Found myself in France...lost in translation

A last minute trip that turned out to be a great experience. It all started when Roderic (my rather easy-going boss) asked me to replace another colleague (Tyler) in a meeting to be held in Lyon. And he did it on such a short notice that even I (the ever-organized-travel-freak) had no time not even to check the exact address of my hotel.

I arrived in Lyon after an 8 hour train journey, only to realize that I had crossed multiple borders in space and time. Because apart from being in France and not in Catalunya anymore, I also found myself in the middle of the winter instead of the mild Barcelonian autumn. Still, adoring the view from the hill of La Fourviere was totally worth it.

What is the main reason for this post though is not Lyon, its two beautiful hills, its two marvelous rivers and the extra-heave local food specialties (try getting the full menu in a typical "bouchon lyonnais" and then sleeping...). Apart from admiring all that, I had a lot of time to spend with francophone people, practicing my otherwise poor french and realizing the beauty that lies hidden not in the differences of idioms but in the profound depths of our universal language itself. Meaning this ability for superposing multiple layers of meaning on an apparently simple structure.

It was on the train to Lyon from Montpellier while browsing last week's Courrier International, when I read this incredibly surrealistic piece of news. The Brazilian Minister of Interior Affaires had just banned the use of the gerund among the civil servants of the state! Clerks, secretaries and even directors were no more allowed to use everyday phrases like "I am working on it", or "we are looking into your problem" so that they do not give the false impression of escaping work by pretending to be doing it! It came as the first clue. Words have a meaning and the language is meaning.

But then, as I kept browsing a bit more, I came across an article about my hometown, Athens and one of its greatest problems, pollution. It was then, in the french translation of a greek article that the sound of my own mother tongue struck me. The Athenian smog, with all its carbon monoxide and ozon was left un-translated and referred to in its original greek term "νέφος" (in the text "nefos"). Suddenly I felt like the article was no more talking about the common smog, a polluting-meteorological phenomenon, but rather about a mythological monster attempting to devour a city cursed by its ancient god-protectors. It is in such cases that language apart from meaning something obvious, is at the same time inflicting a feeling.

Two days later, while spending my time at a bookstore in the center of Lyon, waiting for dinner, I bought "Feux", a collection of short stories and poems by my favourite Marguerite Yourcenar. Since it was still early I started reading it a bit but stopped only at the first phrase. "Je veux que ce livre ne soit jamais lu" (I want this book to be never read). This contradiction, so straight-forward and naive that sounds almost childish reminded me of the opposite declaration, once stated by Borges, according fact that he chose never to write a big novel because he thought the worlds is more in need of readers than writers. I sat back seeping my espresso and could not help but smile at the way the masters of verse use the language beyond both meanings and impositions, achieving an even higher meta-level, whose main inhabitants are ironies, metaphors, allusions and references.

And then I thought that compared to understanding all this, french should be a piece of cake.

(Blog) Action Day... forever delayed

"All right it is December and I am walking around in my T-shirt! Whatever people may tell me, this cannot be normal, not for this hemisphere at least. Global warming is a fact and there are multiple proofs besides my sweat."

The picture and the phrase come from an old post of barcabios to prove once more that either mass protest comes always late, or that I am simply ahead of my time ;)

Blog Action Day about the environment had been declared for yesterday but I was busy doing other things. I apologize. I make my delayed contribution today, just because I believe not so much in the cause but in contributing per se. And since BA-day was yesterday, today may be the right day to whine about it. And first of all why "Action"? I think we will all agree that the situation is such based on the "actions" of some. Wouldn't "Reaction" make a bit more sense, or is it to harsh for them soft-Al-Gorish-late-worriers?

But lets stick to the "actions" (a term so wide so that it can include safely everything). I still do not see the possibility for any action here. You see, I sincerely think of all this global movement of people who don't have a say in anything to be almost completely worthless. What change will my blog ever make in improving the situation? I don't decide about general environmental policies, none of the political parties represented in my country's parliament has any serious suggestion about them and, lets face it, even if it had, do you really think these suggestions would make the real decision-makers, rain-forest cutters, oil-pumpers, energy-barons, sea-suckers, desert-spreaders worldwide lift an eyebrow?

So, I am sorry. I really doubt they 'll notice my blog complaining. They may smile sardonically while reading about Blog Action Day in today's 8-column titles of pretending-to-care newspaper first pages. And they 'll smile knowing that the more we write about it, the less we do about it, the more we learn about it, the less we feel obliged to actively deny it.

And the more we blog it, the less important it gets.

today

"...Le heros enchaine mantient dans la foudre et le tonnerre divins sa foi tranquille en l' homme. C' est ainsi qu' il est plus dur que son rocher et plus patient que son vautour..."

Albert Camus
Promethee aux Enfers

jigsaw falling into place

Last couple of days have been intense the wrong way. Coming to work early, leaving late, usually frustrated and yesterday even after having accidentally deleted part of my latest work. But we are having quite a nice beginning of autumn here in Barcelona so it's no wonder my mood is still far from blue.

And starting from this morning, with a lot of work having been done, all three of my bosses out of town and with the latest Radiohead album pounding in my headphones, I am so far from being blue that I am "in rainbows".

Radiohead just put out their latest, (7th) album which apart from being really good ("Weird fishes/Arpeggi" has looped my mp3 player 5 times already) it is also revolutionary. It is only available through the web and moreover from Radiohead's own server without any record company occupying the space between creators and admirers (or should I say "believers"). What is more is that everybody can choose the amount of money he's willing to pay for the download, starting from 0 (that is zero) euros, pounds, dollars or whatever it may be.

But enough with the propaganda. Loyal funs know about all this already. This blog is supposed to be a bit auto-biographical so we are reaching this point, at the end of the posts, where talking about Radiohead (or football, or the full moon, or rain) needs to be put in some perspective regarding everyday life in Barcelona. I am not really sure about how to do this, but the fact is that music (as well as football, the weather or the full moon) affects everyday life not only in Barcelona but all over the world.
Italo Calvino once described a city whose citizens were linked with visible strings according to their relations. And in a similar way music, sounds, images and all kinds of stimuli are constanlty creating invisible pieces of string, out of which the fabric of societies is made. This fabric is also invisible although not in-perceivable. People can feel its stretches and wrinkles, sense its texture ever-changing from rough to smooth and vice versa. These changes cannot but reflect a collective mood which you can sense all around you, on the streets, in the coffee shops and restaurants, in the way joggers smile at you in the morning, the newspaper guy hums his favourite song (music again), the bus driver whistles and your colleagues joke about everything. I am pretty sure that starting you day (and why not continuing it?) by listening to a nice tune can really make a change in this world.

So at least for today people be prepared. Because my contribution into "softening the fabric" is going to be something more than positive.

today

"...Les villes que l' Europe nous offre sont trop pleines des rumeurs du passe. Une oreille exercee peut y percevoir des bruites d' ailes, une palpitation d' ames. On y sent le vertige des siecles, de revolutions, de la gloire. On s' y souvient que l' Occident s' est forge dans les clameurs. Cela ne fait pas assez de silence..."

Albert Camus
Le Minotaure

today

"...Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased..."

Italo Calvino
Invisible Cities

to see the lights

From the news today, a story of historic irony and vindication. The Bolivian soldier, who shot Ernesto "Che" Guevarra forty years ago, was operated free of charge by Cuban doctors in Bolivia. In this way, Mario Teran -let us mention his name for history to be equally just against heroes and fools- regained his damaged eyesight, thanks to a medical welfare program set out by the Cuban government. Thus, after forty years, it seems that the Cuban revolution is finally extending to Bolivia, even for the benefit of one of its most symbolic enemies. The man who shot Che...

At his 77 maybe the time has come for him to see the lights.

And I just wish for his own sake that the lights he sees are equally beautiful to the ones I see the over the past weeks, as the working day comes to an end, the dusk falls a bit earlier and I slowly ride alongside Barceloneta beach. Work may be hard these last days (see previous posts) but working in such a place is always rewarding, even when you leave the lab at 10 pm, heading home with a mind full of doubts and bearing with the obvious worry that you simply have no life.
But as the early autumn breeze blows down your face, you turn left on Joan de Borbo and you see the moon coming up behind the roofs of Passeig Colom, stopping only for a moment to flirt with the statue of the Virgin de La Merce, you come to decide that it is still worth it. You slow down your pace, let the wind cool you down and take off your headphones so that you sense the sounds of the city flowing all around.

Then, you realize the night is still far too young and that since you have no life, you might as well spend your evening watching the one of others. You take a turn and head back to Barceloneta, riding like a little kid. You listen to the waves, while watching a couple of cute girls jogging, then you lift up your head far to the edge of the beach, the night has fallen and the lights are setting it ablaze.

And you wish Mario Teran would see lights like these.

today

"... Yes, one could imagine a very pleasant world. A quiet, spacious world, with the flowers so red and blue in the open fields. A world without professors or specialists or house-keepers with the profiles of policemen, a world which one could slice with one’s thought as a fish slices the water with his fin, grazing the stems of the water-lilies, hanging suspended over nests of white sea eggs..."

Virginia Wolf
The mark on the wall

...you are now crossing the 38th parallel

In the news today, president of South Korea, Roh Moo-hyun crossing the borderline between South and North Korea (or North and South if you like), the famous 38th parallel along which the cease-fire back in 1953 set the borders between the two countries (and the two "worlds" supporting each one).

My crossing the line on the other hand is somehow different. It is less dramatic, not recorded by mainstream media, won't have any impact on world history plus it hasn't quite happened yet.

Nonetheless I may be close. Close to crossing the line from being a worrying-less, relaxed post-doc who spends most of his leisure time reading thick books and listening to long albums, to a poor, neurotic, hopeless guy who screams "Fucking genome assemblies!" in the middle of the lab. I spent a good part of the weekend trying to make sense of a stupid (sorry Pep) program, which is built in such a way so that only its creator can make full use of its potential, (in the same way only King Arthur could lift up the Excalibur or only Ulysses could string his bow). Then Monday came and after finally making some progress with this, I found myself surrounded by almost-overlapping genomic segments, succumbed in a sea of numbers that matched only marginally, when they should have been matching exactly, slowly sinking in a quicksand of tests, each of which led me far deeper into despair than the previous.

But I was strong. When things reached the point of no return (which in my case would be somewhere around 9) I still had the guts to stand up, award my screen with a look of anger and pity blending with discontent and walk away under the sounds of PJ Harvey singing "Before Departure"*. Only that I was just departing and I still had it! I could still say "screw them assemblies!", ride back home, joke with my flat mates about the vanity of life, the universe and everything, have some glasses of wine, then a beer with some friends and forget about it all.

It may sound the easy thing to do but I can tell you it is not. There have come many moments (and there may be more to come) when crossing the line seems like the right thing to do. Stay, fight and persevere. But who said our staying, fighting and persevering should only be carried out against genomic assemblies and alignment problems? I prefer to keep my strength for crossing this world's real 38th parallels, which may actually make the difference. After all, as Bjork once sang, "there's more to life than this"!


*Thanks Zoe, this album is just great