San Javier 7/2005

Here in San Javier there’s a carnival by the bay that doesn’t open until 11:00 pm. Hundreds of little kids riding tilt a whirl type rides until dawn. 4-5 years old little.
Also carny trash for days.

At midnight I stood and watched the semi truck bed BINGO game for an hour .Fascinated by all the old (and mostly fat) couples scratching themselves while idlly praying for that huge dinner ware set swaying from the over hang of the truck .

So bored the beautiful (but unnoticed) lady reading the ping pong balls- the ground littered with spent cards- the girl who double checks the winning cards is way stacked and working it...unnoticed.

The crowd’s too busy praying to Mother Mary for a winning card. Whoa.Catholic voodoo in Spain on the beach at midnight while in the backround kids screaming on these insane dayglo gypo puke inducing rides.

Where am I? Somewhere across the open sea is Africa. Morrocco I guess.

And then it occurs to me - this feels like Mexico- sure- but also these people look Mexican .

It’s not just the way ‘it’ looks- it’s the way ‘they’ look.

So maybe there’s not as much indian blood in Mexicans as I thought. Because these people (There’s a lot of old arabic - muslim infidel looking people.) look Mexicano.



Severe....don’t get me wrong- the women are stunning and men too although most of the older guys spend most their time frowning. Also they got way too much sun and grappa going for them.

Running into Nacho Sanchez last night in the piazza in Barcelona was a riot. Appearing to be a total bad ass
( he actually is) he regaled me with stories of Samoan tattoos (applied with chisel and hammer) - hanging with Madrid Hells Angels- him calling Bill Swanson out in an Austin strip bar-on and on- all the while wearing a tent sized shirt with ‘49 Mercs and The Madonna all candy apple wild- with his gold teeth and black shoulder length hair . Holmes!

I realize something here too- he’s probably making all this shit up ....but I could care less.

I know the part about him going out with Faye Dunnaway is true also him snubbing Steven Segal even after he threw huge dough at him . Plus the woman he was with last night was stunning- so some of his act is getting over for sure.

Hell - I loved his stories.

At one point we were talking about Cuba and he veered into this long winded story about his Uncle Arturo who had fronted a top notch salsa band for 15 years at a club he -Arturo- owned in East San Jose .

‘Sure’ I said, ‘Arturo’s Tropical Village’.

‘Man!’, He wigged-staring in disbelief.


‘Yeh I played there in 1973 with La Bahia ’, lowballing for effect.You know- No big deal.

Slowly now, pulling down his dark glasses for square on eye contact,

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Hah- the lowball got him.

Worlds collide everyday.

Just because I look like a biology teacher doesn’t mean I can’t blow some Barrio dude’s mind at 3:00 am in a piazza in Barcelona.

Verona 7/9/2006

Verona-

Arrived from Perugia at noon 9/7/2006

Robbie and I rode through the gates of the walled city across the river up the 4 mile road and back some before having a pizza at an out door place over looking the city and whole valley.

Later we rode along the river for 5 miles returning through the ancient city and ending for the day back at hotel at 6:00pm.

Message from Kevin regarding Aida Tiz his friends had gotten us, Met them some at dinner place the walked over to the arena just in time to be seated for Aida.

With 2 orchestras and a casy of close to 200 enormous sets of Luxor tThe Syphinx and tons of other idolitry from the period this was the most impressive live performance I’ve ever seen.

Oh yess- Italy /France World Cup Final started just before the opera. If Italy wins what will happen then?

During the intermission a roar went up- Italy wins!

The cast and conductor come out in street clothes to cheer and dance finally the whole arena cast and crew sing the Italian national anthem. Everywhere flags are waving and fire works are being set off.

After the intermission the celebration outside the arena in the city square was so loud that the singers and orchestra lost their place. There was more than one pause and restart.

Budapest

Budapest

Two days here.

90 degrees and clear.

Danube River splits the city in two with Danube Isle 3 miles long right in the middle.

Budapest has no building over 20 stories and very little built before WWII remains.Was told that after the war the Soviets had no use for anything historical so what wasn’t flattened during the war was flattened in the years of the Soviet bloc control.

The park on the island has an enormous water fountain with hundreds of jets shooting water like 100 feet in the air choreographed to music. Central European or Soviet sounding stuff. East of Mahler .

I would ride up and back along the only road on the island and it was closed to all traffic except bikes and people on foot. 3 miles up 3 miles back. I’d stop and take photos of gardens and statues and look at the Roman ruins. Trying to find something worthy of documenting.

At one point I strayed off onto a small paved path that was a 100 or so yards away from the street almost to the east side of the river.



Around one curve I come upon a bike ice cream pushcart with a teenage boy and girl selling the stuff - off to the side the girl sitting in the boys lap kissing and a hugging...oh my.

Music blaring-but it ain’t Madonna. It’s what sounds like German opera. I smile and continue riding up the path.

15 minutes later on my return back down the island I ride by again...still the opera but this time it’s a baritone and soprano duet, very dramatic (of course). I ride by smiling again. After I pass them I say what the hell and turn back around and ride up to them.

‘Excuse me. Do you speak English?’
‘A little bit’ the girl says.
‘What are you listening to?’
Now they both look up a little concerned,
‘It’s just the radio- it’s ok-yah?’
‘Sure sure I like it’ I said ‘Do you?’
(duh) they both look,’Of course’
and wonder what’s wrong with me as I ride away.

That wouldn’t happen in Piedmont. Or anywhere in the US.

Only in a town where the main drag is named after Bela Bartok would teenagers cuddle to opera on the radio in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon.

Budapest.

The Pittsburgh of Dixie

Birmingham Alabam- The Pittsburgh of Dixie.

I bet you didn't know that.

I rode my bicycle along The Vulcan trail and then had a cup o' coffee right across from The Alabama Heart Hospital. I learned that Vulcan is the God of metallurgy and that his likeness is portrayed throughout the city in sculpture and mural.

Also 40 years ago today was the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing. You can tell that the city still struggles with it's past. This time through I purposely avoided the memorial park across from the church. I find it disturbing. Once is enough.

Here in Orlando on the 10 th floor of a converted Holiday Inn this newly opened boutique (yawn) Hotel (I never did catch the name) features Inter State 4 sceaming right at my window just before hairpinning to a major rev drop downshift . Stunning semi jake brake mixed with Bangkok 2 stroke.

A fist full of Melatonin and A Brief History of British Sea Power and I'm a history lesson myself.

Din or no Din.

Miami Florida-

Years ago in San Diego I befriended this former White Panther Johnnie 'Porkchop' Dupree who had done time for supplying the SDS with TNT . He wore a stingie brim hat and drove a green on green in green Eldo. Pass anything but a gas station. He also had huge recall of Doo Wop . He weighed 350 pounds and sang like a bird. In between bites of Castles dipped in Everett and Jones (extra hot) he'd sing Clyde McPlhatter and steer with the other hand. His heart would race everytime he sang the part about the smell of French Fries under the Boardwalk. He was really tasting 'em.

Johnnie 'Pork Chop' Dupree was from Miami Beach and today riding 20 miles up and down Collins Blvd. it all made complete sense to me.

Everywhere big time blood shot sunburn alkee mugs wow.

On the sidewalk -behind the wheel -laying in the grass -waiting for the bus. That kinda everywhere.

Then 5 or 6 years ago I saw Johnnie 'Pork Chop' Dupree standing in the crowd at a RCB show at the Filmore Auditorium. He was wearing a full length mohair dress coat with a fur collar and a matching mohair derby hat with a green peacock feather in stuck in it.

I went to look for him afterwards but he was gone. Just like him.

Not long after that I heard about his demise. For years he had a job doing collections for the Oakland Sanitary Workers Credit Union (mobbed up for sure) and one day he'd run up against some Mexicans who tired of paying the vig and decided to play dartboard with his face instead.

Speaking of recall you know I can barely remember my phone number let alone what happened between shots of Tanqueray 25 years ago. But with the sun low in the fall Miami sky and madmen everywhere it all comes flooding back.

Oh yeh...Johnnie 'Pork Chop' Dupree.

Rest in Peace.

Your Pal, Jim Pugh