in front of the door of my hostel. I had read about it in a guide, and heard that there was a 'Blues Jam Session' on that evening. It was fucking tremendous. The whole night, musicians turned up, meeting each other for the first time onstage, and improvised blues standards. The wealth of musicians this city holds is just unbelievable. Like halfway through the night, as the third set of musicians were cheered by the hyperactive crowd, a horn section turned up. For each song, they worked out harmonies and played rhythm to beef up the band, and then successively played some solos when allowed. Not a single dull moment there either.

I'm completely bowled over by this city. Will have to do a Barcelona recharge sometime.