marksouthbend's insane travels

Barcelona/Woody Allen

On the 15th, soon after we had returned our scooters, Shane stood up from the table where we had fast food dinner and set off on his own for Malaga. He made a missions agency a promise to be there for 3 weeks, so off he went. I had my own pledge to fulfill--I did not intend to leave Barcelona until I found Woody Allen. Carl and Johnny both decided to stick around with me to help out and document my progress on film. They each asked me, separately, how long I thought I´d spend in Barcelona, worst case scenario, if the search went poorly. They reacted similarly to my answer--¨eh, I´d say, 7 weeks¨--with patronizing looks that said ¨ah, that´s nice Mr. Fromer. Let me show you to your padded cell.¨

The night of the 15th, we didn´t do much of anything. We just had ourselves some dinner, made sleeping arrangements, and got used to being without our rudder, Shane. I did start my search for Woody on the internet. i found out which hotel he´s staying in, where the production headquarters are for his film, and I found out two members of his Jazz band from New York have a 3 month gig playing at a hotel in Barcelona, and there was a new story saying that Woody had played a show with them last week. I therefore circled 3 locations on my map.

On the 16th, I couldn´t really procrastinate any more and call it preparation. I started visiting the spots I circled. Hotel ¨Casa Fuster¨, where even the fruit in the bowls is 5 stars, came first. Eddy Davis and Conal Fowkes, playing banjo and piano respectively, were being heavily promoted. There was a sign outside the hotel with small flyers for the taking that said the cheapest ticket was 25 Euros. Davis and Fowkes were mentioned by name, and their pictures were on the flyer, but there was a mysterious flying clarinet (Woody´s instrument) superimposed on the edge and in one of the photos, there was a 3rd man on stage, of whom you could only see his shirt and bald spot. I asked questions at the front desk, and they told me that it was likely Woody would play again this week, and it was unlikely it would be the weekend. Other than that, they couldn´t say when he´d be there, because it was often late notice. I looked in at the Cafe Vienes, where it would all go down, and it was pure luxury. If there was a flat surface without a bottle of champagne adorning it, I think it must have been oversight. So, if all else failed, I knew where to see Woody in concert, if I had the patience, which goes without saying.

We paused to appreciate La Sagrada Familia from the outside on our way to Torre Agbar, the location of production headquarters. La Sagrada Familia is an unfinished cathedral designed by Antoni Gaudi, famous and unforgettable because of its tall, slanting spires. On close inspection, there´s a lot more to it than its distinctive overall shape. The surface is covered with fantastic sculpture in many competing yet strangely complementary styles. One of the first things I noticed were colorful fruit shapes on the tops of some towers, like the Trix rabbit has just hopped through and transformed the boring old world into cereal wonderland. Churches should have raspberries on them. I dón´t know why nobody thought of that before. And a lovely, traditional, realistic sculpture of the nativity, which dominates the front of the building, is capped by a giant pine tree that isn´t stone grey, but green. Around the back, where the Passion is the theme, the sculpture is more modern and stylized. I noticed Christ on the corss wasn´t given his usual swaddling underwear, which I thought better captured the shame of crucifixion.

Torre Agbar is a sky scraper of moderate proportions, but the top of it is competely rounded, which is an interesting variation from your typical sharp edges or spires. Carl thought it was easier to appreciate the volume, in this case the immense volume, of a rounded shape. I had also seen this building from a distance at night, when the entire exterior is lit up in a mixture of blue and red. I believe the bottom was nearly entirely red, and the top nearly all blue, and the two colors clashed in a jagged line in the middle, although I could be mistaken about what color was on top. From up close, I learned that the color effect wasn´t achieved with blue or red lights, but rather by shining bright white lights onto the painted surface of the building. And the building was covered with panes of glass all extending out at the same slight angle, like scales on a fish. The panes were like windows that open on the bottom and swing out and up, but their purpose, I gather, was just to reflect light. The real windows would have been fouund just beneath. I counted entrances: one main front door, and a below ground parking structure, where Woody´s driver could drop him off without any interference from the likes of me. I went in the front door and drifted through the lobby, with one security guard watching me. I would have whistled an innocent tune if I knew how. I had to settle for folding my hands behind my back and looking dreamily skyward. I watched as someone looking not-so-very important approached the gates separating the lobby from the elevators, and had the gates open automatically in front of him. I adjusted my undercover persona from ¨ innocent¨to ¨on important business¨ and I approached the gates, which didn´t budge. I guess there must have been some electronic key card you keep in your pocket or something. I left Toree Agbar feeling like I could get around the gate and the guard if I needed to, but not sure what use it would be. If I had to evade security to do it, I´d better face facts, I was making myself and nuisance and an ass.

We moved on to Hotel Arts, and I went in and sleuthed to the best of my ability. The realization that sleuthing was kind of creepy and unbeffiting my respect for the man was slow dawning, I´m sorry to admit. I rode elevators in the building and gained access to the upper floors by nefarious means, but I realized after I left, and I stated it on the record to Johnny and Carl, that I didn´t like the way I felt and I had no desire or intention to intrude on Woody´s privacy.

I decided to buy a ticket at Hotel Casa Fuster and repeat as necessary, until Woody played with the band. Johnny decided to move on to Malaga. Carl decided nothing. 2 nights in a row, we had commuted outside the city at night to split a 37 Euro hotel room three ways. That put us on a train back in to Barcelona on the morning of the 17th. Johnny was going to get off at the main train station and make arrangements to ride on to Malaga. I thought I´d also get off there, bid Johnny farewell, and take the metro to Casa Fuster to buy a ticket, with or without Carl. I wasn´t entirely sure I wanted Carl with me, because he had recented started babbling incoherently about asking Woody Allen for a job, and I didn´t want his spur of the moment, long shot fantasy interfering with my own dear, premeditated fantasy, which was becoming ever more realistic. I was hoping for the chance to ask my hero for a minute of his time and an autograph. Carl was trying to ask a famous stranger for a high paying termporary job. It didn´t sit well with me, but I think I would have had to yell to rattle Carl out of his oblivion, and it wouldn´t be much like me to do that. Nevertheless, when our train made a stop in Barcelona prior to the main train station, and I realized that the stop was within walking distance of Casa Fuster, I told Johnny ¨I think I´ll get off here. Bye. Take care, man.¨ I kind of knew I was changing plans too fast for Carl to keep up, but I asked him anyway ¨are you going with me or staying with Johnny?¨ Carl said he had ¨no idea¨, and he didn´t get an idea before the metro doors shut behind me. Now it was just the two of us: me and my mission.

I bought a ticket to the show that night and arrived early. The hotel staff showed me to a seat off to the side, next to the bar, and I wasn´t really happy with where they put me at first. I felt a little disrespected. But it happened that the bar was where Eddy and Conal stood to hang out before the concert, after, and during intermission. I recognized Eddy, the banjo player, kind of the front man, from the promotional cards the hotel printed, and there he was, standing right in front of me. I was eavesdropping on his conversation, just like I would with anybody standing close to me. I downed my complimentary flute of champagne, and I think that might have been the catalyst for my decision to stand up and talk to him. He was already talking to 2 other people, one of whom was Fowkes, but I didn´t recognize him, and the other I thought might be a lady friend. I said ¨sorry to intrude, but would you be offended if I asked you about Woody Allen?¨ And he said ¨I guess that depends on what you ask.¨ I kind of remembered from the documentary ¨Wild Man Blues¨ that Woody´s fame tends to unfairly overshadow the incredible musicianship of the other members of the band. That´s what I meant by ¨would you be offended?¨ and by the way he treated me the whole night, I think he might have understood what I meant and appreciated it. I talked to them for a while, and they asked me questions, and seemed to care where I´m from and what I´m doing. Eddy is from Lafayette, IN, so we had that. And what meant the most to me, and finally got rid of me and put me back in my seat, was when Eddy told me he´d get me in on a night Woody is playing.

The music was amazing. I brought my journal and thought I´d get some stuff done while I had pleasant background music. But when they started playing, I snapped the journal shut and paid attention. I couldn´t afford to miss a note or a word. I reopened the journal periodically just to record a song title or memorable phrase or to try to define Davis or Fowkes. The best songs for me were the slow ones. The old standards that rhyme perfectly and often and get love exactly right. ¨My house of cards had no foundation...Castle of sand has crumbled...I still am hers, body and soul.¨ She doesn´t want your body anymore, dude. But that´s what makes it so painful. The songs brought buried memories up, and I cried, but it was half out of joy and gratitude that I even knew what those old ballads are talking about. I felt lucky, even while I currently lack what I know I need to be truly happy. That´s the best kind of pensiveness. I also thought of Carl several times during the show. I wasn´t quite ready to share Woody with him, but would have been great to share this music with him. I know how much Carl appreciates good, live music, and music in general.

--All this before intermission. At intermission, Eddy and Conal came over to the bar again to take some sips of water and relax. A few minutes earlier, a woman from the audience had called out a request for the guys to ¨play something nice, and my friend will dance in front.¨ Eddy had quieted her with the ad-lib ¨oh my, is that the queen out there? I´m sorry, I didn´t recognize you.¨ And he said ¨what are you implying, that the songs we´ve already played weren´t nice?¨ She came over to talk to Eddy, and I thought ¨oh, that´s good that she wanted to apologize.¨ But what she really wanted to do was talk incessantly and give Eddy a pain in his ass during his break. But it worked out pretty well for me, because I was the guy closest for Eddy to turn to with looks of astonishment and frustration. And I shot him back plenty of looks of commiseration. After the woman went away, I sent Eddy back on stage with the reassurance ¨don´t worry about it. You guys are kicking ass¨. And then the lazy Tuesday night crowd didn´t welcome the performers back on stage with applause. It was just me clapping, so I clapped about 4 or 5 times, and then just shrugged and kind of waved at Conal, who gave me an appreciative smile. I was glad of that, because I felt like I had some ground to make up after failing to recognize him. After the rest of the show, I thanked the guys for a great performance, shook their hands, and let them know they could expect me tomorrow.

I was alone in Barcelona, but I felt like my life had some order and direction. In the morning, or at least as early as I could get around to it, it was head to Casa Fuster and buy a ticket for the same night´s show. Then spend the day writing, as long as I could remember not to put myself in a place where I´ll be distracted (for instance, where beautiful women disrobe and apply lotion). Attend concert from 8:30 to 11:30 p.m. Sleep somewhere. I was just about to commence phase 3 for the second day when I saw Carl. That took a little bit of the order out of my life, but I wasn´t all that sad to see it go. It´s easy, all too easy, to have order when you´re alone. I was genuinely glad to see Carl. I was half inclined to send him an e-mail and tell him to come back to Barcelona after I heard what Eddy and Conal were layin´down. But Carl never actually left. When he got to the train station, with Johnny, he decided to stay and he believed (because I was mistaken at first, too) that the first concert of the week was on the 18th. So here he was on the 18th, meeting me at the concert, the only place he was sure I would be. I told Carl about the show last night and about chatting with the band members. Carl told me in full detail for the first time about his desperate financial situation, and it helped me understand why he was clinging to such a blatant pipe dream.

I was glad the show was great again, because Carl spent money on it that he didn´t really have. But he really enjoyed it, as did I, apart from its value as an investment in meeting Woody Allen. Carl opened his notebook and wrote down some of the same song titles, and even the same exact lyrics, that I had jotted 24 hours earlier. And Eddy and Conal did me a big favor and made me look cool in front of my friend when they pointed at me and smiled while receiving their due applause, and said ¨hey, he´s back!¨ And it was just nice that they remembered me. After the second show, I again approached the performers and thanked them and extended my hand, but before Carl could do the same, Eddy and Conal got busy talking to other people. Now, I was just intending to demonstrate to Eddy and Conal by my actions how much I was enjoying their music and how serious I was about seeing Woody, i.e. I was going to keep showing up and clapping like mad and shaking their hands. I kind of felt like additional schmoozing would be instrusive and presumptuous and maybe manipulative. So, after having said my words of thanks, I was ready to leave and do it again tomorrow. Carl was set on staying, though, and telling both men at length how their concert had turned his life around. I guess Carl and I just have different thresholds of tolerance for awkwardness. My tolerance for awkwardness is probably too low, and Carl´s is very high. But I´m not in a position to say ¨too¨high this time, because standing our ground, and waiting for a very long time to talk to the guys some more worked out really well. We met Eddy´s girlfriend, Ruth, and Conal´s mom. And Conal finally said ¨well, do you guys need to be rushing off (clearly not) or can you stay and have some champagne?¨, which was really kind and generous of him. We stayed, and we made friendly, playful conversation with friends and bandmates of Woody Allen, and we toasted Conal´s 40th birthday, which the hotel staff had interrupted the concert earlier to announce and celebrate. It was just a really nice time and it was an honor to be included. Eddy told stories about Woody. Somebody pinch me.

On the 19th, I did not buy a ticket in advance, beause I was a lot more certain that I could depend on the band members to help me get in if Woody was playing, and I also wasn´t sure if I should keep spending money every day if Woody wasn´t going to be there--I´m not exactly made of the stuff, either. Plus, Carl wouldn´t be attending unless Woody was there, due to financial limitations, and I didn´t really want tot leave him on the outside looking in, with those puppy dog eyes. So we just stopped by Casa Fuster a little before showtime to look for indicators of Allen´s presence. We actually sat down to have a snack across the street from the hotel, and I went over on my own to look around. When I looked at the stage in the cafe, there was a 3rd chair up there, which sent electricity down my spine. I promptly approached the ticket table, and when they confirmed that Woody was going to play tonight, I asked for two 25 Euro tickets, and got shot down. I was told ¨I´m sorry, we´re sold out tonight.¨ Ooh, well, okay, no problem, wild card: ¨oh, I´ve seen the show a couple of times, and Eddy and Conal told me that they´d be sure to get me in on a night that Woody´s playing. Would you mind speaking to them for me?¨ I was getting fairly comfortable taking advantage of 5 star service after buying tickets two consecutive days, and checking my bag and enjoying the concert two consecutive nights, and being thoroughly coated with politeness the whole time. The second day I came in to buy my ticket, I even took a perfect apple out of the bowl ont he reception desk and casually took a bite as I left. The girl at the ticket table went in and spoke to Conal, and then she came back and said ¨all right, just go over to the other desk, no problem¨. But when I went over to the other desk, I was surprised to hear again ¨I´m sorry, we´re sold out of the 25 Euro tickets. We do have some left at the 94 Euro price¨. Okay you bastards, one more time, from the top: ¨I can´t afford that. I know the guys in the band, and they told me they´d get me in, even if it was sold out. I´d like to pay 25 Euros, like I have the past two nights (when you all were far more courteous and helpful)¨. When I heard again ¨I´m sorry, no¨, I had to get more forceful. ¨You don´t understand, the lady already went in and talked to Conal and then came back and said it was all right.¨ They tried to call the girl who had helped me the first time, but they got the wrong person, and the girl who came over to handle me now was under the impression that she was somebody very important. When I wouldn´t take ¨no¨for an answer from her, either, she started fuming and looking at me with real hatred, which only got me more worked up. She tried to tell me ¨you need to walk over to the other desk and check again, because we´re sold out¨. I retorted, authoritatively, ¨I was already over there right before they sent me here. You need to go over there (accompanied by the finger motion for walking) and then come back here and tell the people over here that everything is cool, like I was told just a minute ago¨. She was really pretty, but in a snobby way, and it was a thrill to have her hate me so. Anyway, we finally got in, thanks to Conal, on two specially imported chairs in the back, but the view of the stage was straight on. Woody sat on stage with the other guys, without fanfare, and they started playing. The first few songs there were a lot of flashbulbs going off and it didn´t seem like anyone except the performers was paying attention to the music. It annoyed me and it must have annoyed the musicians. Woody left some doubt in my mind after 2 songs whether he could really keep up with Conal and Eddy, but left no doubt after 4 or 5 songs. He was seriously blowing some hot stuff up there, with his knees bouncing, body swaying, and eyes closed. Woody decided which tunes they´d play by faintly running through the melody on his own. It was painful watching Eddy and Conal crane their necks and squint trying to pick up on Woody´s hint, because it was always very faint, but often very brief as well. Eddy confirmed after the concert: ¨Yeah, it´s damn near impossible to tell what he wants us to play.¨ The three of them played for 3 hours non-stop, with Woody always coming up with one more tune, until at last he pulled on his hat, which I understood meant he´d be making his getaway soon. I had my pen clicked and my book in hand, and Woody walked right past me on his way out, but the crowd was pressing in and Woody didn´t look comfortable, so I didn´t try for the autograph. I said ¨good set, Woody¨, which I´m sure would have made him remember me forever if only he had heard it. But, at least I wasn´t the woman tugging on his sleeve and rubbing his back, trying to get cured of leprosy.

Carl and I hung out with Eddy and Conal and their friends and family again after the show. They were starting to feel kind of like friends now, which I mean as a tribute to their tolerance and kindness. I think Carl was hoping that Woody would be hanging out after the show, too, and I myself didn´t really know how far-fetched that idea was until during the show, when I saw the flashing cameras and people competing to get close. He´s got about as much worldwide fame as anybody. I couldn´t be disappointed, though. I didn´t have an autograph, but I had three days of palling around and chatting with Woody´s personal friends, listening to insider stories. And, only by the pianist´s special intervention, I got to be in the room while Woody left his heart on the stage playing the music he loves. As I said my thanks and goodbyes after that amazing night for me, Conal threw out ¨hey, if you´re in town a couple more days, call the hotel, and we´ll have coffee or something.¨ What a guy.

Carl and I left the hotel and walked toward the Arc de Triumph, where we´d slept last night without incident. Carl was a little disappointed because of course he wasn´t employed, but he could also see the bright side, and he knew he´d see it even more clearly after some time had passed. Meanwhile, I was focused so much on the bright side that I couldn´t see an easy way to make things even better until I woke up the next morning. Sometimes I wake up and just know things, and the morning of the 20th I woke up knowing I could get my book signed. I was sure either Eddy or Conal wouldn´t mind asking Woody to sign it next time they saw him. All I really had to do was ask one of them, and then maybe buy a box at the post office and address it to myself to make things easy. It wasn´t quite the same as asking Woody myself, but it would still mean an awful lot to me. So I bought a box, called Conal, and asked him if he´d be willing. I had intended to take him up on his offer to have coffee, anyways. He said yes, he´d try, and we also set a time to meet.

Carl would have enjoyed having coffee with Conal, but he was also feeling pressure to go ahead to Malaga and start looking for work. I came down in favor of him going to Malaga, and I think that tipped the scales. He went. Conal and I had our coffee from 11:30 to 1:00 on the 21st, at which time he tipped me off that Woody was coming to Casa >Fuster for a practice session at 3:00 p.m. He invited me to hang on to my book a little longer and give it a try myself, and added that he´d still help me out if that didn´t work. That was exactly what I wanted to hear.

I took the best seat in the house, front and center, at about 2:10, and there was no one around to begrudge me for it. thee was only one other small group of people in the whole cafe, and they were just there to see how inefficiently their vast store of money could be used to buy refreshments. I ordered a 12 Euro whisky sour as my ticket to stay, and I only nursed it down about a half inch by the time Woody showed up at 3:00. Conal was at the piano in jeans, Eddy had on shorts and sandals. Woody was in about the same clothes as at the show on Thursday, khaki paints cinched snug with a belt and white dress shirt with the top button open, but his demeanor was much more casual. He was 10 or 15 feet from me, in a chair facing mine almost directly, and he was taking his clarinet out of the case and screwing it together. He looked around the room, which I didn´t catch him doing even once during Thurday´s show, and his eyes rested on me for a while. I found myself nodding slightly and smiling, the way I do at pretty girls. And then I remembered it confuses them too, and I thought ¨oh God, what am I doing?¨

The band played well, but this was practice, with all its mistakes and pauses and talking back and forth, which made it even better for me. I was close enough to hear when someone thought the tempo wasn´t right or didn´t know how many times a certain phrase repeated. I had enjoyed the show before, but this felt like privileged access, and they played for just as long, maybe longer, and just as soulfully. The crowd grew larger as time went on. People trickled in, probably mostly by coincidence or accident, but nobody trickled out once they were in. I started to get concerned that it might become like Thursday night, when the crowd was too big and too eager for Woody to comfortably dally after the show. Eddy had told me, with firsthand certainty, that Woody doesn´t mind giving an autograph or two, but he doesn´t like to get stuck in an endless cycle of signing, which is what can happen if he gives even one autograph in an excited crowd. Woody opened his clarinet case before the last song, which cued me to get my book and pen ready. When the song ended, he started taking apart his instrument and cleaning it. I wanted to give him time to pack up, I didn´t want to stress him out or rush him while his hands were full, but I also wanted to beat the crowd, if there was going to be madness. A man in a white suit and matching hat (in my opinion, jumping the gun a little bit) approached first, with ¨Woody, I just want to let you know that you´ve made my 65th birthday very special...¨ That seems to be the standard reason for approaching a celebrity. Everybody ¨just wants to let him know¨ something. He can´t possibly know all the things people want him to know. How long is he supposed to know that for? What exactly is he supposed to do with that knowledge? When that guy went forward, I could hear people getting out of their seats behind me, so I couldn´t wait any longer. I got near Woody at about the same time as 5 other people, but I was standing right in front of him. Eddy, always protective, said loudly ¨all right, let´s not get too close now.¨ And that left an opening of silence for me to say, calmly, ¨Mr. Allen? Do you think you could sign my book before you go?¨ He took it from me, and as he looked for the title page, he said ¨oh, this is my old book. I have a new one that just came out.¨ I said ¨oh, yeah, I know.¨ He signed and handed me back the book and pen. I said ¨thank you very much, sir¨and returned to my table to sit back and watch, totally satisfied. I was happy with the voice I´d projected: sincere, yet sane. Conal´s mom asked me if I had any luck, then congratulated me. Woody didn´t seem to be in a hurry to leave, despite the fact that the crowd had become much bolder since he consented to sign my book. He stood still while people swapped positions next to him to be in photos with him.

My mission was accomplished as soon as Woody Allen´s signature was safely, permanently in the pages of my book. The spell that held me in Barcelona was broken instantly, and I was ready for Malaga. Carl had been there the other night to suppress my instinct to run when things get awkward, but I have a similar instinct to run when I´m extremely happy, which Conal and Eddy helped me hold in check this time. I approached them, while Woody was still in the room, to say ¨thanks¨and ¨good-bye¨and run off into the streets, high as a kite. But Conal told me ¨whoa, ahng on a minute¨, and Eddy turned to Woody and said ¨hey, this young man wants to get in to film (he was confusing my story with Carl´s). He knows all your movies (all me).¨ Woody smiled a little bit and his eyes twinkled. He said ¨oh yeah? Let me tell you something, I´m what not to do.¨ And I think he repeated it to make sure I heard, because I was just about in a trance.

His eyes twinkled, like they do when he´s about to be witty. He said the same thing twice, in his nervous way. He toook the time to say something mildly clever and meaningful, to me. Now Conal thought I was ready to be released into society, completely delirious with happiness.

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