Greggs

21 Elm Row
Edinburgh EH7 4AA
http://www.greggs.co.uk

by Beau Cadiyo

I try to play my son at least one new song every day, either on the guitar or Spotify.  Sometimes, it's new for both of us - "Palestinian Music" is particularly interesting - and sometimes, I pick something that I love, or that will be important for him to be exposed to. 
This morning, my first attempt - the Horst Wessel song - failed; I'd read about it, but had never heard it, and it seemed perhaps that it was doomed to stay that way forever.  Asking for James Earl Jones reading the Bible was also a flop - all I got were random clips from the Lion King.  Finally, Simon and Garfunkel's Greatest Hits returned a playlist, and he listened as I sang along with them. 
Midway through the playlist, I had the thought: once upon a time, "Scarborough Fair" and "Mrs. Robinson" and "The Boxer" and "The Sound of Silence" were all as revolutionary as Rage Against The Machine or Two Live Crew were.  Now, most of what we remember of that time seems to be the bravery of the protesters against unjust wars, and a nostalgia for the Peace and Love generation.  While listening to "America," I imagined: what would it be like to be a young person traveling across the country without a smartphone tracking my movements, without the ability to contact anyone at any time?  How magical must that have been - to be lost, anonymous, free. 
And then I had the thoughts:

1. No matter how bad it gets, one day, this will all seem so quaint.  
2. No matter how bad it gets, what will be remembered is love.  
3. No matter how bad it gets, one day, we won't even be memories.  If we're lucky, we will get a digital line on a family tree maintained by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  
4. Seen from space, what we each do today, and throughout our entire lives, has absolutely no bearing or impact whatsoever on the universe.  Nobody knows we are here.  We are so absurdly insignificant it's a joke.  
5. Greggs has the option of getting extra bacon on a breakfast roll; with brown sauce, it is unbeatable.  No wonder they are winning the sandwich wars.  

Tesco Express

30 Dundas St
Edinburgh EH3 6JN
www.tesco.co.uk

by Beau Cadiyo

Dear Josh Mandel,

FOR FUCK SAKE, STOP TRYING TO CONNECT WITH ME ON LINKEDIN. 

It's like nobody remembers how terrible a campaigner you were, how you'd lie about everything, how viciously you attacked your opponents, how you adopted that fake Southern accent, and how you sided with anti-Semitic white supremacists despite the fact that you are, of course, Jewish. 

I don't even live near you anymore, although I once did live in Lyndhurst.  I can't help you.  I wouldn't help you.  In my opinion, you are absolute scum. 

So why you keep trying to connect with me on LinkedIn is a mystery. 

Go fuck yourself. 

Sincerely,
Beau Cadiyo

I got food poisoning from a chicken sandwich at this Tesco.  It was infinitely more pleasurable to projectile vomit for two days than to implicitly endorse Josh Mandel by being connected to him on social media. 

El Café de las 2

Ronda de Sant Pere, 43
08010 Barcelona
Spain
+34 932 65 78 14

by Beau Cadiyo

At this time, in this political climate, I'm going to write something here that I never thought I'd be writing:

I'm really impressed with American politicians.

When American politicians believe in something - or they're paid enough to believe in it - they fight for it.  They argue.  They hustle.  They lobby.  They press.  They count votes and manoeuvre through whatever legislative body they have to work with to get it passed, or squashed, and if the odds are long, they keep on pushing until they either win or lose, and even if they lose, they will vow to stay around and fight another day.  When an American politician wants something done, they stand up, take the gloves off, and start swinging.

However.

In Britain, when a politician really believes in something that's unpopular, they sit down.  They quit.  They sometimes make up some excuse, like they want to spend more time with family, or they have a newfound interest in beekeeping, but when the going gets tough, a British politician will do everything they can to avoid getting going.

Ruth Davidson.
Amber Rudd.
Phillip Lee.
Sarah Wollaston.
Justine Greening.
Jo Johnson.
That's just in the last few weeks, and doesn't take into account, say, the Theresa May debacle. 

I don't understand it, and I haven't met a single British person who can explain to me why bailing out is such a better option than standing up for what you believe in.  I hate the way America is going, but I have profound respect for politicians who fight for what they truly believe in - no matter how stupid and pro-Trump they are.

Sigh.  Again, I never thought I'd get to this point.  But it's a strange time in the world.

A long time ago, someone pointed out to me that the reason we say "Bon Apetit" is that there is no satisfactory equivalent to that phrase in English.  "Eat Well!" or "Good eating!" just doesn't capture the same spirit - or, perhaps, upon attempts, we in the Anglophone world just decided that most of the food in our hemisphere isn't all that good compared to our Latin counterparts, so we went with their phrase because "good appetite" just...well, didn't apply to boiled vegetables and salt beef.

And I wonder if perhaps "goodbye" and its equivalents are similar.  Once, when I was 15, a girl that I was in love with wrote me a letter that had an air of implicit finality about it.  She signed it, "Fare thee well," and, knowing how big a Dylan fan she was, and that I'd sort of bungled some things, I remembered that "Goodbye is too good a word, babe," and I've always said that when a parting was bittersweet and forever.

The Latinate equivalents are similar - "To God."  Adios.  Adieu.  Addio.  I don't know if I will ever see you again.  If it's God's will, I will.  Or not.  Or, perhaps, it means that if one of us dies before we meet again, I commend your soul to heaven.  I imagine I could spend five minutes looking up the origins and interpretations of these words, but I'm finding it more fun to think about the possibilities, to speculate, which is something that we do far too little of in this day of instant informational gratification.

The first time I was in El Cafe de las 2, it was 6:30 a.m. and I hadn't showered in what felt like a week and I was wearing my son in a sling on my front.  Five months old, cute as a fucking button, with a little turned-up nose, blond hair, blue eyes, rosy cheeks, a thousand-watt smile, the whole shebang.  He was wide awake, and I had left the hotel to give my wife an hour or two of solid sleep.  We had wandered through dimly lit streets, deserted and empty, stumbling through church squares, passing drunks in doorways, smelling the early-morning smell of Barcelona on a weekday before the lights start coming on in windows and the cars start plowing down the avenues.  It was the only cafe open, it seemed, and when we walked in, two men were engaged in a heated but very, very quiet conversation at the counter; they both looked up to see if I was someone who needed to be paid attention to, then went back to their conversation, guarding their words.  The woman behind the counter, the owner, greeted me with a smile, and then waved at Daniel on my chest, who smiled back and jigged his arms and legs up and down in excitement, and I wondered if, like Gatsby, he was discovering that people like him when he smiles, because he does it an awful lot, and an awful lot of people are captivated by him.  I'm not being biased, I'm just reporting.  The men, hearing my accent, relax.  A bit.

So I order a croissant amb chocolate and a cortado.  She hands it over the counter and I start eating, savoring the dark chocolate melted on the ends, the flakiness of the crust.  Daniel just looks, I suppose - his face was away from me.  The men keep talking.  Minutes pass.  A man comes in and out - the owner's husband, perhaps - tidying up the newspapers, sweeping the sidewalk.  It's quiet, and peaceful, the kind of peace that you don't usually get in Barcelona, or any big city, with a silent street, tree leaves rustling in the pre-autumn wind, and a world waking up.

I look at the front door,

and something smashes on the floor, glass shards spraying everywhere, and I think that the men who were talking MUST have been gangsters, and there was a hit, a real hit, the kind you read about, and I don't know how to react, because I feel fully confident in being able to fight hand-to-hand against someone, but I don't have a gun or knife or anything to defend myself against assassins trying to kill two guys next to me at a counter.

Looking down, my croissant bits are lying in a pool of glass on the floor.  Daniel is staring down at them, completely relaxed.  I quickly realize that he'd reached over, pulled the plate down, and it had shattered on my feet.  Luckily I wasn't in flip flops.

"Daniel!" I say, hoping that my tone expresses my disapproval to the other patrons and the owner while not scarring his psyche forever, hoping that he doesn't actually understand what has happened.  The woman says something and the man mutters and comes over, reaching into a cabinet for a broom and a dustpan and starts sweeping up.  The men have left money on the counter and are walking out into the night.  I have no idea who they were - gangsters?  Union leaders?  Politicians?  All three? - but the woman doesn't seem too sorry to see them go.  She coos at Daniel when we leave, and refuses to let me pay for the broken plate.

So I go back.  Every morning.

This is the sort of cafe that tourist guides want to find and exploit.  It has an owner who doesn't seem to speak much English, and a female owner at that in a country where most cafes seem to be owned by men.  It is brightly lit, with big windows and wood-panelling, and it is frequented by locals, with three newspapers on the counter for anyone who walks in.  It has strong coffee from a gorgeous machine, and a menu written on chalk boards with seemingly varying prices, and much of the food seems to be made on-site.  The croissants are amazing - I had several - and the bocadillos de tortilla de patata are among the best I've ever had.  People say Bom Dia when they walk in.

Perhaps this review will help it get on the tourist track; perhaps the Lonely Planet will start recommending it.  I have mixed feelings about that; in my mind, she clearly deserves business, not just for kindness to a fatigued American with an infant who likes to grab things and throw them on the floor, but for a superior product.

When I left on the last morning, two bocadillos and a croissant in my hands, I said "adéu" to the woman.  She said it back, and gracias, and as I turned to the sidewalk I wondered if it really was goodbye - if I'd never see her again.  I hope that's not the case; I hope her business thrives despite being in a competitive environment, and that, simultaneously, when I go back at 6:30 in the morning the next time I'm in Barcelona, she remembers me, and Daniel, and smiles and waves at him no matter how big he is.

But if I never see her again, I hope she succeeds, with God's help.

I hope Boris Johnson and the conservative party fail miserably, though, in their attempts to get out of the European Union.

365 Forn De Pa

Carrer de Padilla, 218, 234

08013 Barcelona, Spain

by Beau Cadiyo

This is the Cleveland Sandwich Board Guide to Choosing Political Leaders.  

First, read the following.  Better yet, listen to it in its entirety.  No, right now you don't know what it is; you'll figure it out shortly. 

On behalf of Mrs. Robert Kennedy, her children and the parents and sisters of Robert Kennedy, I want to express what we feel to those who mourn with us today in this Cathedral and around the world. We loved him as a brother and father and son. From his parents, and from his older brothers and sisters - Joe, Kathleen and Jack - he received inspiration which he passed on to all of us. He gave us strength in time of trouble, wisdom in time of uncertainty, and sharing in time of happiness. He was always by our side. 

Love is not an easy feeling to put into words. Nor is loyalty, or trust or joy. But he was all of these. He loved life completely and lived it intensely. 

A few years back, Robert Kennedy wrote some words about his own father and they expressed the way we in his family feel about him. He said of what his father meant to him: "What it really all adds up to is love - not love as it is described with such facility in popular magazines, but the kind of love that is affection and respect, order, encouragement, and support. Our awareness of this was an incalculable source of strength, and because real love is something unselfish and involves sacrifice and giving, we could not help but profit from it. 

"Beneath it all, he has tried to engender a social conscience. There were wrongs which needed attention. There were people who were poor and who needed help. And we have a responsibility to them and to this country. Through no virtues and accomplishments of our own, we have been fortunate enough to be born in the United States under the most comfortable conditions. We, therefore, have a responsibility to others who are less well off." 

This is what Robert Kennedy was given. What he leaves us is what he said, what he did and what he stood for. A speech he made to the young people of South Africa on their Day of Affirmation in 1966 sums it up the best, and I would read it now:  

"There is a discrimination in this world and slavery and slaughter and starvation. Governments repress their people; and millions are trapped in poverty while the nation grows rich; and wealth is lavished on armaments everywhere.
"These are differing evils, but they are common works of man. They reflect the imperfection of human justice, the inadequacy of human compassion, our lack of sensibility toward the sufferings of our fellows.
"But we can perhaps remember - even if only for a tirne - that those who live with us are our brothers; that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek - as we do - nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.
"Surely this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men. And surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.
"Our answer is to rely on youth - not a time of life but a state of mind, a temper of the will, a quality of imagination, a predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the love of ease. The cruelties and obstacles of this swiftly changing planet will not yield to obsolete dogmas and outworn slogans. They cannot be moved by those who cling to a present that is already dying, who prefer the illusion of security to the excitement and danger that come with even the most peaceful progress. It is a revolutionary world we live in; and this generation at home and around the world, has had thrust upon it a greater burden of responsibility than any generation that has ever lived.
"Some believe there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world's ills. Yet many of the world's great movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single man. A young monk began the Protestant reformation, a young general extended an empire from Macedonia to the borders of the earth, and a young woman reclaimed the territory of France. It was a young Italian explorer who discovered the New World, and the thirty-two-year-old Thomas Jefferson who proclaimed that all men are created equal.
"These men moved the world, and so can we all. Few will have the greatness to bend history itself, but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation. It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.
"Few are willing to brave the disapproval of their fellows, the censure of their colleagues, the wrath of their society. Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world that yields most painfully to change. And I believe that in this generation those with the courage to enter the moral conflict will find themselves with companions in every corner of the globe.
"For the fortunate among us, there is the temptation to follow the easy and familiar paths of personal ambition and financial success so grandly spread before those who enjoy the privilege of education. But that is not the road history has marked out for us. Like it or not, we live in times of danger and uncertainty. But they are also more open to the creative energy of men than any other time in history. All of us will ultimately be judged and as the years pass we will surely judge ourselves, on the effort we have contributed to building a new world society and the extent to which our ideals and goals have shaped that effort.
"The future does not belong to those who are content with today, apathetic toward common problems and their fellow man alike, timid and fearful in the face of new ideas and bold projects. Rather it will belong to those who can blend vision, reason and courage in a personal commitment to the ideals and great enterprises of American Society.
"Our future may lie beyond our vision, but it is not completely beyond our control. It is the shaping impulse of America that neither fate nor nature nor the irresistible tides of history, but the work of our own hands, matched to reason and principle, that will determine our destiny. There is pride in that, even arrogance, but there is also experience and truth. In any event, it is the only way we can live." 

This is the way he lived. My brother need not be idealized, or enlarged in death beyond what he was in life, to be remembered simply as a good and decent man, who saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it, saw war and tried to stop it. 

Those of us who loved him and who take him to his rest today, pray that what he was to us and what he wished for others will some day come to pass for all the world. 

As he said many times, in many parts of this nation, to those he touched and who sought to touch him: 

"Some men see things as they are and say why.
I dream things that never were and say why not."

Second, review the list of political candidates available to you. 

Third, vote for the one who most closely adheres to the description above. 

Really good toasted jamon and cheese sandwich.  They somehow transformed the bread into a delicate, crispy cloud, and the ingredients were simple and perfect; the olive oil was a brilliant touch.  These were also the best toilets I have seen in Barcelona - clean, well-designed, and with a good baby changing area. 

It's good to be back.  I've missed you, and I've missed sandwiches.  I already have a few drafts in the mix, and I promise to be better at staying in touch.  I got married, and then moved to England, and then traveled around the world, then moved to Scotland, of all places, and now I have a baby - a bouncing, beautiful non-gendered individual who brings me all sorts of joy and smiles every day, but who also interferes with writing extensively.  But having a baby makes you think of all sorts of things.  Actually, that'll be another draft.  More soon, my friends, more soon.