Until recently, my morning walk to work led me to the doors of a well-reputed business school. Usually I focussed on the beautiful gardens and buildings, as well as the people walking by. Almost every day I saw something worth writing about, something beautiful or curious. However, Barcelona, like any city, has a darker side.
The morning I saw a man digging through the garbage bins located practically at the doors of the school, the irony gave me this:
The Business School
Dumpster diving at the business school, now that’s a sight to see! His family’s going hungry, but he’s got a fine degree.
He did just what they told him and he doesn’t understand why the speculation failed him when he bought up all that land.
It was easy! No one mentioned he was trafficking with air. He thought that he was clever! now he’s closer to despair.
He lives near his alma mater until the bank calls in the loan. That could happen any day now. He could even lose his home!
He hopes that no one sees him as he’s sorting through the trash. He doesn’t want his kids to know that they’re completely out of cash.
He bought into a system that turned out to be a lie. You must admire his dignity. he’s still wearing a tie.
First post in Catalan! This one goes out to those who too often remain nameless. Any native Catalan speaker is more than welcome to correct errors!
Compartint la vella manta
Compartint la vella manta és amor, al meu parer. Encara que siguin pobres i visquin al carrer.
La mare els coneixia, “Són bona gent amb mala sort.” Sovint és el que passa amb la gent que ve de l’hort.
La ciutat els menja l’esperit i els calés. No em preguntis pels cognoms. Són en Joan i na Roser.
In Barcelona, at any moment, in any neighborhood, you can be surprised by a gem of modernist architecture. The Casa Muleyafid, designed by Josep Puig i Cadafalch in 1914, is one I pass every morning. The Consulate of Mexico is currently the lucky tenant of this whimsical structure. Not only do they have a great building, they have somebody who likes flowers. I know, because you can see a pot of tall, gracious orchids through one of windows.
Orchids in the Consulate
The orchids in the Consulate have grown on foreign soil. Carefree, you’ll never see them spin, and neither do they toil.
I wonder if a diplomat from some greener distant place was homesick when she planted them? Or perhaps it was a case of protocol, as flowers are known to make amends in conflicts small and great.
Flowers would be my policy if I were head of state.