An evening at Rambla Walking Plaza

It is the pleasant evening, there is a soft breeze and the sun is warm and golden. I am walking down the Rambla walking plaza for a leisure walk with my cousin. The first thing that attracts me is this woman dressed in gold, from head to toe, standing on a golden box with her golden wings spread out, looking like some sculpted fairy from outer space. I wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't moved. While she stood still in the stiff golden garment, her head moved slowly, while her hands moved from her sides making a smooth curve in the air, till they came together in front, near her chest and joined in a greeting.  

There were many more street performers on this street. It must take a great skill to be able to stand still for a long time, without moving a limb and having a controlled movement, staring into empty space appearing to be in a pensive mood. What must be on their mind while they stand still? Will they be thinking about what dinner they will cook when they reach home? Whom did they meet? What did they chat? Are they happy people? or they have too much of a complicated life?. What if some bird sat on their head and poo, thinking it is a statue? Aha, here they have advantage of shooing the bird. Otherwise they stand still, not speaking a word, just staring at empty space for hours. How boring it must be? Is this better than holding 9 to 5 job?

Little further, I saw another performer who was still painting his body with oils. This is the risk they take of using oil paint on their skin. Does it cause rash? It must an effort to wash off the paint at the end of the day. He looks into the mirror and  paints around his eyes, working on every stroke to get the right expressions.

There is creativity in the design of their costume, in the colors they use, it might resemble some science fiction character or a known personality from a hollywood film.

Many people, (mainly tourists) stop by to click a picture, paying the artist for a pose. "I was there with this artists on the streets at Barcelona" will be their caption when these tourist will update their Facebook status. Many of their friends will 'Like' and some may even 'Comment'

We passed many such street performers as we walked down the plaza, admiring their creativity and their discipline in standing still as statue.

Further down the street are another set of artists who paint beautiful designs and caricatures on their canvas, some paint, making strokes with a great ease, creating designs in seconds. I am awed by such intricate designs which I know, it would take me hours to create such designs. 

There was a wax museum in this street too, wherein I had just met Picasso. He was such a great artist that he was frozen in wax for eternity. 

Lucky are those artists whose art-work lives for hundred years after they are gone but here, there are some who struggle and have a humble beginning……not sure how long they can carry on…..

The street is also dotted with artistic water fountain in bronze, placed at regular intervals that had clean drinking water, I know it was clean because I saw many people stop by to take a sip

It was an interesting walk. On the either side of the street were buildings with beautiful architecture and a typical grill-iron balconies. 

There are many bars along this path too, where I see people enjoy the Spanish cuisine and drink coffee or soft drinks or just relax and enjoy the hustle and bustle of the street. The street is crowded with hundreds of people walking at their own pace as if in a carnival parade.

After a long walk down the Rambla walking plaza for more three hours, We look around for some place to sit. We find the heavy iron chairs, all in row, but all are occupied. The tiredness shows in my eyes as I look at the people comfortably seated, do they see my tiredness? Should I ask somebody to get up and let me sit? I decide against it because they look too comfortable and are very relaxed. 

I walk a bit further, in a distance I see someone vacant the chair, I speed up my pace to occupy the chair before somebody else grabs it, (I am reminded of the musical chairs that i played during social events and my cunningness in grabbing the seat), soon one more seat is vacant next to me and my sas too sits next to me. For next one hour, we sit, people watching, catching up on our chat and enjoying the cool breeze that sweeps over the city of Barcelona.

Bull fighting in Spain

Today in the news channel on TV, I saw a matador getting seriously injured during the bull fighting and I was feeling sorry for him. I have noticed that TV channel in Canarias are no more showing the live coverage of bull fighting on their sports channel. Some years ago, it used to pain me to see the bull fighting events on TV. There was at least one channel on Spanish TV that would show bull fighting on its sports channel regularly. But last year Spain's public broadcaster, TVE, announced it was scrapping live coverage of bullfights for the first time ever, deeming them unsuitable for younger viewers. Thank God for that! Bull fighting seems to be the favourite sport amongst the Spanish people with tourist joining in this gory sport. While the bull is asking for mercy, the distinctly well-heeled members of the crowd shade themselves in white bowler hats sucking on cigars and merrily eating peanuts. As the matador proves his machismo, there is no talk of regional domination or cruelty; just a stunning chorus of ''ole¨ How do they cheer at the sight of blood? This is the most ritualised slaughter. There is unfair advantage of the matador, with bulls frequently given tranquillisers and laxatives to sedate them before fights, and petroleum jelly sometimes rubbed into the animals' eyes to hamper vision. The inevitable death is almost never swift, with only the most skilful matadors able to kill the bull with one thrust of the sword. You see the corrida (as it is called) with three distinct stages, each time announced by trumpet sound. The participants first enter the arena in a parade to salute the presiding dignitary, accompanied by band music. In traditional corrida, there are three matadores, each fight two bulls, Each matador has six assistants — two picadores ("lancers") mounted on horseback, three banderilleros ("flagmen"), and a mozo de espada ("sword page"). Collectively they comprise a cuadrilla ("entourage"). In first stage, the matadors confronts the bull, observes its behaviour and picador stabs a mound of muscle on the bull's neck, leading to the animal's first loss of blood In the next stage, the three banderilleros, each attempt to plant two razor sharp barbed sticks on the bull's flanks, ideally as close as possible to the wound where the picador drew first blood. In the final stage, the matador re-enters the ring alone with a small red cape and a sword. He uses his cape to attract the bull in a series of passes, both demonstrating his control over it and risking his life by getting especially close to it. He manoeuvres the bull into a position to stab it between the shoulder blades and through the aorta or heart. If he succeeds, you see the helpless bull crumble down on its knees, almost lifeless and sometimes it the unlucky matador who is tossed out of control and knocked on the ground. The cruelty and blood are the end products of this sport. While the bullfight is still exempt from Spain's anti-animal cruelty laws, recent developments suggest the anti-corrida movement may be gaining the upper hand. Bullfighting has been struggling to attract younger fans for years, and opponents hope less media coverage will lead to the sport's eventual extinction. It is an old debate: tradition versus modernity, culture versus cruelty. The low attendance of the younger generation at the arena is a good sign; bull fighting in the modern society will have no future.