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Music, markets and Moritz

I’ve managed to do a few things I wanted to experience while in Barcelona but a combination of occasional hip gyp (osteoarthritis quite advanced) and less breath from the lingering flu, I’ve not been roaring about the place as I maybe would have in the past. I love the fact that the city is so well supplied with benches so I can sit and take a rest when necessary. Isabel Allende has a fine quote in her book I just read A Long Petal of the Sea: ‘Pain is unavoidable, suffering is optional’. As I set out on Christmas Eve to enjoy the guided tour of the Palau de la Musica, I was able to have a coffee, perch on a bench and contemplate life at a slower pace.

Benches and cafes on the Rambla de Catalunya.

It also gives me a chance to look around and see elegant buildings like this. There have been some rather (imho) unsuitable replacements and refurbishments to the classy streets of the Eixample, the area into which the wealthy of the city expanded in the early twentieth century with its grid of vertical and horizontal streets so it’s hard to get lost. Enough rambling – on to the Palau.

At the Palau, I join a group of two Americans, one Hungarian and eight Chinese – probably statistically representative of relative populations. Our guide is Marta who is Catalan and a pianist with the organisation who also used to play cello but gave it up as too difficult. As often, the tour begins with a ten minute video of the history and diverse nature of music played at the hall – Montserrat Caballe and Pablo Casals of course but also Ute Lemper and Herbie Hancock. Marta returns and asks if any of us has ever been so I can show off with my attendance two nights ago. I can also answer her enquiry as to whether anyone knows the architect. I do – it was Lluis Domenech i Muntaner, another of the famous group of modernista artists, which included Gaudi. Together they designed the Catalan equivalent of art nouveau or Jugendstil elsewhere in Europe. What I couldn’t answer was how long it took to build – a staggering two and a half years. My guess would have been ten. There were obviously lots of wealthy merchants investing their profits from the Americas in a cultural centre of some magnificence in Barcelona.

A ticket window, roof detail and the main entrances wide and high enough for horse-drawn carriages to enter.

The interior is just breathtaking. Every surface is decorated with trencadis, there are thousands of plaster roses – the flower of Catalunya – and sculpture and plasterwork of great significance. There are lots of red and white cross flags which are familiar in England especially around football tournaments. St Jordi (George) is the patron saint of Catalunya too. Lluis certainly thought about what he was building. Alongside the name of the Palau are the words Orfeo Catalana reflecting the origins of the hall as a place for choirs to practice and sing – well they couldn’t watch Strictly or The Voice so they had – and still have – lots of local choirs. I’m hoping to see some of them at the special Sant Esteve (Boxing Day) concert which is said by some I’ve spoken to to rival New Year’s Day in Vienna. As with the exterior a few photos won’t do the venue justice but let’s just say a bust of Beethoven surmounted by horse-riding Valkyries on one side of the stage and sculptures of all the muses behind the performers on stage make this a very special place. The glass sunburst at the centre of the ceiling which allows natural light through is a masterpiece of both design and engineering.

Some of the muses and another flying horse.

After a coffee in the cafeteria, I set off through the old city centre towards the cathedral – I’ve never seen it without works going on, maybe one day. Then I just have to stop for a beer in Plaza Reial a long-time favourite. One of the limited advantages of travelling alone is that I’m doing far more reading than usual. Instead of chatting over a beer, out comes the kindle. So far I’ve read William Boyd’s rambunctious The Romantic in which we meet Byron in Italy and discover the source of the Nile. This was followed by Kate Atkinson’s fabulous Shrines of Gaiety featuring the dodgy world of nightclubs in interwar London. And as mentioned before, Isabel Allende’s epic Long Petal of the Sea which begins with the horrors of the Spanish Civil War in Catalunya and escape to France and from there to new lives in Chile only to become involved in another coup there. And now I’m enjoying Hotel Iris by Yoko Ogawa – another tantalising excursion into the strange world of Japanese fiction. And the Mcs are lined up next Ian McEwan and two from Cormac McCarthy.

From here it’s a short step along the Rambla to the Liceu opera house which sadly had nothing I wanted to see this trip and then for a walk through the fabulous Boqueria market. I’ve probably rambled on about my love of local markets and my regrets at living in a hotel – maybe an apartment next time. The colour, the noise, the camaraderie of the market is infectious. No room at the market bars though so I found a small bar in a side street for some gambas al ajillo and esparragos.

El Liceu, entrance to and interior of the Boqueria market.

I have another short stroll to my next destination MACBA the museum of contemporary art in Barcelona. It’s new to me although it opened in 1995 so we must have missed it on previous trips. It’s a great white palace with a warning to watch out for skateboarders on the approach – what is it about art centres and skaters? One attractive aspect is that it has slopes not steps to link the various levels – reminding me a bit of the XXI gallery in Rome I visited in 2017. My appreciation of cutting-edge contemporary artwork is somewhat unrefined but I found two of the artists exhibiting here quite affecting. The Colombian Maria Teresa Hinchcapie which involved performance art, exploration of every day objects and photography gave me plenty to think about. Cynthia Marcelle is a Brazilian artist who had given a number of collaborators some materials to arrange as they wished. The result reminded me of a Cornelia Parker explosion of objects. There was another exhibit based on a Mexican Mixe myth which I found impressive in scale and impenetrable in meaning.

MACBA exterior, Hinchcapie video, Mixe myth and Marcelle room.

In the permanent collection were a number of pieces I really enjoyed – a Tapies bed and a series of pages taken from a book as if they had been typed without a ribbon so that light projected the text onto the wall. It’s by Mar Arza and is called Nada reiterada (nothing repeated). Most enjoyable for a bibliophile.

The evening was rounded off in a convenient microbrewery Moritz opposite the hotel which was one of the few places open on Christmas Eve. It has a fine selection of house beers – lagers, IPAs a red IPA and a porter style Moritz Negra (black beer). Oh and it had a perfectly fine food menu too.

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Culture magpie

So Friday morning begins with a trip to El Corte Ingles to secure a USB to lightning cable. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Spain without at some point setting foot in the country’s prime department store. It delivered what I needed on the seventh floor – escalators all the way I’m pleased to say. Next on the agenda was to follow the advice given me on Wednesday evening and book a guided tour of the Palau de la Musica Catalana – all sorted for 11:30 tomorrow.

Next stop the Museu Picasso Barcelona – also free with Barca Card but they make you get a paper ticket from the box office as well. I’ve been here a couple of times before and while there’s always a good selection of Picasso’s paintings, prints and ceramics there is a major exhibition as well. This one is devoted to David-Henry Kahnweiler the German born dealer, collector and patron who did much to launch the careers of Picasso, Braque and Juan Gris.

Kahnweiler was quick to spot the movement that would become cubism and established a tiny gallery (four square metres) at the age of 23 where he exhibited early works by the then unknown Picasso, Braque, Leger, van Dongen and Vlaminck. He was friends with all of them and made good sales to kickstart their careers. As a German he had to go into exile in Switzerland during the First World War. He was considered an alien and his entire collection was sold by the French authorities in auctions at the Hotel Drouot. The sale catalogues make for interesting reading and a comprehensive listing of early twentieth century art.

Picasso sketching Kahnweiler, one of the photos in the exhibition.

There were works by many of his protégés and details of weekly soirées at Bourgogne-Billancourt where he entertained artists and potential purchasers. Picasso once wrote, ‘Where would we all be without Kahnweiler’s sense of business?’ I found it all fascinating, so much so that I took no photos – sorry. That is until I came to the huge room devoted to Picasso’s deconstruction of Velazquez’s Las Meninas. He made a series of over 50 paintings in which he analysed and recreated aspects of the famous work. This is my favourite. I love his self-portrait at the bottom right and the dog and the use of many images of his familiar iconography that find no place in the original.

After nearly three hours it’s time for some lunch. Everywhere in this area – the Born – will be expensive as it’s a major tourist attraction. However I find a corner in a popular venue and emerge refreshed. The Messi shirt shows that Argentina’s captain is still much loved in Barca. I was also surprised to find a flight of Japanese kites in an adjacent courtyard.

A few metres along Calle Moncada is a Museum new to me – MOCO. It has a branch in Amsterdam and opened in Barcelona in 2016 and I haven’t been here since before then. It’s devoted to MOdern/COntemporary artworks and features Keith Haring, Julien Opie, Damien Hirst, Dali and Banksy as well as less familiar local names. I did take a few photos here.

Dali, Banksy and a three layer asynchronous animated video wall that took my fancy.

As I’m quite a way down in the old part of the city I think it’s time to see the sea – well at least Barcelona harbour. As it’s Christmas time there are lots of tacky amusements on offer spoiling (for curmudgeonly me) a stroll along the waterfront. But there are some highlights. Graphics have always been wacky here since the Olympics, there’s always one seagull that won’t conform and I enjoyed the peace of the sun going down across the harbour looking out to the World Trade Centre where we filmed material for a promotional video for the Direct English franchise several years ago. All of course under the watchful gaze of Cristobal Colon.

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Tapas and Tapies

So refreshed with my tapas in the Cerveseria Catalana and buzzing with my visit to Casa Battlo, I thought it was time for a bit more art exploration.

As I came from the station to the hotel on my arrival I had walked past this fine building with its wild bird’s nest hair. It’s the Antoni Tapies Foundation. I’ve seen Tapies’ work in other galleries but thought I’d take a look. Entry was free with my trusty Barcelona card so even more incentive. There were two exhibitions – one showing Tapies’ increasing use of varnish to affect the outcome, the other to Bruce Conner of whom I confess. I had not heard.

My first surprise was that although the building looked like it would be a gallery, I had to descend a flight of stairs to get to the subterranean exhibition space. Excavating basements may be popular in London now among the wealthy, but Barcelona has clearly been doing it for ages. As well as this space, I’ve walked past loads of Parkings with precipitous descents to way-below-street garages – glad I didn’t rent a car this trip as entrances are frighteningly narrow as well and I did recall wedging a Transit van on the way into a car park right beside the Callao metro station in Madrid while on a shoot there some years ago.

The Tapies space itself was light and airy with a suitably small number of paintings and objects displayed. They covered 30 years of his work from 1958 when he was awarded the Carnegie medal for painting, to 1988. I liked in particular his surrealistic deconstructed chair and several of the sinuous marks he’d made with painting and overlaid varnish. And of course there’s always the coarse one – he had a thing about the black letter X. Have a look.

The other exhibit a further floor below was of work by Bruce Conner who’d escaped me but according to the descriptions on the wall was ‘the father of the video clip’. There were nine films in all ranging from three to fifteen minutes. The first was a horrific observation of the Bikini Atoll atomic bomb test, the next a sequence-shifting report on the assassination of JFK. Others were lighter – a piece called Looking for Mushrooms with music by Terry Riley,a noted consumer of same, so was all kaleidoscopic, psychedelic monochrome magic. Others used animation and effects considerably ahead of his time. I’m not always a big fan of video installations as art but these were eye-opening and thought-provoking. They also covered the period 1958 to 1976.

I stopped off at a supermarket on the way back to lay in beer, wine and brandy for the week ahead. Dee and I always liked a drink in our room to gather ourselves before going out to eat and old habits die hard. As I started writing the first blog I realised that I’d forgotten to bring the charger for the iPad mini on which I write, so scribbling would have to wait for tomorrow. So I got to my fine pigs’ cheeks a little earlier than might have been.

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Music of the stairs

One of my reasons for choosing to come to Barcelona this year was to visit Gaudi’s famous Casa Battlo. I became friends during the year with a young composer Dani Howard who had composed the tracks for the guided audio tour of the house and I was keen to see inside the amazing building and hear how Dani had responded to her brief. The hotel has a breakfast buffet but I went in quest of something simpler. Opposite Casa Battlo was a Santander Bank work cafe which I thought I’d try. Result too, as Santander account holders get a 30% discount, so it was a very cheap juice, coffee and croissant. Loads of other industrious people were poring over laptops, negotiating on the phone and working hard. Interesting idea.

The Santander Work/Cafe andCasa Battlo exterior

The first part of the tour is in the basement in a Yayoi Kusama style mirror room. You step onto a moving metal platform and make a large circle through projections of the architect himself slumped exhausted among his drawings and the objects from nature that inspired his designs – fish, shells, mushrooms, rock formations. This is accompanied by a very watery track, whooshing waves mixed with orchestral sounds and set a theme for the tour which likens Gaudi’s structure to a section through an inverted ocean – I didn’t write the script!

The tour proper is guided by a tablet with sixteen icons to select when you enter a room with that sign and commentary and music play. I absolutely love the building – the innovative elements, gorgeous woodwork, wrought iron balustrades and typical Gaudi trencadis – the patterned facades we usually call mosaics which combine broken tiles, glass and other materials making Gaudi the great recycler. I’ve added a few images from the house but it’s very tactile as well – you need to be there.

The atrium , wonderful early phone, lovely eccentric door and internal watery stained glass.

The house is tall and has this fabulous double atrium from floor to skylight flooding it with light – a very clever touch. So the the tour heads inexorably upwards until you reach the roof with great views over the city. As you mount each flight and select the next images so Dani’s music changes to fit the atmosphere and function of the room you’re in. It is wonderfully varied – simple piano pieces at times, what sounds like a marimba and cello rippling away for another but generally fully orchestral and often choral themes that work extremely well. The huge uplifting crescendo for the top of the stairs gave even my weary legs a jolt of energy. I think there’s a Battlo Suite for concert performance in there – rights permitting of course. The great thing is that the orchestra at the recording was under the baton of Pablo Urbina, now Dani’s husband.

Water supply on the roof and *trencadis* flower pots on the patio

After a few moments contemplation on the roof marvelling that the large structures were in fact the house’s water supply we descend through another work of art. What was once the fire escape has been transformed by the Japanese sculptor Kendo Kuma who has draped the walls in swirls of aluminium links of chain mail which are aesthetically pleasing and highly tactile.

You exit through an immersive screen cube with projections of Gaudi icons and responses by artist Refik Anadol. The website suggests an hour and fifteen minutes – I went in at 11:00 and out at 13:30. House and music in utter harmony and I even made it up and back downstairs. I’d heard of the nearby Cerveseria Catalana and thought that would be a good option for lunch. Hah! Why I’d heard of it is that everybody else had, so I waited a little less than the threatened twenty minutes – it sometimes helps being just one – and enjoyed the amazing atmosphere and some great carved ham with a beer and then a glass of Verdejo with some anchovies and padron peppers a combination I’d not had before.

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Chopin/Graves Take 2

First things first – a trip at 10:00 to Clinica Belice for my two days before PCR test. Take 2 on that too as they needed to see my passport which was in the hotel – I’m really rubbish at this travelling lark. They were very efficient and friendly and I’m promised results tomorrow evening, [received Negativo at time of writing so if they have crew I might get home!].

Then later than usual to retrieve the car and set off. Well at least I know the way to Valldemossa and with the cloud much higher over the mountains I can appreciate the gorge that leads through the Sierra Tramuntana up to the town.

I know where to park so am soon in the Chopin/Sand cells inside the monastery. It is fascinating and reading George Sand’s disgust for the locals probably explains why they didn’t have a good time here. Her Un hiver en Majorque has some joyous descriptions of the landscape among the groaning about conditions and the impounding of a Pleyel piano for weeks by evil Spanish customs. When you read the copy you realise that they were only here for eight weeks and you wonder why all the fuss? She wrote about it and he composed some of his most famous works. Guess that worth some fuss – 24 Preludes Op28 are very highly regarded by Chopinistas.

The Cartuja cloister, entrance to Cell 4 and an interior view of the two rooms.

What is fascinating is to see the wall displays of facsimiles of his manuscripts with furious revisions. He hit the paper hard as well as the keys. And it is good to see his bust keeping a watchful eye on the piano they’d paid Pleyel 1200 francs for and from which he’d had so little use thanks to customs difficulties

To talk of them living in a monastery cell sounds like real deprivation and there were three adults (FC, GS and maid) and two children living there but they did have a garden of their own which Mme really enjoyed with its stunning views.

I’m not sure whether the trees had formed this circular shape in their day but the view this way hasn’t changed much.

There’s not a huge amount to see and an hour and a bit sufficed. Valldemossa itself is too touristy for my taste, highly groomed streets, some interesting art but a whole lot of craftish tat. So i have a peremptory stroll, stopping of course to snap Chopin Street and WhatsApp it to my friend Jadwiga who is Polish and a Chopin groupie!

As I left the town I was struck by the large number of plane tree avenues leading to and from Mallorcan towns – there are some on the mainland but it feels rather French midi to me. I love them. Good now, but must be great in summer.

Having not eaten until four yesterday I thought ‘wouldn’t it be good if there’s a restaurant between here and Deia.’ There was and it is clearly very popular because while there were only a few diners when I arrived just before two, by the time I left it was full. I had some great sepia in a spicy pica-pica sauce and habanitas con baicon – an old favourite but here the very small broad beans had leeks, onions and peppers as well as bacon. Very tasty and timely – I thought.

The short drive to Robert Graves’ house was familiar too and I much prefer the town to Valldemossa – sorry if that makes me a tasteless Brit. There was a convenient parking spot right opposite the house so I crossed the road full of hope.

The nicest ‘P off we’re closed’ sign ever!

Once again the lack of a planning companion struck – they close at 13:00 so I should have come here first. Doh! However the gate was not locked and I crept in to have a look at the garden at least. I was caught by the very friendly and fluent English speaking gardener who said he would have shown me round the house but had to leave at three-thirty. We chatted about the problems of gardening – it rained for the whole of November and everything is behind – but he’s doing his best, upon which I complemented him, explained I couldn’t come back again this trip but be sure not to miss it next time. He allowed me to take some photos and rewarded me with a couple of incredibly juicy tangerines.

Graves’-house, bust (by Epstein?) studio and tangerines.

With little encouragement, I decided to carry on round the Ma10 to Soller and then head inland and back to Palma through the middle. With today’s better weather in the mountains their scale, variety and colours were amazing – just not enough safe stopping places for photography but I managed a few.

I passed through some interesting towns that would repay a visit: the Botanic Gardens at Alfaibia are closed until March, but look fun; Bunyola had some interesting buildings; and as I came to the end of the Ma2040 I found myself at the Mallorca Fashion Outlet – no point me stopping there! This is on the outskirts of the town of Inca which is linked to Palma by a near-motorway standard Ma13 so I headed on home or back to the hotel at least.

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World of wonder

Christmas Eve has a special meal planned at the hotel but first there’s some boring admin to deal with. So after breakfast: Book a PCR test for Monday two days before flying home. Check 7 minutes walk from hotel, walk in service no appointment needed. Brilliant.

Christmas Day visit to Rosa and lunch out in the country will need a car. None available in the city but I can pick one up at the airport tomorrow and it’s on the way anyway. Check. So now to the real business of the day – a trip to the Fundacio Pilar i Joan Miro.

The location is out in the western suburbs of Palma in an area called Cala Major and it takes about fifteen minutes in a taxi from the hotel. One of the things I wanted after the grey of London was some blue sky. Not yet in Palma but today as I walk towards the entrance the cloud lifts and there is a good-sized patch of blue. And of course with Miro there will be more sun inside.

My visit was a little truncated as a large part of the building was closed for repairs and remodelling but both in the extensive gardens where big sculptures were displayed and in the studio where the stacked canvases there were ample testaments to the genius and prolixity of Joan Miro. He and his Mallorca wife Pilar, lived on Mallorca from 1956 until his death in 1983. He used a small building Finca San Boter while his friend Josep Sert was designing and building a purpose built studio, now known as the Sert Studio. Up in Boter it’s fun to see the remains of Miro’s sketching in charcoal directly onto the whitewashed walls and also to note the eclectic collection of everyday objects he took inspiration from.

Graffiti and inspiring trivia at Son Boter

The Sert Studio is a fine building from the outside with a fluted roof either echoing waves or clouds and slanted tiles to allow filtered light and air into the capacious balconied studio. I was utterly gobsmacked by the sheer number of canvases leaning against each other and the walls. While there are strong similarities in Miro’s basic mark selection and palette, each canvas has a different atmosphere and you wonder what the finished articles would have looked like. It’s always fascinating to see artists’ work in progress and there’s plenty of it here.

There was also a rather good fifteen minute video about his life and work on Mallorca which after climbing and descending the many steps to Boter studio I was happy to sit for a while and watch. I was very pleased I’d made the trip out here and as I left wondering where I’d get a taxi, I came upon a bus stop that said Route 46 went up the Passeig de Mallorca which is very close to the hotel. It also had a QR code that informed me that a bus was due in ten minutes so I decided to wait. Well worth it! It headed off in totally the wrong direction according to my understanding of where Palma lay, but eventually came to a terminus in Genova, waited for a while and then returned me through bustling suburbs including one that must have been close to the more infamous areas of Mallorca as there were adult only entertainment bars, sex shops which I found a bit surprising next to supermarkets and pharmacies. However it did pitch up where I wanted and I had a stroll back to the hotel with a few stops for liquid, but little food refreshment as a six course meal was planned for nochebuena in the hotel. This began at nine o’clock began with cava, a delicious fish soup, crispy octopus and fillet of sea bass accompanied by frequently poured Verdejo and after a short pause and change of glass, a Rioja went nicely with the lamb stuffed with foie gras (apologies vegans!). I declined the tiramisu with red fruits but did have some home made turron (nougat) with my coffee. By now I was chatting to my neighbours Carl and Cristina, Swedish fiancés who were here for Christmas before heading to Andorra for skiing where they had become engaged this time last year. Sampling a copa or two of Mallorcan brandy, we got on well and I have an invitation to their wedding in Stockholm in August. I may just be too busy with centenary celebrations at Watford to attend however. But what a lovely Christmas Eve and one that didn’t end up in hospital!

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The joy of Christmas travel

Well, after careful consideration, I decided I would go away for Christmas and with a family recommendation I’m heading for Palma de Mallorca for a week and will rent a car to see a bit more of the island while I’m here. I’ve completely forgotten how to pack and found the new rules about cabin baggage confusing – for an extra 20 quid I can take a big and a small one – one for the locker, one under the seat. Hooray no waiting at the carousel!

As the flight is at 07:10, I’ve booked into the Premier Inn North Terminal at Gatwick with a week’s parking with Purple Parking. So out of practice, I go to the hotel first and check in only to be told that I should have parked first and come in on the shuttle bus. As I go to retrieve the car there’s a security guard on his walkie talkie summoning the bomb squad. He admonishes me “Never leave a car unattended in an airport”. I grovel and set off. It transpires that Purple Parking is halfway to Brighton and I have a vague recollection of using it under a different name once before when Dee, Jacque, Toddy and I set off for the Copa de Ibiza in 2004, my only other venture to the Illes Balears. A short wait and a bus takes three of us to a stop outside the terminal from which the only route to the hotel appears to involve dicing with death with drop-off traffic. I make it, have a beer and supper and retire fairly early with the prospect of a 05:00 alarm. I was concerned that extra security and health checks might make the security/check-in process even longer than usual. It was not too bad and soon I was at the gate where my bag option also conferred ‘speedy boarding’. a real bonus. The flight was busy but not full so distancing and masks were easily possible. As we took off and headed out across the channel the sunrise was amazing (and a bit sharper than the through the window phone shot).

The flight was pleasant enough with solid cloud over most of France until the Auvergne and the eastern Pyrenees showed a light touch of snow. We even arrived ten minutes early – just as well as getting out of Palma airport is a task of IKEA-like proportions. A bus into town, walk to the Hotel Amudaina where, despite it being 11, they kindly allowed me to check in rather than just leave my bags which is what I had expected. Having declined EasyJet’s breakfast offerings, it was dump stuff in the very pleasant and spacious room and pop next door for my first orange juice, croissant and an excellent café solo doble. Refreshed I decide to go and explore. It’s not long before I get confirmation of where I am.

This sign is on the waterfront where there are lots of posh yachts and in the distance those apartment blocks of cruise liners that flock to the wonderfully curved harbour.

Next to this is the Lotja, the old stock exchange which with its barleytwist pillars and fine ceiling reminded me of the similar building in Valencia. That evening I was to say to a friend I met later on that much of Palma reminded me of Valencia – no bad thing in my book.

So I continued to walk around the city with occasional breaks for coffee and beer. I found the cathedral which I plan to visit tomorrow and the market – Mercat del Olivar – I love the colour, the smells and the constant babble of chat in Spanish markets and had some tapas in a bar inside it. The Plaza de Espana was a bit sprawly and dull, the Plaza Mayor very elegant but spoilt by Christmas market stalls – what have the Germans done to the worl.

The Olive Tree market and a fine modernisme house

The old town is filled with narrow streets and occasional delights of modernisme architecture. Feeling I’d had a good first orientation I went back to the hotel to change into more suitable garb for a concert at the Palacio de Congresos where I was to meet my friend Rosa Pascual and her mother. As it happened Rosa’s mum wasn’t feeling too well so I had the pleasure of Rosa’s company, and no need to confess to my lack of Catalan, for a concert in a fine new auditorium.

The auditorium and the huge orchestra with professionals in black and students in white, some of whom looked only about twelve or thirteen.

It was given by the massive forces of the Orquestra Simfonica dels Illes Balears. The programme opened with a festive overture by William Grant Still which was unknown to me and quite lively if a little rough at the edges as the band settled down. We then had Handel’s Water Music and a suite from the Nutcracker at which I kept wanting Matthew Bourne’s dancers projected on a screen behind them. It then went a bit poppy and Hollywood before concluding with a special arrangement of some Catalan carols which nearly had Rosa joining in and which we both really enjoyed. Rosa thought the conductor had made a very sensitive treatment of some old favourites. She then kindly dropped me off at the hotel but couldn’t stop for a drink as she had to drive back into the middle of Mallorca along dark and twisty roads to a villa she’s staying in.
I went for a walk around the neighbourhood, was declined entry by one restaurant which said the kitchen had closed so ventured a little further and supped in La Bodeguilla with a great atmosphere, far too much food and my first taste of a local Mallorca wine OBAC de Binigrau which was a blend of several grapes, lightly oaked and most acceptable but I think they should leave off the subtitle if they want to export it. It had been long, varied, exciting and lovely day – and I’m abroad!

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Raggett makes radio waves for 101 Japan

So I made it onto the airwaves in the USA this afternoon (16 July 2019). A feature producer Ron Bernthal asked me to do an interview about the book and it aired today on WJFF Radio Catskill. I hope thousands of listeners are now reaching for their devices to click on Amazon , as you can too if you haven’t got the book already. If you’d like to hear the piece it’s here.

Borders Radio Interview 16 July 2019

With the excitement of England’s Cricket World Cup behind us (blood pressure still way up!) now is the time to start planning for the Rugby World Cup in Japan in September this year for which I did a special feature for CNN’s Sport website. And further ahead there are the Olympics and Paralympic Games in Tokyo next year to look forward to. So happy reading and happy listening and even happier travelling!

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Publication Day!

25 January 2019 sees the arrival on Amazon of my book with thoughts about Japanese life and culture:

It consists of short essays about things that have amused or interested me about Japan, ranging from Anime to Zen all illustrated with, largely, my own photographs. The book is available as a Kindle ebook (best with a colour screen Kindle) and as a paperback. You can buy them here :

I’ve chosen to self-publish this after a couple of travel publishers expressed interest but then sat on their hands for months. So with the possibility of interest from new visitors to Japan for the Rugby World Cup this year and the Olympics and Paralympics in 2020, I got fed up waiting and decided to investigate Kindle Direct Publishing which proved pretty straightforward. The only downside is that it has to be an Amazon exclusive and they have minimum price scales for paperbacks which they print to order.

It has been great fun to write and the readers of first drafts have said some complimentary things about it. It’s brought back lots of very happy memories of my visits to Japan which started way back in 1979. I hope if you’ve enjoyed following my blogs over the years you’ll enjoy this slim volume which has obviously used the blogs and my travels as a source but with lots of added research to present a more helpful and insightful guide.

Please spread the word to anyone you think might be interested in going to or just reading about Japan. I’d welcome feedback from anyone who does read it and, of course, if you happen to like it reviews on Amazon, Good Reads and Tripadvisor can work wonders. Thanks for all your support in the past – and I hope – the future.

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Westward ho from Kyoto

I think I said the next day was promising. How could it start so badly? I checked out quickly and decided that Times Car Rental claimed to be six minutes’ walk from the south entrance of Kyoto Station and what with stairs, escalators and our usual ten minutes to get to the north entrance I would take a cab. I’ve probably gone on about Japanese cabs with their suited and white-gloved drivers, lacy antimacassars and automatic doors. First in the line outside the hotel was the exception. He wore a flat cap, was malodorous and clearly disgruntled at having such a short ride. We got to the other side of the station and he indicated I should walk down a street to the left. I waved my piece of paper with the concierge written address and refused to get out. He insisted we were there, I suggested he drive on. He refused to go any further and popped the boot for me to get my luggage out. So I paid him half what was on the meter and he drove off disgusted leaving me at the entrance to a building site and he had the address slip in Japanese! It took me twenty minutes to find the tiny office of the car rental company and I was an unhappy sweaty mess after struggling with the consequences of another wrong decision. The car was a little blue Suzuki something and the process worked fine with no attempt to sell extras. The satnav was a great improvement on five years ago when we could only input phone numbers in that I could type in Roman characters with multiple press like phone texting used to be – remember that? She gave me an error free route out of Kyoto and onto the Chugoku Expressway which took me out of the continuous sprawl of the Kansai where there’s little evidence of countryside between Kyoto, Osaka and Kobe. However before long I was able to exit onto Route 1 (always a favourite in Boston) which took me to Sassayama City where I joined Route 9 to head west through the mountains to the Sea of Japan coast. Dee and I has seen a section of it at Koga when driving south from Kanazawa and I’d read that Tottori and the coast nearby were even better.

As we wound gradually upwards I was struck by a windmill in the middle of Makigawa and later had a stop to snap a typical settlement in one of the flat bits. Japan is 73 percent mountains with the population crammed into a quarter of the land area. At this time of year, April, the nascent leaves on the deciduous trees give the mountains a very fluffy look. I’m told they look great in the autumn too when the acer go through their colour changes. The little bluebottle buzzed its way nicely up through the Fukushiyama Pass at 323 metres above sea level and onto the Kannabe Plateau. On the way I had passed several stopping points for adding chains or changing to snow tyres but my favourite was one that had the tyre sign but also “Nap Parking”. The Japanese are the world leaders in napping in my experience – on the subway all the time, on buses, planes, on park benches so given the distances you can drive it’s probably a good idea to stop for forty winks. I didn’t nap but did have a coffee break. Route 9 goes all the way to Tottori but gets sucked into a toll-free expressway so I had to ignore the very polite “turn around when possible” and follow my nose. It led me to a parking lot called Tottori Sand Dune Parking. These are Japan’s only dunes and they are constantly shifting, mostly on today’s evidence inland across the roads.

The whole coast along this stretch has been designated the San-in National Park and was awarded UNESCO Geopark status in 2010. I explored an immediate stretch of, frankly not that impressive dunes when you’ve seen Braughton Burrows and the Coto Donana. However I spied a village and set off to explore. It was Iwami and behind a fisherman mending his boat was a shrine – no chance of getting a stamp here but the steps beckoned up towards the unpretentious Ajiro shrine.

There were 111 of them so I stood on one leg at the top (arcane cricket reference, sorry) and I loved finding the shrine gardener’s tool bucket.

I carried on through a tiny village road eliciting some strange looks from homeward bound schoolchildren and their parents. I had that awful feeling I’d be driving sheepishly back past them after a dodgy three-point turn. But no, it emerged onto a lovely winding coast road with ample stopping places to walk a stretch of the coastal footpath. I’m not sure whether the footpath extends the full 120 kilometres of the park which carries on from Tottori Prefecture in the west through Hyogo and Kyoto.

On the short stretch I was able to admire stacks and archways, not quite as dramatic as Galicia’s Cathedral Beach, but most enjoyable. There are also caves and interesting geological features warranting the UNESCO designation. The the road dropped down into Higashihama with its wide sandy beach and an island shrine you have to swim to or perhaps take a boat. However there was another shrine on the beach and I declined its invitation to climb these steps.

I awoke satnav and allowed her to take me back inland to join the toll-free expressway. I instantly understood why they couldn’t charge for it as it’s a two-way single carriageway road with occasional slower traffic lanes to allow overtaking. She took me right to the hotel where they were all ready for me and soon after check in had to rescue me from the WiFi wilderness by apologising for their slow speeds and providing a portable router that plugged into the Ethernet – long time since I’ve handled one of those cables apart from setting up the router at home. I haven’t got my laptop with me and I guess it has a socket but I’m not sure.

A quick run to Family Mart for a couple of beers – I’m averse to paying minibar prices except in extremis. After the first one slid down one of those moments came over me: “It’s all caught up with me, I really can’t be bothered to go out tonight or even be bothered to eat.” Do you ever get those? I don’t often but … After a severe talking to and a shower I ventured out to sample the delights of downtown Tottori. Just around the corner past the Daimaru department store – no town seems to be without one – I came to an interesting looking bar and ordered a beer an asked for the menu. No food was the reply so I didn’t linger long over my beer, paid and moved on. There was a small covered shopping mall, which also seems obligatory in Japanese towns, which contained a couple of dull looking, nearly empty places. I gave them a miss and was starting to curse my gung-ho alter ego when I hit paydirt. No menu in English, no pictures or plastic samples to point at but some friendly people having a laugh at the bar and a gnarled chef who seemed keen to accommodate me. I couldn’t really tell whether the lady that served me a beer was his wife or daughter but shortly afterwards she placed a fillet of fish in front of me and indicated that it was on the house. A voice piped up in English, “How you find this restaurant?” I replied that I was staying at the New Otani and had come out looking for some food. This prompted gales of laughter from a couple just along from me who confessed they were also staying there and had it recommended. Our concierge recommendations have not been brilliant so I hadn’t even bothered. With the help of the first voice who was an art dealer from Galerie Nichida in Nagoya and had studied in America, the couple said they had spent their honeymoon in London four years ago – second time around for both and now on a trip to celebrate their retirement. The conversation moved onto age, oh and by this time I had a plate of fabulous sashimi fresh from the sea today and some local, very good sake, and I arm wrestled the chef metaphorically, asking why he hadn’t retired if he was so old. He enjoyed the business, closed for three hours a day to go fishing, lived upstairs and what else would he do? Sign language, help from the gallerist and recourse to my phrase book made for quite a coherent chat. I won the age contest as he was only 68 although looked older than me. They were all suitably impressed at my venturing out alone in provincial Japan at such a great age. Some tempura including ginger root, asparagus and forest vegetables according to the book followed and then chef gave me a bowl of miso soup with some crabs legs – a speciality of the area. The evening ended with more local sake and an impromptu Beatles medley – chef is a huge fan – wife or daughter presented an extremely modest bill and I left thinking about what fun I’d have missed if I’d just flopped in the hotel. It reminded me of the night before Dee’s birthday five years ago in Okayama when we became firm friends with the couple who ran the bar.

It’s what travel’s for.