Robbie's Log 13 Tethymno, Crete, Greece. Octoner 12, 2007
12 october 2007
Robbie's Blog. Vol.2 episode 2
Azart Tour of the Cyclades
It's 12 o-clock midnight, the witching hour, going onto the 12-th October; the holy day of Our Lady the Virgin Pilar, the National Day of Spanishness. Fortunately, or not, we are not in that country but sailing our very last voyage of the summer in the Cyclades, Greece. Taurus reigns on our East, the Pleiades above, and Orion rising below. All visible tonight as there is no moon. I continue my chronicle, begun one month ago.
Having been so heartily received by the Greeks in Irakleion, Crete, we set sail, over a month ago, for Syros, one of the northernmost islands of the Cyclades. There we were able to perform our summer show, The Canterbury Tales, for the last time outside. We were received as enthusiastically there as in Crete and played for two weeks. It being the end of summer, however, the wind came up and one hour before the penultimate show, after a hasty meeting on deck in a gale force 7 wind, we decided to postpone the show 2 hours and perform it inside on our little stage. No mean feat, considering that the outside show consists of many large props on wheels, which don't fit inside, and all the lights and sound equipment had to be transferred, hung and set and above all the fact that the inside of the ship, where we have not had to receive an audience for over 5 months was a chaos, stuffed from floor to ceiling, corner to corner with the natural effluence and detritus of 12 artists having lived there all summer. The miracle was accomplished. Within 2 hours the lights were hanging, the room cleaned, the hurriedly improvised entrances and exits rehearsed, the musicians, Ann+Ant set up in the kitchen and the cats, Pasito and Morretti, exiled to the room of Henry IV. They escaped. The audience came. We squashed all 50 of them in and the show was a success. Above all for us as we had proved to ourselves that the show is possible inside for the winter. The next day we performed twice in one night and partied in the old Azart style till 7 the next morning.
And so began a well-earned holiday. Nothing to do on a Greek island. What could be more idyllic? Only the Violent, our beautiful assistant, got violently ill with swollen anginas and a fever of 40 degrees for 2 days. Nothing to do but deliver her to the hospital, where she was immediately put on an intra-veinous cocktail of no less than 3 antibiotics. Four days in a hospital bed with only a 95 yr old yaya (granny) who "sang" all night, as company. Also the usual uneatable food, served in a grey toilet seat-looking tray, and they don't even speak Catalan. Oh well, we all went to visit her, along with her new Greek boyfriend, Adonis, and Alexander the great water-bearer. (He provides the island with water and to us every for free. Only it was undrinkable but al least my plants were happy.) At the same time, the Queen Bee of Valencia and Concha had to go to Barcelona, via Athens, but could not, due to a second gale force 7 wind preventing all ferries from leaving the island. No problem in the end as the aero plane tickets had been booked one day too early and they had already missed their flight. All turned out fine, the wind died down and they left, followed a few days later by Victory and Captain Ears. There was an international symposium of alternative theatre in Athens, which they all wished to attend. And then there were 5 left on the ship and boredom set in. Violent was released from hospital, Ann and Ant played music on the street, Henry IV edited his movies, I embroidered beads, and we all went to the bar, every night. (Well we didn’t have to pay!) I did however work on my on-coming winter show by recording the voice of 11 yr old Stratis, cartoonist and son of Beatrix from Holland, married to a local, and famous for her heart-shaped cakes.. All this in the house of Clergos who lives in a colourful, hobbit-like cottage on the Catholic hill overlooking the harbour, the ship and the far away island of Mikonos. Ann could be heard everyday from the steerhut rehearsing her newly acquired lyre. All except Concha returned from Athens. The symposium was a success, thanks to Victory's talent in oration, the Queen Bee's talent at listening to orations and the Captain's ears. Together with the films of Henry IV, we were famous and we left Syros waved off by our newly-made friends.
SE to Paros, which town is very pretty, very clean and so quiet that we left the next day. Due East to Naxos, the birthplace of Dionysus and the island where Theseus dumped Ariadne, after she had helped him kill the Minotaur of Knossos and escape the labyrinth with her gift of a red thread. That's a man's gratitude for you. She was however "consoled" by the aforementioned god of wine and ecstasy. It is also the island famous for its marble and ancient sculptors who provided statues for the Oracle of Delphi and the nearby island of Delos, sacred to Apollo, the massive door of whose temple still stands guard over the harbour. Three days later, SSE to Ios, the island famous for being one of the 7 places where Homer died. Very quiet and we left. SSW to Thira, also known as Santorini, otherwise known as Atlantis. This because it is the crater of a volcano that exploded 1450-something BC, destroying its own civilization and sending out a tsunami in all directions that contributed to the end of the Minoan culture of Knossos. This large crescent-shaped island with it cliff-top cities and islets of solidified magma proved to be an impressive and imposing end to our tour of the Cyclades and in fact of the summer. This last is true as tonight is the first night that I have put on a jersey. In 4 hours we dock at Rethymno, Crete, our homeport for the winter and where I shall celebrate my 5-th year of birth in 10 days. Coming?
Robblog signing off, and remember that all names have been changed to protect innocent people involved, innocence being the only thing that the guilty have enough of to sell and the innocent enough money to buy.
Robbie's Log 12 Hermoupolis, Syros, Greece. September 24, 2007
Robbie's Blog. Vol.2 episode 1. Summer 2007 in Summary
After a silence of many months, (every chronicler, after all, needs his sabbatical to retreat and reflect) R+Blog is back on the the cyber waves to keep you informed of the Ship of Fools' adventures in the only respectable language of international communication: English. Thanks to all my old and trusty fans, who have been clogging up Captain Ears' Email files, asking, pleading and demanding news in an understandable language. (No offence intended to the Dutch). So I shall sit down and attempt to entertain with a short version of this year's summer tour.
One night, midwinter, Tarragona (Catalunya), Victory, formerly known as Little Inca, our Great Director, sat me down and announced he wanted to do a medieval tour. "Yes!" I said, knowing our origins in the early 90's; "But" he added, he would not act but direct. "Oh dear!" I thought. After all, he is our Big Star. "But" said he, "We have other new Big Stars: The Queen Bee of Valencia and Concha, Soap Opera Hero of Chile". They had already collaborated with us in Tarragona in our winter Theatre Season in a performance called, "Shipwrecked in the Attraction Park" or "The Toothbrush" by its original Chilean name. This proved a great success and they wanted to join us for the summer tour. Our old comrade-actress, Mercy; high-flyer, trapeze artist and clown, could not join us because of her responsibilities as mother with the added complication of having fallen in love with a Dutch Edam Cheese on the Azart Love Boat. So we had to find another. Enter Iri Pajarito. He walks on his hands, is a clown and acrobat and loves sailing. We were set, what with the Fratelli, Ann and Ant; musicians and above all composers, we created the Canterbury Tales. Very bawdy, raunchy and certainly Medieval, it being the first book published in English.
And so we set sail from Palamos, Northern Catalunya, in May, having premiered there with the abovementioned stars, myself and Captain Ears included. Also on board was Mars, the Light Guru; Helen of Troy and Violenta as Beautiful Assistants; and Henry the Fourth: Part One posing as video geek (the last mentioned will have been providing you regular foolish cyber surfers with up-to-date films of our naval goings-on on the web.) Off we went to Mataro- boring! Nobody came. Then YES! Barcelona finally let us in and even gave us a central position in the harbour but forbade us to build our tribune. One week became two became three became four. We made MONEY! And we spent it (did you see our vodka film?). Penniless, we headed for Marettimo, Sicily. No tribune allowed but audience enough for one night. (That was the entire population of the island). Off to Mazzara del Vallo: tribune tolerated but no audience; (they were more interested in the march of the virgins and the fair selling the latest in potato peelers, I love Sicily!) Off to Pantelleria, our friends of last year. A strange tribune allowed but lukewarm public. We did however take on board two pussycats; the babies of Mercy's Espuma, Baileys and Murpheys, having been stolen in Spain. We needed cats. After all you need someone to hunt the cockroaches and mice around in these parts. Enter Moretti and Pasito. Off to Malta, where the show having moved from Spanish to Italian now had to be in English. Yoopee! For me! Finally I had my revenge on my fellow Spanish actors who now themselves had to perform in a strange language: English! Tribune allowed but few public. The National Theatre Festival of Malta that had hosted us last year "had no money!" They would not help us with publicity hence the obvious result. If you have seen Henry IV Part One's video, you would have seen how far Birgu, where we performed under the imposing walls of the Fort St Angelo was from Valletta, the capital. At least one-hour bus ride away. Off to Pozzallo, Sicily, homeport of Ant, our guitarist and mandolin maestro, and so Uno Grando Pranzo in the house of Lina and Gianni, parents of the aforementioned Ant. We stuffed ourselves on "Anelletti alla Palermitana", "Arrosto co Cosavaddu", Vino and Coca Cola. His beautiful sister and brothers were there; in fatti, tutta la fanilia e amici: DELICIOUS! Off to Taranto, South Italy, a beautiful ruined island city, where we met Giovanni the Story Teller: il Cantostoria, who gave us free range to pillage an old abandoned theatre. The fools came home with bags of moth-eaten, miffy-smelling stuff. Everything is appreciated here on this ship of recycling. The tribune was allowed there, a press-conference arranged in the offices of the port authority and so the public came but only for two nights. Off to Monopoli but we ended up in Bari. No tribune. No show. No public. No money. And we were kilometers from the supermarket.
"We have to leave Italy, August!" we screamed, and we did. Off to Irakleion, Crete. Tribune allowed. Press conference organized. Publicity in Irakleion Arts Festival Program and the public came. En masse! We were finally a success especially as we actors all had to speak Greek. "Mia fora kienan kero". "Once upon a time" the Ship of Fools realized their new destination. Greece is our future. Greece loves theatre. Greece is bored with Classic Greek Drama. Greece loves comedy. Greece welcomes the Ship of Fools.
"We are staying!" we said firmly to our dear Captain Ears. "We don't want to go to Istanbul now. We are tired and famous here!" and Captain Ears listened.
Only one problem. Yours truely, me myself and I: "R+Blog" has invited you from all over the world to celebrate my 50-th birthday here on the ship on the 22nd Oct. (Everybody sees Abraham one day) and I am most worried that they are heading for the Golden Horn and not the Cyclades. "COME TO MY PARTY, everyone else is, BUT COME HERE!" We will perform our Canterbury Tales inside the ship on Saturday the 20-th especially for you. More news of Greece in my next blog.
R+Blog signing off. Roger, over and out. Ps. All names are changed to protect innocent people involved. Innocent???
Robbie's Log 11 Barcelona, 16 April, 2006
And so another event in the House of Herbs, Barcelona. This time a cabaret starring us four permanent fools and the visiting Irina La Loca and Rodo. The "shower scene" there is getting maximum usage with both guest arists using this aquarium-like public space. El Pequeno presented a gay scene with Carlos I as Lorca, himself as the priest. La Loca was the mother and I, a casual fling on the train. La Loca then introduced us to Ken, and very well-hung he was and Bee danced with her mop. I directed another Charms story, though rather uninspired due to a badly timed attack of the flu. The audience, however, did not seem to notice and were well entertained by our, for them, new and bizarre style of theatre. Futher on in the evening Casper the Friendly Ghost and Maori played us their most recent compositions and the public danced and drank themselves silly. Quite silly. Its Easter holidays here and the locals take the concept of holiday rather serious.
El Pequeno started his new job selling ice-cream at Bellarmino's the following day so we all went along to molest him. Kitkat is visiting us from AzartPlein as well as La Loca and her two monsterlings. Crepes and ice-creams for all on the house.
Its back to painting the ship for me. I kind of like it though I still have at least 80m of zebra stripes to go. I always seem to design myself into these exaggerated labor-intensive tasks. I guess it's just the little African inside me. The garden gets more colorful by the day. The dead geranium suddenly sprang to life and the aloe's candelabra flower is nearly a meter tall already. The ugly plant that Captain Ears ripped out of the mountain in Al Hacienda for my birthday present turned out to be green beans!!! Vodka the Cat is rather pissed off as we have Espuma visiting for two weeks. She's Mercy's longhaired virginal white cat, but not so white anymore in more ways than one. It seems she's on heat and Mercy is in Edam.
For those in Amsterdam who might be interested La Loca has La Nave dei Folli fashion on sale there. You can phone her on 06-14377439 business hours only. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 10 Barcelona, 25 March, 2006
Survival is a day-by-day journey for the fools and their friends. Another fashion show last Saturday, our third, and this time in the House of Herbs, in Barrio Gracia. The height of the ceiling there allowed me finally to have Mercy fly above the public in her summer bermudas and t-shirt, while underneath An and An played violin and guitar in frock jackets and trousers while Christine Catania walked on her hands in hand painted shorts and Azart t-shirt and Diego Valero juggled in jacket and trousers. Two rain ponchos were taking a shower, conveniently situated on the catwalk. Further shows, one including a walking exhibition of paintings by Maria Isabella de la Molina. A good party but not enough selling. Oh well, we shall not be daunted. The House of Herbs proved to be a good venue for further cultural events. The most important upcoming event is the Cabaret we propose to present to hopefully coincide with the visits of Rodo and Irina la Loca. Working with Mercy and a new actress we intend to commence with the ideas for the new summer show. I am, with Captain Ears, investigating the true stories of real fools, extrapolated from a book about the urban legends of the eccentrics of Palermo. The real characters that populate and molest every street of every city in the world. We shall see.
However the fools are not to be stopped. Together with Caspar the Friendly Ghost and Chris el Gaucho, Captain Ears has nearly finished derusting and repainting the main deck, while I have painted my garden villa in Ndebele style (Ndebele-South Africa-Google). Now I am continuing the pattern onto the back of the steer hut. Viva Africa! Where is the great painter Firenza? The garden on the back deck is smiling itself into Spring with already five different flowers blooming and new herbs taking their winter trousers off. The ship is starting to look very good. Ship shape and cool! But theirs still more important things to do. The motor which needs a new turnout to prevent those moments adrift with which we were plagued on our last voyages and the big show here in Barcelona to earn the money we need to be able to leave. Especially as to buying diesel and other necessities. It seems likely that Barcelona wont give the permissions, which we need to put up the tribune etc. This forebodes problems for our near future but more on this next time.
In the meantime we are famous. Last Friday we were on television. A nearly 20 minute documentary on the ship on Catalan TV. Everybody was in the show. Pattie and Rodo and Pato Paris. Fashion show, theatre, archives and the motor. And Captain Ears putting on his clogs. Famous but penniless. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 9 Barcelona, 1 March, 2006
Dear Azartplein! i.e. Jack, Daddy & Mamma, Anna, Gabriel, Sook, Geert, Hanneke, Sook, Kika, Chris, Patricia, Jan Gladpootjes, Vyvyan, Bert, Fleximac, Black Marc, Mien, Jan Thomas, Melle, Niels, Steen, Els, Rado, Yuri, Caragillo, Cooli etc. etc. and Irina etc. too! Here in Barcelona, finally good weather again, which means less wind and rain and a bit more sun. Today is the Azart Birthday Party 17 Years. We’re still quiet content here in our little corner of the harbour and the Barcelona branch of the Azart Family is growing with every function we have. We have just finished our second run of the "One Hour of Death"-show, based on our three favourite Kharms pieces. The beautiful stockings, done in Amsterdam by Anna Montana and me, now by Mercedes and August, Victor stayed as the plumber. Also the 5 unfinished narratives of the philosophers by Victor and I and finally my solo of death by mashed peas in Spanish with the voice of 7-year old Dario, Merce's son. Full house every night for 8 nights. Not bad, hey? And they all paid entrance. Fashion shows are a bit harder to get across, as the public comes but does not buy as readily as in Amsterdam. The problems is, they want FIESTA, which firstly we're not too interested to do, especially through lack of enough Azart Family to help guard against sure disasters and secondly, our position in the harbour here is too fragile too allow for these illegal activities. Next fashion show is in the house of Herbert, Victors good friend and Irina s and Merce's ex. We shall see. Tonight s party is a 'private affair' and we hope no problem. Besides it's Tuesday night.
We hear rumours that Artimobiel is considering coming over and find this fantastic but we must stay in contact as to our future summer tour plans. When? August has just recently gone to Sicily and met up with our old aristocratic agent Donatella there to organize. All is possible but contracts must be finalized before we know that we can go. It seems the man in charge just entered the hospital for a heart attack. Are we to blame? Also there's a enough work to be done on the ship and especially the motor. Two weeks ago we sailed out of the harbour on a Sunday afternoon for a filming action for us and the national Catalan and French TV, but no sooner being out of the harbour all our cooling systems kind of collapsed, leaving us adrift in the mouth of the harbour with two ferries arriving within half an hour. All the usual Azart panic on board but this time we invited motor mechanics and captain of the 'Fura del Baus' ship, our friends next to whom we're moored. You ll have to wait to see the movie for the full story, but it was decidedly exciting what with entering the harbour having to crash into the wall there, wait for the motor to cool and then with the help of a friendly tug boat make it back to our mooring with only the ship and our ego's somewhat dented. The next day they discovered that some valve was blocked which should not be and the problem not as grave as was suspected. Our friendly mechanics however advise us to have a serious overhaul of the system before sailing over the Mediterrean. August starts to work on the deck this week to derust and repaint with Gaspar and Christian. To pay this we need a few more parties, this is why we need the parties, which is why we hope the work in Herberts house too.
Anyway, we need you all to know that we miss you all and that with or without Artimobiel the Grand Hotel Azart always has rooms vacant and a holiday to Barcelona should therefore not cost much at all. Hope to see you all. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 8 Barcelona, 6 February, 2006
Dear Pijnappel. How are you? It seems to be very cold in Holland. Here the sun shines every morning although the wind can be chilly. Often I need my winter djeleba to enjoy my coffee in the morning sun while sewing my beads. Sometimes it rains, good for my garden. Wish you were here.
The last three weeks I've been very busy preparing our winter theatre season called "Una Hora De Mort" (An Hour of Death) which I gleaned from my experiences of the "Friday Night Azart Cabaret Under The Waves", using the works of Daniil Kharms. He was a Russian writer who died a prisoner of Stalin in a mad house of Leningrad 65 years ago. If you recall we used a story of his last summer in Morocco viz: the businessman who kills the other, as done by Mercy and Bee. The reason behind it all for me was to do my solo of ten deaths with musical score by Caspar The Friendly Ghost. However, one week before, the meniscus of my knee once again decided to wander from its god-regulated position and caused me little pain but plenty stress. El Pequeno was ready to do my role but, using Carmen's Super Knee Protector I continued stalwart and all went well. Well? It seems the fools have the power to evoke other fools' manias. And so it was that a Russian, another one, entered on my stage during my Rodo painting scene and I was forced to expel him thereoff forcefully, whence he fell from the table and died.. well not quite. The next night, not daring to enter the ship, he plunged into the harbour, thus evoking a second character of my show who drowns in the lake. We saved him. And ten minutes later a Hungarian who unknowingly, through the votive candle of our ship's goddess, set his hair alight, requiring me to give him a few solid thumps on the cranium to put him out. No further damage down excepting my bleeding finger, result of the can of peas that would not open on stage and my table that fell from the ceiling while painting live on it.
With Mercy and Captain Ears we did the sexy stockings scene, el Pequeno played the plumber and he & I did the five discourses of the Philosophers. Isabella made the Harem Girls. We were full every night, in fact we had to refuse people and so are going to repeat it all. It seems we're getting our message across that we're not a bar but a theatre group, which message is still important for us ourselves to learn. We did however miss you sincerely as we filmed only one night of the event. Oh Oh! On the good side we made enough money to pay harbour duties, help el Pequeno's debts and Caspar towards a new-computer-sound-sampler-thing.
And so we continue for the 17th when we have the "Nave Dei Folli Fashion Show" and a week later "Una Hora de Mort" back by public demand. I'm working with Captain Ears on a new piece theoretically called Portrait of a City, based on the true life stories gathered by journalist Roberto Alajmo of crazies from Palermo. Oh dear Pijnappel. I do so need your ideas, especially on religion as this will play a role in the upcoming idea. But another thing. Wodka the cat misses you awfully. As you might have heard she's growing awfully large so as to be able to rename her Botero, for the statue of said sculptor on the Ramblas Raval. And we refuse her food but her latest caprice is to catch pigeons and other aviary creatures. But Oh! how she misses your dearest fondlings. We're not so sensually inclined as you. Heard you re working as a postman, well, how else would one get one's letters. Methinks it's a very fine occupation. And then your house burned down, oh dear! Hope your trip to Den Bosch was fruitful. Missing you and hope to see you seen in March, April..?? To be continued.
Robbie's Log 7 Barcelona, 18 January, 2006
The new year began with an alarming lassitude. First project of the year - squat the ice-cream shop Bellarmino and convert it into a fashion boutique for a week. No sooner said than done. Bellarmino moved his refrigerators to the side, we hid them all away with velvet curtains and after first hanging my Moroccon LizardLizard cloths we hung the clothes, added a large mirror, dressed up three dummies - et voila! La Nave Dei Folli Fashion Shop. It looked beautiful and could not have been better situated in the gothic heart of historic Barcelona, but we sold nothing. Not a bit surprising as it was the week after the celebration of the Coming of The Three Kings, a major festivity in Catalonia, more important then Christmas wherein everyone gets presents and after which all shoppers are out on strike, en masse. They refuse. They look at it. They love it. The dangle it from the hanger under their chin in front of the mirror but they refuse to buy it. Oh well! Another futile lesson in the art of timing. It took half an hour to break down and to restore the ice-cream shop to its natural state. Let them eat crepes. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 6 Barcelona, 6 January, 2006
And so we strive to survive the rigors of the festive week. 'The La Nave Dei Folli Fashion Show' premiered in Barcelona to a full house and resulted in a wild and lucrative party, with, among a lot else, a pair of false teeth richer in our lost property department. Rodo was the dedicated follower of fashion with local mannequins; Mercy and REM opened Victors set; La Nave Dei Folli Band played the new dance in town in mini's and all the ladies farted elegantly along wich Gaucho in long dresses.
Hotel Azart was full. Pat Paris and Pat Borneo were there. She reupholstered our couch, destroyed in a drunken stupor by The Russian, into a neo-pseudo-baroque-Azart-state-of-the-art sofa. DJ's Dionysus and Arie arrived with Tante Ton. Molfetta and Henry flew in from Rome to cook Italian meals and occupied the couple s suite. Edam & Edam slept in the Russian Club and Fiorenza from Paris on the philosopha.
Grand Buffets! Frutti di Mare di Molfetta. Anchovis di Borneo and above all the King of the Turkey by la Maga Argent and Bellarmino. El pequeno was not to be outdone on the last day with four kilo of sweet little MooCow stewed to a delicious brew. The elves washed the dishes.
The shows were prepared. The drinks were bought in. The stage curtain was washed. The DJ's were ready and stacked. Rome was in the bar, the bridge was put out and the new-year party waltzed us to cava at 12 o'clock and a shower of sloppy kisses. Happy no new resolutions to you all. The spirits spared us the hassle of an overpopulated celebration and the all the guests joined with the hotel residents and crew to rapturously enjoy an Azart party away from Azartplein.
The King and Queen showed some ass. And Gaucho lost his marrow in the shadows. El Pequeno forfeited his ice cream to the Angel for a porno magazine while Conchita forfeited her ugliness for a falling nose plug. The most pedagogic part of the cabaret was Rodo being creative with blue cling wrap while Pat Paris handsomely asserted his expertise as Master of the Electric Drill and Carrot. There's definitely something queer about the state of Cabaret Under The Waves. The room seemed to empty of certain guests while the Russian, the same one who destroyed the couch took four Hell Angels all night to keep out. But the party raved till late, enough to end up with two new love affairs. Nothing more said. All this time Wodka escaped to her favorite red velvet make-up couch back stage. The floor is clean. The hotel guests have all but checked out and flown back to where they came from and the sewing machines are on the table. I'v to finish Pat Borneo s sofa and make clothes.. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 5 Barcelona, 26 December, 2005
Ladies and Gentlemen! Madame et Messieurs! Dames en Heren! Damy i Gospodi! Signore e signori. Caballos y Caballeros! It is my great pleasure to present to you the first "Azart Cabaret Under The Waves" in Barcelona! Friday Night Azart has sailed to further harbours and we have to deal with the locals. Between the captain going off to buy alcohol with Brother Bellarmino and me, returning with newly washed washing from the house of The Girl Who Stares, the manager of our recently squatted quayside, posted a sign clearly prohibiting All from entering this section of the harbour, thus defining our 'public parties' as 'private events'. We have to be careful. At ten o clock sharp they arrived AND wanted to dance. Rodo and El Pequeno had their hands full DJ-ing. The visiting actor and singers spent hours dressing themselves in our backstage playground. I devised ways to decorate the stage with my newly printed Moroccan cloths. The Blue Wig sang, the Mexican pranced, and the Israeli sang beautifully. The King and the Queen exposed their darker intimacy and the Nuns were not to be outdone while Rodo baptized all in the art of enjoying an Azart Show. The Naked Sound Man reduced his gig through technical problems. They drank, they smoked, and above all (Hollanders pay attention!) they danced, even to the lounge music played as a pre-laxative to the incoming paying guests. It worked. We have to learn the new rules but it works.
In the meantime the new Azart family grows and antiXmess was celebrated with the turkey by the Argentinean, soon to be model, and the I-scream-man. Potatoes by me.
NO PRESENTS TO YOU ALL. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 4 Barcelona, December 17, 2005
Back in Barcelona after two weeks in Amsterdam. First off, apologies to the avid readers of this journal for the long delay. While there I wrote a sentimental poem, entitled "Ruminations On Being Back In A Place Where You Have Spent A Long Time And Do Not Want To Be In Anymore But Find You Miss It On Being Back Again". Between me and the little Chilean we lost it. Should it ever surface, I promise to publish it.
The fashion show was a great success, both entertainment wise and financially. New model Leela staggered around trying to light a cigarette and Angel Gabriel from Brazil ballet danced in my elegant dresses while the girls did the chicken in the minis with 'the boys' and the hens discussed cucumbers and the weather in my rain ponchos. Rodo did the striptease and kissed a boy on a chair in trousers and the Russian was angry at Leela in a wooly skirt. They too kissed. Everyone was there except Tosca who phoned from Minsk and other important friends to whom I probably gave the wrong address. My apologies to them too. Two weeks is too short a time to hope to see all.
On my return to Barcelona found the ship had claimed its own quayside and a party on board which resulted in the continuation of my Amsterdam hangover. We're thus no longer alongside the Naumon and thus no longer night prisoners of their security system. This partly happened as a result of a Catalan who took a plunge between the two ships with a second who jumped in to save him while the third was hanging onto the bridge, the cause of the plunge, lest it fall on the heads of the first two.
It seems that captain ears and the second Chilean have become celebrities as fools in my absence, being invited to theatres and meeting a bevy of musicians, actors and puppet masters. It has become cold enough to light the fire on board, but August nearly knocked himself out with the axe. He's fine as it takes more then a steel axe to crack his skull. He does however have a sore back after fishing Catalan swimmers out of the harbour. With more fashion selling opportunity waiting it's back to the sewing machines for me. Thank you captain for watering my garden. To be continued.
Robbie's Log 3 Barcelona, November 25, 2005
Our last week in Denia began with the miraculous finding of the lost money. With half of the town turning their rubbish bins upside down looking for this tartaric purse it was all the time where it should have been. Safe & sound. And further miracles - a tiny 'pueblito' outside Denia had a dealer for our type of exclusive overlock machine so they went in for repairs. And round the corner of the same little town was a bar who wanted us to act for payment. So what with tornadoes at sea we extended our stay another week to sail away from the Place of the Sleeping Cypress on Saturday. With a crew of only 4 we were doing 6-hour shifts over rather turbulent seas. Vodka, the sea cat, did not particularly like that voyage as books came flying out of the library and the crate of sewing cotton came crashing down shedding colorful cotton reels around.
Now, finally we have reached the far fabled harbour of Barcelona. We have moored ourself alongside the Naumon, the multimillion euro ship of La Fura Dels Baus, the internationally famous mega spectacles theatre group of Catalunya. But here we may not stay and further there is no space in the harbour, so we are still searching for our winter hibernation. Next week August remains alone to guard the ship as Victor and I go to Amsterdam for the La Nave Dei Folli Fashion Show and Pijnappel has to go to Pijnakker. Next week's journal therefore will come relayed from the City of Canals.
To be continued.
Robbie's Log 2 Denia, November 16, 2005
Still in Denia, Spain
MONDAY
We tried to sail for Barcelona but the motor would not. We had to call our mechanic from Amsterdam
TUESDAY
We sewed and made movies all day. Gaspar left us.
WEDNESDAY
We went to the Mistelera, the local center for curtural activities. They have a party on Saturday and we want to act and sell clothes. Money was seriously running out. All arranged and agreed upon and lo-and-behold, they have a ship motor mechanic. That night big storms at sea and in harbour kept us up all night searching for ropes and tyres as we were seriously changing the shape of the quayside what with the ship banging about.
THURSDAY
The local mechanic repaired the motor and so we cancelled our Amsterdam one. We can sail now but not, because of the weather which kept us up all night again.
FRIDAY
Moved the ship finally to a safer place in the harbour and the storm stopped.
SATURDAY
Party at the Mistelera and we presented Bob and Bob. August was Madame and Erik premiered on the Azart stage as James, the Servant. Opened up our shop and sold very well. MONEY! We could buy our first Wodkas in months. Then I lost the money.
SUNDAY
No money and there's a storm on the horizon. Oh dear, back to square one. To be continued.
Robbie`s Dressing Shop
Robbie's Log 1 Denia, Spanje, November 9, 2005
Arrived in Spain last week. But how to reenter into the European experience after 4 month in Morocco is not as easy a task as might be supposed. Having embarked from Amsterdam, the ship loaded with a new show, new actors, new costumes, new lights, new cabins and a new enthusiasm for the intercultural exchange promised by the Netherlands-Morocco Festival under which auspices we were finally sailing again, we found that said Festival did not quite come up to our ideals of cultural exchange. And so, having been more or less swept aside, we organized our own programme. Our new show on the quayside of Al Hoceima. Not a simple achievement in a county whose harbours are generally closed to public what with the problem of clandestine immigration in inflatable zodiacs to the promised paradise of Europe. But show we did and it was heartily applauded. We gained the support of the local communist activists and through them entrance into the holy sanctum of the local government and became friend to the mayor. We befriended a juvenile theatre group, fervent Berber youth, worked on two theatre projects, instructed them in the secrets of comic gestual theatre while they instructed us on local history, the tamazight language and the five tenets of Islam. And most important of all, we met the locals of the Soukh, the cyber shops and the streets. They certainly took to us but not to our ever present cameras which we carried everywhere to record our travels for our docu-film-projects. But in time even they melted. Reality however had other plans for us. Visas were not as easy to extend as we had imagined. The harbour and other expenses had to be paid and northern Morocco is no place to plan on earning money. So tying down our vast collection of worldly goods, pumping up the ships motor, we set sail once more for the more financially promising shores of Spain. Fate would have it that engine troubles cast us ashore in Denia, the place Of The Fallen Cypress, province Valencia. Thus it is from here that we start to organize our new future in Europe. But, boy oh boy, although it is only three days sailing from Morocco to where we are, its a quantum leap in psychology and we must needs adapt. To be continued.