That's a Big Dog!

Barcelona really is a terrific city. I write this from Madrid several days (and several paradors) later. Madrid has a totally different vibe, more people, more stuff, yet so far I don't have the same happy vibe. Perhaps it will come later when we have left. We had a day to bimble in Barcelona ahead of the tennis so went on the hop on hop off bus, both routes, one after the other. Absolutely fascinating. Very easy way to get a handle on a city. Also the history bits are interesting, if very abbreviated. The books may have it differently but it seems that up until the 1950s, Barcelona was still a bit of a run down, provincial town of no great importance. It was and remains a left wing city. In the Civil War, which is a huge event in the transformation of the country, Barcelona being Catalonia, was socialist, communist, anarchist, you name it, but 100% opposed to the Nationalists under Franco. Barcelona was the last place to fall, and Franco didn't forget. Madrid incidentally was a Nationalist city. Its football club, Real, was royalty, Barcelona was an upstart. The city was transformed in the 1950s with new buildings, new roads so other than in the old sections, the city has an organised grid structure with diagonal boulevards leading into and out of the city, all meeting in central piazzas. The club where we were staying was on one such diagonal very close to one of these central piazzas. Also consequently the buildings are relatively new. The city is not medieval at all. Another huge step up was the 1992 Olympic Games. This sparked huge new buildings and development of the remaining yuckier bits of the city, particularly the port area. The athletes' village is today a bringht new quarter of the city, the port and surrounding beaches jewels. Almost unbelievable, an Olympic games that actually worked for the host city. Usually they are massive financial drains, with today countries vying for not having to stage them. We figured out the bus system well enough to get to and from the tennis... again sited in the middle of a residential area, very up market one too. This is the home of the Royal Tennis Club of Barcelona. It reminded me of Coral Beach Club in Bermuda! Maybe not as swanky as Monte Carlo, for that really is the club of the royal family with only the uber wealthy able to breathe the same saintly air, except for that week when the public are allowed in. No royal family in left wing Barcelona of course, but tons of well to do families who are everywhere in that tennis week. It seemed that most of the tournament volunteers were members or children of members and that large numbers of the crowd too were members. People were wandering up to people all over kissing one another on the cheeks, changing seats and genrally behaving like the most important things were happening off the courts, rather than on them. The thing that finally summed it up for me was that someone brought their dog with them to tennis. Not one of those handbag dogs, but a very very big dog. One of those blue eyed, very hairy dogs that look like huskies. It was about my size. The owner brought it up the stairs into the stands and it flopped down in the middle of the public axis ways. This was very much a reminder that this tournament is MINE, not yours. Classic. The tournament itself was a 500 point, 64 draw, men only event. Not all the big guys would be playing. Djokovich for example skipped it. On the courts, Nadal was knocked out early and Alcaraz pulled out injured, so with a host of lesser ranked names present much depended on the two finalists from Monte Carlo: Tsitsipas and Ruud. Otherwise the final would have been between lesser players. Good for them, bad for the tournament organisers. But boy did those guys make a meal of things. Tsitsipas in particular should have been beaten in the two successive matches we watched, yet somehow his opponents managed to give it back to him in the most unlikely way. Ruud was a little more efficient, but not much. Somehow they managed to make it through to the finals. Ruud won this week, but we didnt stay to watch. We were on our way to our parador trail.

The Road to Barcelona

Packing up in Monte Carlo was tough but we had a car to collect and some roads to drive. I'd organised a rental/leasing contract through Renault similar to what I'd done with my son some years before, whereby you notionally 'buy' a car and appoint a dedicated time to 'sell it back', any time longer than two weeks. This tour would be five or so weeks on the road for Viv and I, so I returned to the well. Very slick operation and all of a sudden we had a brand new Renault Arkana with 19 kms on the clock. It all took less time to do the paperwork and take it away than it took to find the office in Nice Airport. Viv took the honour of christening the car by taking the wheel first and gassed up (they only provide 15 litres in the tank to start), we headed for Cannes which was to be our first stop. Why Cannes? It was only 30 minutes away for sure but I have had a hankering to stay at the very swanky hotel on the seafront that ejected me when I was a scruffy 18 year old, back in 1972. Back then, things were much different; no money, we were living fairly rough on camp sites, and were traveling in a 10+ year old mini that had had its passenger seat door slammed backwards on day 1 of the trip (which meant I couldn't get out of the car that side). This was a trip I took with my school friend Dave the Rave (his car, so he drove). We slept in many public car parks in the south of France, including Monte Carlo and Cannes as both had car parks on the beach and next to public toilets. Very important. Wandering about in Cannes, I figured I'd like to take a look at this very smart looking hotel, The Carlton, and ambled inside. Very opulent and pretty much immediately I was ever so politely escorted to the entrance again by the uniforms. Many years later, Viv and I stopped for a drink there with friends who had a holiday home nearby, and were not ejected. This time I wanted to go whole hog and stay there. Very nice it was too. But only for one night as we had other things to do and the Barcelona tennis was starting in only a couple of days, so we couldnt dawdle as much as we could later on in the trip. On that very long trip back in 1972 and again later, I had driven all over Provence but had never visited Pont du Gard, the iconic Roman Aqueduct outside of Nimes. This time we would put that right, so I found a boutique hotel in Uzes nearby. Uzes itself is a lovely little medieval town... actually there are tons of lovely little medieval towns in Europe. Europe does lovely little medieval towns really, really well. Maybe its me and being here in Spain (currently) but I do wonder why Britain doesn't do medieval towns as well. In Britain, the medieval bits are somehow just swamped by new ugly stuff and there's traffic everywhere, whereas the ones we have ended up staying in both in France and Spain haven't appeared to modernise at all. Just a coat of paint, new electrics and plumbing and (I write this in a parador in Spain) some smart refinishing and tidying up. The structure is now new, but they retain their undeniable medieval appearance. Perhaps its because most medieval towns in Europe are on top of hills (for better defensive reasons) that they have both survived and retained their charm. Being on top of a hill does rather limit the ability to sprawl and spread out, so the old bits remain on top of the hill and the newer bits are down below. Certainly the history of southern Europe is littered with wars, invasions, occupations, massacres and repression from time to time, and that has been the case pretty much since the end of Pax Romana in the 5th century, so being high on a hill however made complete sense. There have been a few such events in Britain since the Romans left of course, but not as many. There are far fewer high hills for one thing! The collision of the African tetonic plates with those of Europe did not happen in Britain. I hadn't realised when I booked the hotel that Uzes in addition to being a cute medieval town was also the place where the spring used by the Romans for their 50 km long aqueduct into Nimes sprang from the ground. If others are like me in thinking that the actual Pont itself (actually a bridge over the river Gard these days, hence the name) is the be all and end all of things is of course totally wrong. The 50 kms were all channelled with many, many more ponts along the way. The big one was the only one that survived in plain sight. All the others were covered up over the years or have been plundered for building materials for other structures, mainly churches as it turns out. The attached museum is a superb place for engineers and those keen to find out just how these huge projects could take place 2,000 years ago with what today we would consider primitive means. Well of course this is one of those 'what did the Romans ever do fo us?' factoids. Simple answer as it turns out: they had built dozens of aqueducts, so the expertise and technology was there. This one of 50 kms with a drop of less than 13 metres from start to end point in Nimes was actually very easy for them. No major drops to contend with, crossing the river being probably the biggest issue. They had slaves a-plenty to do the donkey work of course, but also hundreds if not thousands of skilled artisans (non-slaves) to do the quality work together with hundreds of engineers managing the project. Ancient Rome is portrayed pretty much as being all about the emperors and legionnaires in films and on TV, but there were also carpenters, masons, engineers (mathematicians), trash collecters, and all the other mundane occupations that are never depicted but which are essential to normal life. Moreover, the provincial governors and other big wigs didn't spend all their time in banquets, having orgies and plotting against the Emperor, again as suggested in the movies, they also had a job to do; fixing the roads, making sure the water supply was both enough and of a decent quality, and all the rest. So good were the Romans at aqueducts that the people of Nimes had access to more and better quality water than they do today. By the way, this is also the case in Rome itself. So yes aqueducts. The Romans did those very well indeed. We learned a lot about aqueducts that day, and it did give a greater appreciation for what human endeavour can do if it puts its collective mind to it. Today the Pont du Gard is a mecca for tourists. Lots of canoes on the river on the day we visited. School groups too. Next stop was a tiny village in the Pyrenees, Bezieres. You cannot find it on many maps but thankfully Mr. Google came through. I'd been looking for interesting places to stay and right now as I write I cannot for the life of me remember why I chose this village. Getting there is fine up to about Narbonne, but after this you drive on progressively smaller roads that wind ever higher up into the foothills of the Pyrenees. All around interestingly are vines growing in the steep fields. This is clearly wine country, something I hadn't known. The village itself appreared all of a sudden and the place we were staying in (another boutique hotel) turned out much to my surprise to actually be a winery. The hotel itself was inside the reconfigured winery, so had a sort of industrial layout, but very nicely done. I admitted none of this of course, simply took the praise for finding this real jewel in the middle of nowhere. The attached restaurant had a Michelin starred chef, again something I either hadn't known or didn't remember, but he was not working that day. In fact he wouldn't start up anything fancy until June. This is still April and probably I haven't mentioned before but think it best I should do so now, on this mountain the wind was howling and it was very, very cold indeed. The hotel pool below our window looked inviting, glistening in the sun's last rays of the day, but empty of people. We would not be visiting. The hotel described itself as an eco-lodge. Not sure how. We rather thought it was because they didn't turn the heaters on. The chef du jour however was a charming lady whose assistant asked us if we had any dietary concerns (we do not) and then if we'd like to sample some of their wares (yes please). He knew as much about these wines as us for he had only just been hired a few days before, but the wines turned out to be very nice as was the plat du jour. Heading out the following morning, our first action was disappointment for Rafa Nadal had already been knocked out of the Barcelona tournament we would be attending. The big draw for us at this tournment (and indeed on the entire tour) was Rafa, but he and Carlos Alcaraz were already out (Alcraz had pulled out through injury). Barcelona was 3 hours away so we took a side trip to the northern most seaside resort in Spain on the Mediterranean coast, Cataques. It is very popular for people from Barcelona due to proximity, but apparently also artists and Spanish celebs. It certainly is a cute looking little town set in a horseshoe shaped bay lined with bars, cafes and restaurants... but no parking anywhere near that we could find. However we did find a spot which led to a walkway out to the cliffs which was very pleasant for a short stroll. I had booked to stay at a private member's club in Barcelona, Circulo Ecuestre, affiliated with our club in Toronto. On previous visits to clubs such as this, we knew they would be in wonderful central downtown locations and so it proved again. The club was just off the Avenida Diagonal no more than 10 minutes walk away from the Plaza Catalonya, the centre of Barcdelona. Parking wasn't too bad either. Off to a good start.

It's like this, Guys…

The guy I sat next to on the flight from Bermuda to Toronto said "last week it was minus 33 in Toronto".  I couldn't work out what that meant in terms of fahrenheit (which I understand) but I do know that that's really, really cold… fortunately I wasn't staying in TO for long this time, I was heading for London but would stay once the Arctic Vortex had receded in a week or so.  This week was all about football and in particular Manchester City.

Now I'm not a particular fan of City although I do enjoy football.  My team is Southend United -- the Blues not the Shrimpers, as some call them -- who hold up the lower echelons of the football league very well indeed.  After all they've had plenty of practice.  However my sons, Alex and Ali, are big fans due of course to the Bermuda connection with ex-City superhero Shaun Goater.  They attended his summer football camps in Bermuda for many years and found him (as have many others) to be a real gentleman, an inspiration and one heck of a role model.  Not overly talented, Goater's big plus was a work ethic of unbelievable depth and being a true team man.

The 'Goat'

The game though was huge.  This was City's first really big Champions League match ever, having made it out of the group stages for the first time.  For a team that spent that much, this really isn't that great an achievement.  They should have done it sooner.  But at least they did this time and this round of 16 game was a knock out against the might of Barcelona.  Not an easy task by any means.  Also they'd lost the week before in rather disappointing fashion and I was hoping they'd have the cojones to pick themselves up and earn their £200,000 a week.

Big issue was how to get tickets as this promised to be a well supported game. Alex had joined the City supporters club thinking it would be the way but the club only offered him one ticket!  So the fall back was a package tour including train there and back, accomodation and ticket for … gulp … a lot more than the face value of £28.  Mind you it was the experience that counted, not that aspect of things.  I'd even convinced my brother Jan to join us for the event!  That was a tough one as he doesn't much like football in the first place!!

I was lucky enough to land at Heathrow so I could take the Tube into central London directly thanks to my Oyster Card.  No hassle, less than an hour to Green Park which was only 5 minutes walk from where I was staying.

But what a city London is!

Such a mixture of sounds, tongues, smells and what a wonderful vibe.  Last time I was here a year or so back you could tell the economy was damaged.  That's completely gone.  The city is rocking!

But my goodness, how expensive it is.  From a simple cuppa to a nice apartment in central London, this is one hell of a pricy town.  No wonder fewer than 50% of the inhabitants are native Londoners!  I read in a paper that Malta was selling citizenship for $1 million enabling people access to the EU and more importantly London property.  These were from people in politically challenged locations such as Argentina, Brazil and Venezuela in South America, Kazakhstan and other central Asian locations too.  Presumably Ukraine and Russia too given the uproar in that region currently. Add the Chinese flocking in and this promises to keep London property prices moving strongly upward.

The plan was to meet at Euston on the day of the game -- Tuesday 18th February -- and head up together, all 6 of us.  That gave me time to go the theatre the night before, the Duke of York to be precise where I saw Jeeves & Wooster being a big PG Wodehouse fan.

Just wonderful, innocent stuff from a bygone age.  My favourite bit was part of the denouement when one of the main opponents to J&W's schemes was disarmed thoroughly.  Being the leader of the Brown Trousers movement in England at the time (remember this was the 1920's or 1930's at the time of the Mosley Brown Shirts), this rascal was undone when Jeeves discovered his dark secret through his links at his butler's club.  Apparently he was a maker and purveyor of ladies underwear.  A succesful one too.  Bertie's comment was priceless:

"A chap can be a dictator or a seller of ladies underwear, but not both."

Bertie's wisdom is undeniable.  Wannabe dictators should take note.  

I met Jan early next morning at Euston and the others, the young guns, trickling along later.  We were booked on a lunchtime train and arrived in Manchester Piccadilly mid-afternoon for an interminable taxi ride to the accommodation… miles outside town and in fact nearer to the Man U ground than City's.  But this was a hotel specifically for football supporters so was served by many shuttles.

Pausing only to drop off our gear in the room, we headed straight out again for the stadium… another £25 taxi ride!  There didn't seem to be a downtown area in Manchester, but that could be my wrong perception and the route the taxi took but the City of Manchester or Etihad Stadium was nice.

The Crew L to R: My brother Jan, son Alex, friend Andy, son Ali, friend Matteo and yours truly 

This was built for the 2000 Olympic Games -- something that never happened, but it was used for the 2002 Commonwealth Games.  City moved in for the 2003 season.  Capacity is 47,000 but is about to be expanded to 62,000.

These days match day is all about the event… pre-match TV chat, bands, VIP section for the arriving demi-gods of football, special parking for the demi-gods Bentleys, Maseratis, Ferraris and he rest… So it was quite fun.

We found the Maine Road Chippy across the street for our fish and chip fix as well as Mary D's, the official supporters club pub further along the road.  The tension was building nicely.

With son, Alex, in the supporters' pub

My son Ali even found the Barcelona website masters who were interviewing City fans on the likely result and questions about Barca to see if they knew anything.  Ali nailed them all which I thought quite impressive!

Ali being interviewed by Barca TV

Our seats were nosebleed equivalents but that made them actually just right as it gave us the perfect panoramic view from above the centre circle.  Barca were pretty well supported too -- at least 5,000 out of the capacity crowd I estimated, all behind the goal to our left.

As for the game, well Barcelona did their tika-taka stuff for the first 15 minutes but then they lost the ball and City dominated the rest of the half.  What didn't help was a moment's inattention early in the 2nd half that saw Messi one on one with the goalkeeper only to be flattened inside the penalty area by a really, really dopey City defender.  Immediate red card and penalty.  So 1-0 down with 40 minutes remaining and only 10 men remaining.  Game over.

Barcelona scored another just before the final whistle which makes it really tough for the 2nd leg and quite a subdued band of young fans from Bermuda.

Bouncing back: Ali, Andy, Alex and Matteo

However they bounced back quickly and 4 of us headed off to Manchester's famous curry mile -- for what was unfortunately a pretty average curry at a place called Shere Khan -- whilst the other 2 headed off to party.

The stadium emptying out

And now the confession.

Now I don't gamble often.  Maybe some Crown & Anchor at Cup Match in Bermuda and some roulette in Las Vegas.  But nothing much else.  However whilst we were there, the boys laid their bets -- 3-0 in favour of City was a common bet -- and, well, you know how you get carried away some time?

So I put money on Barcelona.

To win 2-0.

Sorry guys.

I feel bad about this, really…

Brothers in arms