10-22 Debate in Girona

Tonight at 3 o'clock in the morning, the following person in room 315 in the Catalonian city of Girona, will be awake watching Channel 40: The Great Plotnik. Eye Pud will be fired up too, to catch the Giants. The Duck says she's keeping her head under her pillow.

They SAY the debate will be televised and they SAY the wireless will be working. That's what they say.

From outside the country, it is clear that elections are about only one thing: the latest thing. Same thing with Game Sevens. Everything else is forgotten.
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Nobody had ever said anything to us about Girona. The whole upper North East Coast of Spain is spectacular and devoid of tourists in Late October. Some Germans. French. Brits. Two Americans.

We got to the little village of Palafrugell yesterday in time for the Sunday market with dancers out in the square. Afterwards, we drove the rented Beamer (long story) to Llafranc and up the hill to Fars, where the whole Mediterranean stretched below, with France maybe fifty miles away. Then, to the amazing Medieval walled town of Pals, and next to the beat-up medieval town of Paratillada.

Finally we drove into Girona, another ancient town with a river separating new town (our hotel is here) and Ciutat Vella, which is Old Town in Catalan.

Walked along the old wall. Walked into the old Jewish Quarter. Walked out of the old Jewish Quarter. If that quarter were in Euros it would only be worth sixteen cents today.

You can see how they spell chocolate with Churros in Basque. Or maybe it's Catalan. They love their Xs up here.

You can also see our humble repast in our room tonight as we make ready to head back to Barca tomorrow and on to Sevilla on Wednesday.

OK, you heard it here: Plotnik is sick of Catalan. He can't understand it and can barely read it. Why the hell can't these people speak English, dammit? Oops, I mean Spanish.