Euro Bounce

Euro-Bounce, First.

So I moved on out of Pamplona, Spain for the coast by bus to San Sebastian. I was hoping it wouldn’t be so busy but being only an hour or so away from Pamplona a lot of over flow went there and Bob Dylan was playing there the night before I arrived. Needless to say, it was packed. I walked into a hostel and the Aussie at the reception explained that they were full up but could hop on line and see what was available. He did and he found me Luca’s Hotel for 100 Euro. It was more than I wanted to spend but my choices were narrowing and the sun was setting. It’s what I equate to the desperate hour when you take what you get and suffer the financial consequences without remorse. Unfortunately the Aussie pointed me in the wrong direction and off I walked. I ran into an interesting foursome, one woman with her ex-husband with his wife and her new husband. I didn’t ask a lot of questions but they were in the mood to help me out since they were going towards the same direction for good food and they were right. The narrow streets of old town are literally packed with bars that serve food on the counter and copious amounts of alcohol of every variety under the Spanish sun. My hotel was on the same street on the 3^rdfloor overlooking the alley and the boisterous crowd singing and dancing in the street. Almost like clock work a mobile garbage can would be tipped over and emptied into a bigger one. The clank of glass was as common as the church bells around the corner.

Unfortunately Luca didn’t have room for me at ‘this’ location but he did have space in another hotel 10 minute walk away which was really 20 but so what. I walked with him and some young Spanish princess to the other hotel where I dropped my bags and proceeded out into the night to eat, drink, and try and find Mary. I ate; I drank and laughed with a pair from Australia. The woman lives in San Sebastian and her cousin and I ate, drank and they explained pretty much everything I would need to know for the next couple days.

I sound of the waves drew me to the beach and to another Bistro on the waters edge. I sat with two French men and had a lot of laughs about the combat surfing sessions they had gone through over the last four days. They also said that the waves weren’t as good as they had been during the last storm, still overhead but more of a wall than a break left or right. It was getting late and I made my way back to the hotel room and didn’t bother opening my bags since I was going back to the other hotel the next night. I actually slept a great sleep with waves crashing through my dreams. It reminded me of spending time in Coronado as a kid at my grandpa/ma’s place across from Star Park. When my parents would ditch me there I’d wake up in the morning and if I could hear the waves then I knew it was worth getting up and hustling to the beach because later there would be a stack of people. I would grab my fins and skateboard and press on down to north beach, which was at the south end and have waves virtually by myself. Growing up there off and on when my folks would take trips abroad and with my ma chucking me in the Hotel Del Coronado salt water pool as a 4 year old and swimming on my own by 6, this was a no brainer. San Sebastian took me back that far in an hour of sitting in the sand and watching the city light up the white lip of the waves, the shimmering curl and the anticipation of the inevitable crash and froth all on a seemingly eternal level. I just get to see and hear a fraction.

Tea in the morning is a staple for me as coffee is for others. Before the mob of people arrived on the scene I sat next to a group of four old men who never engaged me but knew I was within earshot and glanced periodically. They giggled and each told a story and all laughed, and repeat, and repeat. I didn’t understand much nor care. I have some other ways of understanding people that includes body language, hand gestures, and eyes. I didn’t need the details these guys had known each other since grade school or before.

I went back to the beach to watch the locals get up and go while the tide was right but it crowded up pretty quick and still the locals seemed to be able to pull off a lot of the waves where the outsiders kind of surfed scraps for awhile. And one kid, a great surfer on a little board played hard on the smaller inside waves with great cuts and a good edge or enjoyed launching over the top and playing it out.

I went for a swim and the water was more comfortable than Alaska water where you get hypothermia in about six minutes depending on your body mass and fat, give or take a few minutes or the water at Stinson Beach where I grew up with the Great Whites and Sea Lions just outside. We still shivered after being in the water after an hour. No this water at San Sebastian was comfortable but most of the folks surfing wore thin wetsuits, just enough, but for playing in the waves for half an hour, no problem.

I grabbed my gear and moved to the other hotel and showered and got ready to go explore the town. There are a lot of beautiful buildings and bridges to see in San Sebastian but the local people are the true highlight all generous, courteous, and genuine. Once all my stuff was in my second room I did a quick roam around old town and then on up to the statue of Jesus on the hill for a look about and wandered off to sort out my next move, Lisbon, Portugal. I went to the bus station and thought better after trying to talk to them both of us with raised shoulders and hands out not knowing what the other wanted. I moved on to the train station which was considerably closer and sorted out a ticket for the following day.

The night was loaded with singing and bottles clashing as they fell into bigger dumpsters. By the way, they take their recycling very seriously and there are at least three cans nearby at any point. The food at the bars is wonderful and there’s always a conversation going on. I walked into a sports bar and watched the Wimbledon tennis finals in London. Congrats. See you in Lisboa, Portugal. Lisbon, Portugal for those who don't know how 'they' spell it and only follow western English without knowing the difference.

www.davidcdagley.com

Paris To Pamplona

Paris To Pamplona

I arrived in Paris full of hope and inspiration hoping to find my friend in the same mood. I peeled out of the train station and asked how much to the Astrid hotel 27 Avenue Carnot, F-75017 Paris. I arrived and they hadn’t heard of him but they were willing to give me another room. I called him on his Internet phone and I couldn’t talk to him but two calls brought him down stairs to the front desk and, oh the lady remembered everything.

We went up dumped my stuff off and went off to eat something. While eating I broached the conversation with, ‘What’s the plan?’ And all of a sudden things sounded better than good but then again there was this poison in his voice that set me on edge directly. I met Brett back in London when we were part of an exchange program. 30 years passed in between and a great deal of water under the bridge and some over but our paths didn’t cross until a couple years ago. He had a n idea to do a ‘Sun Also Rises’ film. He could pin down if it was a documentary or art and to this day still can’t. All of a sudden I realized he really didn’t have a plan, it was more like an excuse to get out of the U.S. desert.

I was game for anything not as the director but more of a participant behind the camera and get in front of it if needed. That first meeting for lunch turned my free spirit as it saw chains for a few years with ideas run by him and only by him. That sounds like the U.S. government talking about democracy. It was either his way or the highway. I drank as much of the Tattinger Champagne that I just bought as possible and bit my tongue momentarily. We were to wake at 3 am for some film work so it wasn’t a long night but due to sleeping in the same room before I knew I needed to beat him to sleep before both chain saw snorers throttled up.

He woke me at 4 am asking me if I was coming. I bounced out of bed, chucked my camera in a bag and figured I’d wake up on the way. Off we went toward the Arch du Triumph for a few photos and then circumvented it to what he said was the Eiffel tower that turned out to be a hotel with a red tower of beacons. From there on we were absolutely going in the wrong direction and I didn’t know what our goal was or I would have stopped him and looked at a map and headed down the Champs Elysees and figured it out from there but no. We walked into the dawn until both of our feet were bleeding, blistered, or aching. We did get good material but my questions began nagging at me, why hadn’t this all been sorted in the first place. I was to arrive on the 1^stand I did and he arrived on the 28^th. What happened between the 28^thand the 1^st? I heard from him he took a bath and fell asleep. That just burned. Why didn’t all these little shots get taken care of? What? Yeah I wanted to be involved but obviously he had time on his hands and Paris isn’t cheap. I didn’t understand and still don’t. We eventually got a cup of tea and a croissant and headed out for a taxi to get home to get my wallet and sort out the shoe thing. Lucky for us we were in time for breakfast included and a shower. It was 730 am.

We peeled out for Notre Dam and the Shakespeare bookstore, which is a shell of its previous self and only a curiosity point of interest due to people like Ernst Hemingway and a stack of incredible writers before, during, and after him. Oh yeah we needed to go there.

We wandered off and I mean wandered off. I still had no goal, I still had no purpose being there. All this could have been sorted on a map and found before I even got out of the pubs in England. We wandered this way and that and turned corners and zigzagged away from the river. Eventually I asked. “What are we doing? What am I doing? What do you need me for? At this his personality broke free and he barked back, If you don’t want to be here then go. I was immediately tempted but I wanted it to work, I wanted to be a part of this but I wasn’t going to waste my time. I started asking random people who eventually pointed in the right direction. First was a well dressed elderly gent crossing the road with us. I asked and his eyes lit up like neon candles. We got to the far side of the road and he explained as easily as day. Go through the park at a diagonal and then walk some more and you’re there. I think he wanted to come and show me personally but the misses might think he’s out playin’ around. He was eighty something and looked like a kid telling a secret; I wanted him to come, I needed him and I wanted to hear what he had to say.

We followed his directions sort of and instead of crossing over like the man said my friend decided he wanted to turn off. This infuriated me because he couldn’t find his way all morning. We ended up following what the man had said to a point when I walked into a Tobacco shop and asked the nice, beautiful African woman where it was and she pointed up the road and said if you miss it lad, you need new eyes. There it was across the street. This is where it really picked up speed.

We took a stack of photos from the center isle waiting for the traffic to lull so we wouldn’t get any blur in the photos or film that Brett was trying to get 10-15 seconds of. We moved on in with the days work completed and sat in for a beer and food. A waiter who showed us two menus one for inside and one for outside dining at the restaurant where Ernst Hemingway ate welcomed us in. We decided outside thinking the people walking by might be a good distraction and sat down in a far corner where we ordered oysters, mussels, a cheese platter and a couple beers. Stress fell away briefly.

There’s something about the women in Paris, not that they’re sexier than any others, it’s that they wear clothes appropriate to their bodies and look exceptional while doing it. We made eye contact with a husband and wife couple sitting not far away at the Dome restaurant where a man was facing us and ordered what we had. His wife was Japanese and a looker. After eating I went out for a smoke where I had seen him go in the past and he followed me and we engaged in a conversation that drew my friend out of the corner and the man’s wife off her seat. The man and I are originally both from California and the man started in on Ernst Hemingway, that’s what drew Brett out of the corner.

They are avid Ernst Hemingway fans and began wondering why they were born so late in life and why they couldn’t have been born back then where they felt they belonged. Being Japanese the woman, Coco could only show us secrets we wouldn’t get anywhere else and off we went to an alley behind the Montparnesse Building. The saying or joke goes that the only place to escape the ugliness of the building is to be in it and really high. Take that either way. The alley belonged to some eccentric and famous artists back in the same are but Hemingway wasn’t really part of this group but for sure would have visited it with some of his lady friends or through an invite to a party that he was sure to have attended. The alley is now buried in vines and forms a sanctuary of solace and a calming aura in the middle of Paris that is difficult to find. Artists still use the studios holding the alley in place and on one side is a museum with some of the past famous artists works that painted, drew or sculpted in the 50 meter green vined silence. We wandered on to the Select Bar, another of Ernst Hemingway hangouts. We went to a few others and even though the times have changed you still got a feeling of Paris back in the day. There is no lost generation anymore and yet some of us slip through the cracks of time or we’ve all passed through and now look back and see the truth of it, that most of us are lost. Due to some unforeseen complications I have backed out of the contemporary filming of Paris, the Pyrenees and Pamplona San Fermin 2015 festival. But that hasn’t stopped me from participating in Pamplona.

I took a train from Paris the following night and arrived in Pamplona with two new friends from Oakland, California. Lee Jackson and DJ Dave were lots of fun and we spent a few hours each afternoon getting acquainted and people watching. They’ve moved on to Berlin and I will remain to the end. Something is happening somewhere in Pamplona at all times. From the opening rocket, the running of the bulls, parades, marching bands, fireworks, dancing and all marinated in Sangria and cervesas. There are bull fights every night at 630 pm and the stadium holds I think 20,000 people. There are few seats available but there are a couple scalpers hanging around the perimeter where you can get a nose bleeder seat.

Hotels are packed to the gills and the prices are high for the festival. The food is amazing and I’m enjoying it all at least once from beginning to end. There are a few more days and the temperatures are on the rise. The public pool is a great way to spend a few afternoon hours and there is a carnival atmosphere for the children with rides, food, games, etc.

I already bought a ticket out of Pamplona for the coast. I’ll be on the beach in no time.

www.davidcdagley.com

Trail To Broken Dreams

Trail To Broken Dreams

I’m back on the road on my way to Paris but not without visiting with a few friends I met in Pai, Thailand and one I met in Sumatra, Indonesia chasing Orangutans. We have remained friends and in touch over the passed years living in or near Liverpool, United Kingdom, France or London.

I’ve seen things around the world that I don’t understand and yet Liverpool has become a recent high light I really enjoyed. I’ve had more fun in this town going to the Cavern where the Beatles started, the Crazy House with trainers on and some interesting old pubs where the locals still share a pint and a few laughs. One pub in particular is the Excelsior. This isn't a picture of it but it shows you the prices of listening to Karaoke and drinking with the locals which I might have smilingly painfully did.

I took the time to see an entertaining theatrical interpretation of ‘The Hudsuckers Proxy’ at the Playhouse. An observation, lots of the venues of the Beatles era have either disappeared or been renovated into dance halls. Besides museums and art exhibitions there’s a serious shipping history that remains while the face of Liverpool disappointingly evolves with the times.

I took the train one exceptionally hung over morning after missing my pre-paid ticket for 30 pound and had to pay an additional to travel the day of for 80 pound to move on. I landed back in London and again seeing more friends from Thailand and another I met in Sumatra, Alaska, Thailand, and Sumatra, for her it’s four continents and counting. It’s a cool thing to see friends in different places doing interesting jobs with creative minds; some are DJ’s, artists, marketing consultants, and more. The best part is their friends become my friends and the ties grow globally. I had prearranged a hotel in Earls Court only worth mentioning because it was really weird. You pay for a room but with no shower on your floor and breakfast is included but that means tea and toast. Well I can go to what one friend calls the paparazzi of coffee, (Starbucks) and get that. Oh yeah, it’s around the corner in every country I’ve ever been in I think and I wouldn’t step foot in there unless there was a shift in the earths crust. That’s just me, my opinion.

London is really expensive and to give you a clue a pint of Guinness costs around 5 pound but if you step outside city limits it drops to around 3 pound. Now consider rent or letting an apartment, I’d say it’s about the same as letting an apartment in San Francisco or New York and forget about LA.

Anyway, my dear friends called me out for a night on the far side of London and off I went. I entered what I would consider an up coming area that I won’t mention because it only adds to the stress of the place but I met all walks of life that were working hard to make a life and the last thing they need is to be gentrified by the masses. It’s already happening like it did in the town, Mill Valley, where I grew up just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. I can’t support it.

We had dinner at a great pizza place called Sodo, that’ll give it away. We returned home and had beers and listened to music until the wee hours. It was great. The following day was not much less fun meeting another friend and heading to Camden where when I was in Uni in London this place was trouble. Today its packed full of fun shops, great restaurants, and some shisha bars for the afternoon shade. The horse stables of yesterday are now shops of many designs. If you want something you go there and you’ll find it.

I’m a big fan of beer gardens and London caught on awhile back. If it’s sunny in London, you use it to your advantage and sit in it with an ice cold water, tea, beer, or Campari. Londoners are so much more fun when they have some vitamin D in their system. It makes them smile a lot which in some cases can be rare. I love the Londoners, they’re just really hard to find. It’s like fishing and sometimes you just get lucky.

Still blazing a trail I bolted for Paris by train the following day. My morning was some other peoples mid-day. I faired better than those who had to wake up early. Sorry about that. I left London around 11 without a hitch and showed up in Paris around 330 pm including taxi to my destination near the Arch de Triumph on Charles de Gaulle Boulevard.

The trail gets a little messy here and I’d just as soon let it rot for awhile until it straightens itself out so your going to have to give me a little slack for a couple weeks. The trail doesn’t end it just goes untold until further notice. See you in a couple weeks. Sorry for the delay.

On the positive side the book has past the edits and is now somewhere between text block and cover art. I’ll keep you posted.

www.davidcdagley.com