Going to an experience pub

It’s an experience pub, she said. I was wondering what an “experience pub” could be but I didn’t ask. I just followed through the narrow London alleyways looking for the sky. It was cold, very cold for me. And the stars were hiding. Only a dark, timid sky was covering us from the cold. No clouds. The air smelled of frost and booze. We were approaching the pub. "The Duke" was its name, a very appropriate name for a pub.

Opening the door you could hear the subtle noise of talking, laughing, drinking, glasses being hit on the till. It was like every pub: the same but unique. It was a 1930s building, without any major restoration done; pld London at its best.  Olive green walls and sweet yellow light.  We sat by the door. A small round dark table and different chairs we managed to beg from other tables. At least there was available seating for everyone. Once we all had chairs and golden liquid in our pints, the smokers decided that it was time to go out. And I was going to be left alone. I didn’t want that, so I followed them, having to face again the chilly air.

They had their backs against the wall, sending the swirling smoke up, in the starless sky. The smell of tobacco got in my nostrils and my lungs— so familiar and annoying at the same time, reminding me of the outings of my early teen years, when it was still allowed to smoke indoors, and we all used to end up going home smelling like cigarettes and shame. We were all there, friends from all over the world who met in the most populous and exciting metropolis of the world: forget New York, this is London, a friendly stranger who will welcome anyone— or at least that’s what I’ve been told.

Of course, we never wondered why we were able to be friends in spite of our differences, which were many, mind you. We were chatting like we used to, drinking beer, taking in the cold without thinking about it, until the most peculiar old man approached us. 

A real Englishman with a tweed suit, round glasses and an imperial moustache came to stand by us. He was looking at us for a while, thinking maybe, and then he asked one of my friends for a lighter. He started talking to her with a condescending look in his face. “I am sorry, my dear, but I can’t understand very well what you’re saying,” he said looking perplexed by her dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair. She was dumfounded. “Where are you from?” he went on asking. “India”, she replied. “Oh, that’s adorable”, he said without even blinking. “And you are friends with her?” he asked pointing at my clearly British friend, with blazing blue eyes and blond hair. “Yes” they answered in unison, defying this outrageous dialogue’s cause of existence. “Well, you ladies know best”, he went on astonishing them for good.

In less than a minute, the image of the welcoming city with the open-minded inhabitants and the eye for progress was destroyed. In its place we saw the unforgivable colonialist past, with its patriarchal and nonsensical ideology. Now I get it, I mused as we went inside ranting… I know what an experience pub is.   

La Casa de los espíritus y la perrera de la crisis

Acabo de leer La Casa de los espíritus de Isabel Allende. Es un libro maravilloso, lleno de fantasía e imágenes de un mundo diferente paralelo a lo nuestro, con baúles mágicos y espíritus benévolos, sino también con cosas más cotidianas como luchas sociales y dictaduras tiránicas.

Como todos los libros buenos, me ha hecho pensar. Y he pensado mucho sobre la naturaleza de la opresión. La protagonista, Alba, fue detenida por sus ideas políticas y la ayuda que ofreció a gente perseguida por la Junta.

Cuando estaba en la cárcel, Alba fue encerrada en un sitio que se llamaba “la perrera”. Allí no entraba ni luz ni aire, no podía moverse, ni siquiera sentarse. Pero los espíritus y particularmente su abuela Clara, clarividente, la ayudaron a sobrevivir. Le aconsejaron escribir todo en su mente, y después, cuando tuviera papel y lápiz a escribir todo para que no se le escapara de la memoria.

Siento, que a veces, nosotros estamos en la perrera, en la época de la crisis. Sin embargo, nuestra perrera es mucho distinta de la de Alba. No podemos movernos pero no nos damos cuenta de nuestra situación porque la dictadura que nos oprime es muy insidiosa. De hecho, estamos prisioneros de los capitalistas, de los gobiernos, de los banqueros, del sistema y de un montón de ineptos, pero, no podemos entender que esa situación nos está contaminando la vida y nos está privando de nuestra libertad.

La perrera inadvertida es peligrosísima. No nos damos cuenta de la situación y por eso no podemos resistir. Y no tenemos miedo, o mejor dicho, no tenemos lo suficiente miedo para enfrentar la dictadura del dinero.

#YOLO

Dicen que YOLO- You only live once- es la nueva tendencia de nuestros tiempos. La gente hace cosas estrafalarias, peligrosas y a veces tontas solamente porque “solo vivimos una vez”. Es verdad que nuestra existencia es única y tenemos que disfrutar cada momento, pero ¿qué es el límite? ¿Cuándo puedes negarte un reto?

 

 Según dicen, YOLO  conlleva la misma idea como la frase famosa de Horacio “Carpe Diem”. No obstante, el poema de Horacio dice que el ser humano necesita aprovechar cada momento, disfrutando cosas cotidianas sin pensar de la muerte. Horacio siguiendo la filosofía epicúrea advierte a su amigo Leuconous  que deje de pensar del futuro y de la muerte. “Mientras nos hablamos, la vida envidiosa nos escapa” escribe el poeta.

Eso, si es verdad. Necesitamos vivir en el presente, aprovechando nuestra vida. Sin embargo, es tontería provocar la suerte y elegir el riesgo solamente por estar de moda.  Además, la decisión de afrontar nuestros miedos y asumir riesgos tiene que ser bien meditada y personal, sin que la imponga esa tendencia de la cultura de los jóvenes.    

The British Museum Caryatid: cursed, homesick and maltreated

Recently there’s been a heated debate regarding the necessity of the British Museum to return the Parthenon Marbles to Greece. At first, even though I’m a Greek classicist, I thought that the mere idea was utopic. In no way could a big and important museum return any work of art. It would set a precedent and as the majority of the artwork of important European museums is “borrowed” or “purchased” under suspicious conditions, other countries would claim their treasures.

However, a recent visit at the British Museum made me change my mind. Even though it is a quite big museum with important exhibits, it lacks sensitivity and sensibility in the way it chooses to present the artworks; and this in not only uninviting for the visitor but also dangerous for the artwork itself.

 

I witnessed a bunch of kids leaning against the lonesome Caryatid displayed there. There was no security in the room and the kids were apparently completely unaware of the fact that they were touching a 5^th century B.C. relic. The saddest part was that nobody seemed to notice.

I am certain this would have never happened in Athens. Not because we are more careful than the British, but because we wouldn’t dare damage anything related to our heritage. We know that the consequences for a Greek not caring about such issues will be severe, whereas this is not the case for others.

 While I was looking at that lonesome girl I felt so sorry for her. The women of Caryae according to Vitruvius were punished to carry the weight of the building because they betrayed Athens to the Persians.

So, the British Museum Caryatid is not only cursed. She was kidnapped and separated from her partners, carried away to a cold and gloomy country, hidden in a basement-like room, all alone, contemplating a pillar instead of the majestic view of Athens from the Acropolis.

These six young women are part of the south side of the Erechtheion, the most sacred temple of the Acropolis, dedicated to Athena, Poseidon Erechteus and Cecrops, the first king of Athens. It is believed that the “Korai” (girls) were offering libations— honorary offerings of honey and milk or water— at the tomb of the mythical king. Lord Elgin removed one of the girls in 1801 when Greece was under Ottoman rule. Now, her sisters are waiting for her, all cleaned up, in the sunny and shiny Acropolis Museum.

It is already depressing that they are waiting for her in vain, but it’s even more depressing that her “hosts” don’t treat her as they should. This would have never happened in Greece, Zeus forbids maltreating guests.

Homo homini lupus

“Homo homini  lupus” escribe Plautus en su comedia Asinaria. La frase significa que el ser humano es el peor enemigo de la humanidad, porque se comporta como si fuera una fiera, un lobo. El otro día vi un video de un experimento social. En el video un hombre sin techo entra en McDonald’s e intenta robar una hamburguesa. En el video hay varias reacciones: gente que le habla mal, gente que le amenaza y gente que le ayuda. Es sorprendente que mucha gente no quiso ayudarle o comprarle una hamburguesa barata de McDonald´s. El hombre parecía muy hambriento y cansado, es seguro que hacía mucho frio en la ciudad donde se estrenó el video. Sin embargo, había mucha gente que ignoraba las dificultades de la vida de una persona sin hogar.

En principio, me pareció raro que no querían ayudarle, parecía tan triste y desesperado. Pero, después entendí que a veces tenemos miedo de los demás: es que no sabemos si pueden convertirse en lobos. Por eso, desafortunadamente, nos convertimos en lobos primeros. No nos importa ayudar o ver el aspecto malo de la vida. Cuando estamos en un sitio bonito— o por lo menos decente— con unos amigos comiendo, no queremos que nos muestren que hay personas menos afortunadas. Y además, creo que la crisis nos cambió más empeorando la situación. No prestamos dinero, ni siquiera participamos en las filantropías de Navidad, sospechamos a todos que son diferentes, nos convertimos en misántropos y nacionalistas.   

En diciembre siempre pensamos en el amor y el significado de Navidad para toda la cristiandad. Sin embargo, es muy difícil para nosotros pensar que aunque nuestra situación económica es mala, hay personas con más problemas. Es raro que el ser humano no sea capaz de pensar que no hay nada únicamente especial en su historia propia.

 

Espero que este año traiga a todos, a mí incluso, más humildad y más compasión.