Sponge Bucket: hanging with dali.

no-one could ever accuse me of being an art connoisseur. try as i might to look pensive and moved when staring at a smear of paint on a canvas, most of the time i’m daydreaming about the bloody mary i’ll be consuming afterwards as a reward for being so cultural. like when visiting moma in new york last year, the painting i got most excited about was a cartoon of tupac smoking a blunt, while barnett newman’s ‘the voice’ — literally a blank white canvas — just left me perplexed and angry. what exactly am i missing?*

however, like every rule, there are exceptions and frida khalo, joan miro and salvador dali are mine (i think i may have a thing for the latinos). so when i heard that just north of barcelona stood a town called figueres, where dali was both born and buried, i had to visit. i said farwell to france, crossed the spanish border by train and checked myself into a little bed and breakfast in a nearby village called pau, population 650.

the place was run by a pair of british-retirees-turned-english-teachers named nigel and liz, although i only had the pleasure of meeting nigel since liz was in the uk. given his remarkable similarity — both in name and demeanour — to the dad from ‘the wild thornburys’, nigel and i naturally hit it off straight away, staying up late together on the first night to watch the olympics. as pau is located about 10km from the beach, nige advised i walk through the vineyards to the next town over (um, yes!) and rent a bike for the three days i would be spending there. so the next day, i did just that, walking along the dusty and isolated path, lush green vineyards sprouting from dry, yellow earth to my left; huge, wild-looking olive trees to my right. every now and then i’d wander past an old farmhouse with a barn or a cow grazing next to a fence. i was in heaven and even got a bit teary at the sheer surrealness of finding myself in spain, in such a beautiful environment, completely alone with nature (i may have also been listening to beyonce’s ‘i was here’ at the time, an epic anthem about leaving your mark on the world. i often picture my life as a movie and thus enjoy creating a soundtrack to set the tone).

after picking up my bike, i decided to ride to the nearest beach in a town called roses. ten kilometres may not sound far and to most people it probably isn’t; but when you have a sever aversion to exercise (as i do) and when it is the peak of summer in northern spain, it may as well be 100km. not that i didn’t enjoy the ride… i loved it, in fact… it was just very difficult on the old thighs and i had to stop several times as my wheezing was startling the cows. finally though, i got to the beach. roses is a typical spanish tourist town — in other words, full of sunburnt brits — so it wasn’t that great but i got to get my ladies out for a bit of sun action, which was nice. i love the topless sunbathing culture of europe… everywhere you go, you just see women letting it all hang out with not a shred of self-consciousness. it’s liberating and makes you realise how sexy confidence really is (and how fucking amazing your own body is… there are a lot of ladies out there who are much bigger, rollier, celluliter and paler than you but do you see them cover it up? nope, they mince about the beach, proud as punch and the men turn to stare in admiration. we have mucho to learn from our european friends, australia!)

the next day, i caught the bus over the hill to a town called cadaqués, which is somewhat well-known for its white-washed buildings and turquoise waters. i do not need to comment on the beauty of the place as my photos will do the talking for me; however i will mention a wonderful little coinky dink that occurred when i managed to take a snap of a scene that i later discovered was painted by the man himself, mr dali, some 88 years ago (see photos below).

on my last day, i said goodbye to my best buddy nige and set off to figueres to see the famous dali museum. oh lordy. the outside alone was worth the visit… bright red and gold, and with giant eggs on the roof, and statues everywhere holding what i can only conclude were baguettes. inside was even more bizarre and wonderful… that dude truly was nuts. but oh so amazeballs. stupidly, i left my camera in storage at the bus station and had to take all my photos of dali’s stupendous works on my iphone, so please excuse the poor quality of photos.

enjoy! xx

* this is a hypothetical question. i know some people may feel the need to explain to me that ‘it’s art because blah blah blah’ and i do not care for your lectures, thank you very much! my thoughts on art are summarised for more eloquently than i could possibly put it here. as she says: ‘no matter how many big words you use to describe it; no matter how many scholars jump on the bandwagon of the next genius, fine art is only one thing: human animals sticking stuff to other stuff. [however] how we respond to it is personal.’