A Religious British Institution

Went down to Cornwall this weekend, which is England's tiny version of summer beachfront living.
England's only turquoise water. It's surprisingly clear water, but you'll freeze your bollock's off.
Just like all towns in England, St. Ives in Cornwall has many many pubs. One might say that they're a religious institution.
The Golden Lion Pub in St. Ives
And doing a pub crawl is akin to making a holy pilgrimage to Mecca. For instance in this one pub called 'The Three Ferrets', I saw this holy prayer to all ye faithful to drinketh plenty on the wall.
Our Lager, Which Art in Barrels, Hallowed Be Thy Drink.....etc. etc., get pissed.
Speaking of religious institutions, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

British Signs

I know the English invented the language, but some of the stuff is just funny if you're an American.
this is asking whether you are hungry, not if you're a chicken with feathers up your ass
as funny as this may seem, you would not believe how many times these signs on the road have saved meevangelical rant is universal...so is pick up your dog shit...or dog foulingmust be the hooker district the next 1/2 mile......and this must be the street where to find them
I love British sarcasmThis lady kept walking back and forth. I guess her priorities in life kept switching back and forth
His smoothness is universal, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

Jolly Old England

I've temporarily left Spain and have headed up to Northern Europe, first stopping in London (the weather sucks) catching up with old friends. It's a different change of pace, lifestyle and scenery (the weather sucks). I've taken in some cultural gems such as the Tate Modern Gallery (the weather sucks), walking along the Thames (the weather sucks), visiting Borough Market (the weather sucks), Hyde Park (no sunny Sunday walk in the park, the weather sucks) and so forth.
truffles for sale at Borough Market
sunflowers for sale.....
and chilling in a vase at home
Have also caught a couple music shows in central London (the weather doesn't suck too bad when indoors), and many pints crawling from pub to pub (the weather especially sucks after leaving the warm indoors).
a rare blue sky spotting
a bicycle sitting in the warm summer sun with the Thames and St. Pauls Cathedral in the background
The one thing I've been having trouble with though (besides the crappy weather), has been the crappy dollar exchange rate. London is expensive (and guess what the weather is like), and with the dollar being worth half a British pound, expenses are tight. But thankfully I've got friends to stay with which helps things a lot (the weather's not so bad, I haven't gotten frostbite yet).

If he was English, he'd be knighted by now, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

Sadness and Architecture

Sadness
After spending the last two months in Piedralaves, I left my house in the Spanish sun, leaving my pool, my neighboring horses, and all the people of Piedralaves who I had no idea what they were saying. I will be back in mid-August for a couple of days spending time with the owner and his family. But it will not be the same since it's no longer my house all to myself and to my few esteemed guests. I left the house to a large French family, the brother and niece's of the owner. We overlapped our stay by 18 hours, and instantly the house was transformed and was no longer mine. When my friend and I left the long driveway of the property, I felt a tinge of sadness for everything I gave and received from this little Spanish house in the sun.
This is one of the things I left behind.....33 bottles of wine over the kitchen cabinets (don't worry mom, I had help drinking this).
Architecture
Contrary to popular belief, I'm still an architect. I felt an obligation since I'm in Spain again, to see the building that revolutionized (btw, this is a matter of opinion) architecture in 1997. Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. But I'm not going to get into the details of the project, enough has already been written about this project (plus, Frankie has been copying himself way too much lately with his designs). Instead, here's a few pictures of the aforementioned revolution.
Front elevation. But I can't help but think that Jeff Koons Flower Cat sculpture dominates the picture and steals the show.
titanium clad goodness

Sphincter balls on a stick.
Sunset reflection
He's a cat that always steals the show, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

The Circus has come to Town

Everybody loves a circus. Especially when you get to see such things as a piranha show or Spain's youngest clown. Well, the circus arrived last week in Piedralaves and with no other forms of entertainment out here than Spanish cow-tipping, we were quite excited. However, the 12 euro price of admission pissed down on our excitement. So instead we took photos of the Piranha Show trucks and a bunch of their posters. So instead of going to the circus, we went to a Barbarella-esque 1970's art show. We did see a bunch of carni's (remember the Simpson's episode) leaving their trailers, but no bearded ladies or general body manipulated freaks. And don't worry mom, I haven't joined the circus.
Is it me, or do clowns still freak you out? Ronald McDonald reeks of child molestation.
Spain's youngest clown. I wonder if this kid will have a normal well-adjusted to society life when he gets older.
I especially like the bleeding times roman font in 'Pirana'. And who thought of putting a turtle in this creatures of death shot.
I don't understand why this scene is happy with a smiling chick with a snake wrapped around her. Even the crocodile is happy.....
while in this shot, this girl is petrified. And how does this art piece succesfully attract the target market of pre-adolescents?.....oh, wait. now i understand their marketing plan....
This girl looks like she's boogie boarding on a giant snake floatie. This artist reeks of Stockton, California.
See what I mean by Barbarella. She looks just like Jane Fonda...and I'm not just speaking of the crocodile.

He's a one-man freak show, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

My Life as a Peasant Farmer in Piedralaves

tranquilo Everyday, I wake up bright and early (if you call 10 AM early) to tend to the chickens and milk the cows and (what chickens? there are no chickens, and I don't even drink milk). Usually after breakfast, I work the land (I need to cut the grass maybe once a month) which is back breaking work (this is sort of true since it takes 2 or 3 days to mow the lawn...more like machete-ing a jungle).
my neighbor 'tusocks' feasting on some tasty weeds
During this time, I usually see my neighbor Juan and his lovely dog Yeti (bastard dog won't stop barking at me), and we discuss the latest events and our simple life here in the country (half the time...no, most of the time, I have no idea what he's saying). I then usually head into town to the bread store and the farmer's market, exchanging bread, vegetables and other food items with the fresh eggs and milk that I collected earlier in the morning (or maybe I use the euros that I just withdrew from the ATM across the street). At around 2:30 PM, I take a siesta after a long morning of work (work is sort of true since I'm sort of working on a film......but the siesta part is definitely true). Afterwords, I take the herd of cows to the field to graze, and to the stream to drink (this is a whole new level of bullshit......at this time, I usually do cannonballs into the pool). At the end of the day, I'm quite exhausted from a long day's work (sitting in the hot sun drinking sangria around the pool can wear a guy out). After a hot shower, I cook a hearty meal and watch the sunset over the hills with a glass of vino tinto (this is possibly the only truth in this entire passage). At night, I retire around the fireplace reading classic literature pieces (not even close, it's been watching the EuroCopa every night, especially with España winning it all....a por ellos!). Two or three times a week, I head into town for my only connection with the outside world, using this revolutionary new invention, the internet information superhighway (what can I say, things come really slow out here). On the following day, I follow the same routine (did I mention I've also got a cleaning lady? I'm a spoiled bastard) as a simple peasant farmer here in the Spanish countryside.
my field of blood, sweat and tears, the piscina
my other neighbor, sueño

He's a little bit country, and a little bit rock n' roll, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

Price Check, Aisle 3

From this photo taken in a Spanish supermercado, either one of these two questions comes to mind:
Q1: In Spain, where do you find The Simpsons?
A1: Usually in between a bunch of Filipinos.
Q2: In Spain, where do you find Filipinos?
A2: Usually watching The Simpsons.
I knew with a name lake Renato José, I had to have some Spanish blood in me....obviamente, mi cuerpo tiene sangré con chocolaté...
Feel free to add your own questions to this posting. Hopefully on my next trip to the market, we can find out where other ethnics hang out.

his blood is filled with dulce de leche, Dónde está Che Pelotas?