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Barrio Barceloneta plus a special Thanksgiving guest.

10 November, 2016 (07:24) | Living in Europe | By: admin

Barceloneta is roughly triangular, bordered by the Mediterranean Sea, Port Vell, and the El Born neighborhood. We even have our own flag. I don’t know how many square kilometers big it is, but my guess is less than 5 (which would translate to less than 7 miles). The neighborhood is shaped like a big slice of Pizza – where we live is at the tip of the pizza, where the port and the sea meet. The neighborhood fans out from there.


The funky sculpture above, entitled ‘Homage to Barceloneta’ commemorates the old-fashioned shacks (barrancas) that once lined our beach. It has also come to represent the tiny apartments of our neighborhood, once home to pirates, fishermen, thieves and all trade related to the fishing or boating industry. They claim to be a “neighborhood of bastards”.

The morning’s catch can be bought on Calle Pescadero if you have good timing. This is like a throwback to the days of old. So does the below image of a grumpy knife sharpener who trolls the streets with his sharpening tools attached to the back of his motor scooter.

fresh fishIMG_7399

The average apartment in Barceloneta is 30 square meters, or approximately 100 square feet; tiny, and with low ceilings. Very few buildings have an elevator. Most have dark, narrow stairwells with lots of small, dark, tiny stairs intended for the diminutive foot sizes of the average (short) marinero.  Years ago they would fit multiple big, extended families into these tiny homes. This way of life still exists here in some homes, and especially on some streets but on a smaller scale. Modern times laden with opportunities elsewhere gave some  the chance to move away and make a new life for themselves  somewhere else.  The below photo essay will illustrate how this way of life persists today. Families extend their concept of home and claim the sidewalks outside their front doors. They are entitled to it.

At its core is a very simple but proud class of citizen that resides in Barceloneta. Their families have worked hard, scraped by and pooled their resources for many generations. Suspicious at first, my Catalan neighbors are fundamentally warm and generous. It helps that I’ve picked up conversational Catalan.

Most locals have become inured to “progress” and globalization, which they know is inevitable, however they stubbornly stick to their ancient traditions and ways of doing things.

We live on the beautiful, pristine Mediterranean coast, so it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world caught on. There are not many hotels here on the beach, and tourists are willing to pay outrageous prices for a month’s stay at a ridiculously small privately owned apartment near the beach. The inevitable changes brought about by tourism are to blame for the new dynamic between residents and tourists. Greed breeds hostility, and around 2006 (before the crash) prices soared. Some sold their apartments for 3 times what they were worth (which is pure profit if you originally inherited your place), some moved into town and turned their home into an illegal tourist rental flats, much more lucrative than the dying fishing industry.

We moved from Gracia to this neighborhood 8 years ago. We got our fixer upper for a great price, rennovated it and were happy there for 6 years. We’d still be there if it weren’t for the steps – all 88 of them. With no elevator, we stayed fit just by going out and having to climb the godawful 88 steps. But once home, it was so quiet – it was like living n a treehouse. Heaven. We were happy there. I posted many a blissful blog from our piso on Calle del Mar. But we always knew that someday before we got too old we’d have to sell the place and find one with an elevator…

The fact I have a dog and my own distinct style have made me a familiar and therefore friendly face to locals over the years. Some of the elders presume I’m Catalan, and I don’t correct them, seeing as its mostly “Quin dia mes bonic” (what a gorgeous day) or “Que goig que fas” (How great you look!”) No intellectual exchange of ideas takes place, just the daily niceties of being human together.

Here is my iPhone photo essay capturing the informal and funky daily life of many of my neighbors, and illustrating how the narrow sidewalks and streets outside their front doorstep are simply logical extensions of their private domain:

At first I thought these kids were selling lemonade on the street, but it turns out they are setting the table for the family meal on their extended sidewalk, just outside the front door (which invariably leads to a small den with TV and arm chairs inside).

IMG_6877In the photo below you can see how they hide the table from public view behind lush potted plants just outside their front door.IMG_7205

Walking to the bakery I Look up and am charmed by this very typical scene of everyday people living their peaceful lives. Awhile ago I did a blog from our former apartment called Balcony Life which captures another, more private view of life in this neighborhood.

This guy uses his front porch-on-the-sidewalk to groom his dog. Most ground floor (bajo) apartments are tiny so it’s only logical for daily life to extend outside onto the street.

This family uses their sidewalk as a front yard for the kid to play in her pool.

This lady soaks her feet and hangs out with her husband on their sidewalk.

This guy has extended his den onto the sidewalk, from where he sits in his easy chair to watch TV while two old friends a couple doors down sit out front on the sidewalk to shoot the breeze.

Residents just hangin’ out, playing cards, talking politics and shooting the breeze. Life here is relaxed.






The last 10 or 15 years has seen a slow, unstoppable, growing flow of tourism here. The many beachside bars and trendy restaurants and clubs attract rowdy football hoodlums and drugged out party animals, resulting in the ugly phenomena of drunk tourism, especially following UK/Spain matches. This is why many young visitors are unable to connect with the locals, for their more rowdy party time contemporaries have hardened many residents to all youth, even the more respectful ones. They are put up with rather than welcomed in our small community. If you are tall, blonde, British or Scandinavian they have no use for you.

<h3<The following anonymous street graffitti was painted over after several complaints:


The last shot in the above sequence is a building near el mercado central has a banner which reads “Cap Pis Turistic” and means “no more tourist flats.” You will see variations of this banner hanging from many balconies. They are trying to encourage locals not to rent out their homes to tourists. They have nothing against tourists, but the nature of how this barrio is built does not lend itself to harmonious relations between partying travelers and the families renting the tiny apartment next door or below them.

The message of the above anti-tourist street grafitti and banners hanging everywhere could be interpreted as being rude and unwelcoming, and in fact many residents were embarrassed when the nasty spray panted messages appearing on the roads and had those immediately removed. But they feel a growing disgust with drunk tourists who scream and sing at the top of their lungs at all hours of the night and then piss on their doorways.

But on the other hand, the following banner reveals a more compassionate message, welcoming refugees. Refugees don’t get drunk and sing at the top of their lungs as they stumble to their next destination. Refugees are welcomed with a warm meal, with compassion, with respect.

Part 2

Over the years the work of a local photographer has come to my attention. I’ve been collecting his yearly calendars (which my pharmacy gives to loyal clients every year) and love the images of gritty, everyday life so much that I don’t throw the calendars away at years end. I’ve also admired his work in the local neighborhood monthly paper. I thought to myself “I’ve love to meet this man someday” and made note of his name, Vicens Forner. When I saw in the local rag that he was having a show at the Barceloneta Civic Center, although I couldn’t attend the opening I made it a point to go check it out, and I was so impressed. His work is exceptional. A couple of his beach photos looked like they had been shot from our very balcony, which made me suspect he must have a friend in our building. His documentation of a neighborhood that is essentially very Catalan and hardworking, of the ever more fancy yachts and cruisers in the harbor that have replaced the funky trade vessels of his childhood, of the flux and flow of refugee African and Pakistani “manteros” (guys who sell cheap souvenirs, watches, knock off designer sunglasses, selfie sticks, hats, tapestries … you name it)
versus the local authorities is outstanding.

One day I did a facebook search for his name -and there he was! I requested his friendship, with a note telling him how much I admired his work. Of course he accepted. So I’ve been perusing his images on facebook for a couple years now. “Why haven’t I met this guy?” I asked Mark and showed him a selfie Vicens posted on facebook. “Have you seen him'”
“Not that I’m aware of”.

I memorized his image from the handful of photos of him on his facebook page and began the lookout. With his grey hair, mustache and glasses I failed to recognize him. I studied his selfies – average height, weight, nondescript clothes – it would have to be something like his camera hanging around his neck that would give him away.


One day a little over a months or so, when riding my bike with Quixote through the barrio I was charmed by an art class that had blocked off traffic on that quiet corner of San Carles and San Miguel so they could paint in aire libre. I stopped to take a couple snaps – when I noticed him – the famous Vicens! He was shooting the same event, but from another angle.
IMG_7386 “Are you Vicens?” I asked him? He said yes. I introduced myself as a fan and facebook follower and how much I loved his documentation of Barceloneta. He seemed surprised and didn’t know how to react so I just said that I admired his timing, his subject matter, his original use of natural light, and the angles from which his he shoots his subjects. I didn’t want to embarrass him so Quixote and I continued on my bike ride without even telling him my name.

Fate has it that one day while relaxing on our ocean view balcony I looked over and lo and behold – Vicens was on the balcony of the apartment next door, in our building only in “Escalera A” (stairwell A) instead of “Escalera B”. How exciting!

When he saw me he waved in recognition. Mark looked over and said “El Famoso!” when he saw Vicens, for upon my suggestion he had recently started  following him on facebook. We often discuss his photos, because they are a good way to find out what´s going on  in the hood. There quite a few local festivals, openings, manifestations and cultural events going on in our neighborhood, and Vicens does a great job of documenting them. His commentaries are also always insightful and incisive.

After waving hello he went back into the apartment. “Maybe he’s shy” I said to Mark. “I hope we didn’t chase him inside.” Later we learned he has lived in our building in the apartment next door for over 30 years. Before that he and his family lived on the more humble street of Pescadero where he was raised.

Later that evening I made a daring (for me) overture by way of a direct FB message. I reiterated how much I respect his work, that I’m a writer of Italian/American descent who has been living in Barcelona for 10 years now and in Barceloneta for 8. After pushing send I wondered if I had been too forward… He seems a bit shy. But the next morning I woke up to a direct message reply telling me he’d like to give me a copy of his book about the neighborhood, and he would leave it for me in my mailbox.

Mailbox 3-1 I replied. That afternoon he left his book, with a written dedication to Monalia. I was touched and again honored.


I began reading his book, in which I learned he’s the 5th generation of a family that’s lived in Barceloneta since time immemorial, comes from a heritage of boat people, and inherited a store from his father’s uncle that sold parts for small fishing boats and related rig. I may have the facts wrong but what I understood is that he and his wife turned the place into a business across the street from us and next to the port called “Locals Only” which rents spaces for people to store their surf boards, boat gear and other clunky beach equipment. Cool! His wife pretty much runs the business.

Now that we’ve met I keep running in to him. He is very humble and generous. I know this just from our few encounters. I want to get to know him better, so we’ve invited him and his wife to Thanksgiving dinner this month.

The title of his book is Crónicas de L’Òstia – Barceloneta 1949-1992. I learned that Ostia is what locals call Barceloneta. The literal translation is “the host” the flat bread wafer given to Catholics at Holy Communion, but in Catalan it means something that impacts you either in a good way or a bad way. It can mean “amazing” or “unbearable” depending on the context. I can see how our barrio got that name; its a place that will definitely impact you in some way. Its not a place for cowards.

Since receiving his book about 2 weeks ago, I’ve noticed there are several businesses in the hood with the word Ostia which I’d never noticed before. Here’s a couple examples:

ostia 3ostia 2

Seeing as Spanish is not my native language, (in fact its my third language, after English and Italian) so it is taking me awhile to read his wonderful, adventure filled stories about growing up in this unique location. The hood was rough back then. It was built outside the city walls. Our beautiful plaça which connects the beach to the harbor (like the pointed tip on a slice of pizza) was once filled with boatyards and public salt water baths. Most of the kids he knew back then were hoodlums or dare devils.
He paints a very colorful and interesting story about growing up and losing his innocence in this neighborhood full of memorable, swarthy characters. The book begins in his childhood in the days of Franco. Strange and fascinating to read this 67 year old man’s stories, all of which I am told are true stories although the occasional name has been changed. I haven’t gotten that far yet, but the book ends in the 90’s. With my trusty google translator I am halfway through it. After I finish it I plan to reread it, but with no translator. Its very well written and I am charmed and inspired by this sweet man. And I am learning a lot about the history of where I live. Its an unusual pleasure to meet such an articulate and well spoken person in this neighborhood of fishermen and thieves.
Forner jacket

addendum 1

Here is my rough translation of the book’s description:

In the port were also concentrated many other smells. It was perceived as the hemp of the stacks (moorings), the tar, the sea, the fish, but especially the pitch. Those who have not smelled the tar can never understand what it is like to live in a seafaring neighborhood. The stores were always impregnated with that smell; Also the streets, the clothes of the sailors and, in general, of all those that had some relation with the port. The odors overlapped and confused, but we knew how to distinguish each and every one. Coffee, for example, was another port odor, stronger than the others and also more pleasant. When they unloaded coffee, they always lost a few bags that, in the end, were going to La Barceloneta at a very good price. Its essence flooded the streets. We can imagine five hundred kilos of coffee spread all over the neighborhood toasting in the houses and even in the street. The odor was pouring down to Barcelona, who was sure to suck with envy the scent of the lawless city.

addendum 2

Thanksgiving went as planned. A couple days before, I picked up the local paper and there was this article about my new friend, Vicens Forner, who received the medal of honor from the city of Barcelona for his neighborhood activism and work raising cultural awareness. Pretty cool.


HaPpY to be HaPpY!

18 August, 2016 (03:31) | Living in Europe | By: admin

Summer Staycation


After spending a fun winter in L.A. we return to our idyllic life here on our beach in Barceloneta. No stress. No anxiety. No lofty, unattainable goals or stressful adventures. Every day is a blessing.

Time to be.
Happy is we.
Skimming the glistening sea
sparkly, lucid, flippant, and free


I haven’t posted in awhile because I’m busy being happy, living my bi-continental life: imageIMG_6546

We love life more than ever at our new apartment. Living on the beach with an elevator and a view of the Mediterranean; I can’t imagine better! As they say in Italy, “Siamo arrivati”.

In June my quirky, surfy brother Jason and his 15 year old son Buckley visited from USA and spent 10 action packed, laughter filled, intensely fun but exhausting days with us, staying under our very roof. Like a 3 ring circus. 10 crazy days of big personality kooks carousing the city, trying to balance culture with beach.

Barcelona had one of its famous fiery holidays to impress my family. Fiesta San Juan while they were here. Summer officially begins on dia de la fiesta de San Juan.

A few snapshots from their visit:



Quik vids from San Juan:



Enjoying summer in the city.


I can’t believe how happy I am to get up early and go jump in the really clear water. This morning I took my first swim at 7:30

With my diving goggles I look at fish while swimming through shimmery, velveteen water;. clear, warm, silky and soft. Ecstasy. My new Italian made goggles from Board Riders are amazing! Great design, not clunky at all like my older pair.

Today I spot the usual small, almost transparent yellow fish (with a black stripe and black spot at the base of their tails) that permanently dwell on our shoreline. I live for days like today. Get up at sunrise, go down and jump in the water, splash around in the empty shore. Daybreak. Absolute Tranquility. Time stops. Its awesome to be the only one out swimming. The beach stays empty for another hour or two.

As I snorkel not far from shore I spot a posse of fish I haven’t seen before. Slender with bright green stripes matching their fins and tails. Stunning. What luck!

The warm lapping waves caress, I am blessed. Yes!

With no one on the beach I am able to do my favorite thing: to swim up the coast in shallow water. Instead of swimming as far into the deep as I can, I like to swim as far up the coast as I can, but staying close to shore.

Uninhibited, unhindered, untethered to all things digital. I swim, look at fish, stretch, breathe, punch and kick the water until I am out of breath. Then I float. I’m in heaven!


Its a dog´s world after all…

Mark’s dog, Haka, left us 4 years ago. She was a big, sweet dum dum. I used to pose her and Quixote all around the city. I even have a post here from 2009, waxing poetic about Haka and Quixote, who I had just gotten at the time of the blog. You might remember Haka from my older posts beginning in 2009:

Mark’s been talking about getting a blonde chihuahua for a couple years now, a purse size pooch he can take back and forth with him to Gracia, and eventually to L.A. Until recently we were too busy traveling to break in a new puppy. It takes time and patience.

Quixote has been my satellite of love for 7 years now. He missed Haka for awhile, but has since grown fond of his place as our “one and only”. Quixote loves Mark, but is devoted only to me. When I leave him home with Mark he literally lays around the house moaning, unwilling to play or eat or be fun. Mark was ready for his own satellite of love. He just needed to find her. He began semi actively looking for a female chihuahua to be more of an accessory and love sponge than a real dog – a puppy to keep him company when he works and stays in Gracia.

A few weeks ago he dropped by the pet store on his way to work in Gracia. He’d been looking there every few months because he always walks by that store when he gets off the 39 bus. On that day (July 7) his new canine love was there, the exact dog he’d been envisioning forever. She is a tiny, sweet faced teacup chihuahua. Love again! How exciting! He finally met his new companion for the next 20 years if he’s lucky. (Tiny breeds are known to live 15 to 20 years). He and the puppy locked eyes. Somehow she knew he was destined to be her human protector. With no significant travel plans on the horizon it was a good time for Mark to fall in love. He sent me photos and videos from the pet store, and came home that day with a tiny baby sister for Quixote.



Bianca was born on May 3rd, on the local Gracia holiday, Fiesta San Medir so he named her Bianca de San Medir.


At first Quixote had no use for a mate and ignored her. But her unconditional love won him over. She’s tinier than he is, which makes him feel big and protective. He now likes having someone to push around, frolic with, protect and dominate. Our family is once again complete!

I have spent the last few weeks pretty much chasing the dogs around and teaching Bianca to pose for my camera. Like Haka who preceded her, Bianca’s not the brightest bulb, but what she lacks in intelligence she makes up for with sweetness. She will never be sleek and sinewy like Quixote, she’ll always be a round butterball, which is perfect. Quixote remains the alpha dog; all muscle, braun and intensity.

Yes, I have plenty more I could write about and intend to write about. Once I get motivated (after summer?) I’ll share more thoughts and images from my daily life in Barceloneta. After 6 years living in this neighborhood, but with 88 stairs to climb every time I went home, this last year of living with an elevator sure is breezy. I feel much more connected to the neighborhood.

Until then, know that I’m leading a happy and fulfilling life. That’s why I haven’t bothered to post anything lately – I’m becoming a bit boring in my old age, heh heh heh. But I don’t miss being popular. I am enjoying the anonymity of aging.


Addicted to ¨The Sport of The 3rd Millenium”

30 December, 2015 (07:14) | Living in Europe | By: admin

Those of you who have been following my writing and/or this here blog for any length of time will remember my days of being a tennis head. At the peak of my tennis career in New Zealand I was playing on 3 teams and became very active in the tennis scene. In New Zealand tennis is cheap, accessible and affordable. But not so here. It wasn’t easy to find people to play with in my new country. When we moved to Barcelona 9 years ago I kept tennis up for a few years, despite the fact that unlike New Zealand, there were no teams for me to join here, nor any social tennis clubs. In fact, the clubs that do exist are very pricey, which would be okay if they offered a social scene where one could meet other tennis players.

For awhile I played socially with a gay group called “Las Panteras” that met on Saturday afternoons, but that scene wore a bit thin when I realized all those boys were more than half my age and would probably rather play with other boys. I developed a wilier game though,  just in time to enroll myself in an organized women’s match at the club where I played with Las Panteras.  I was not hoping or expecting to win, but  to just to have a few fun, competitive games and get my ya ya’s off.

No one was more surprised than me when I won the match! There were 16 girls, most of them literally half my age. I was just hoping to put in an honest performance, would be happy just to win a game or 2. But for some reason, the tennis gods were with me that day back in 2008, and I won a trophy! Pretty cool! I was chuffed at the time, and realized I would never win another tennis trophy in this lifetime.  I didn’t make a big fuss about it, I just put my 5 tennis rackets  and  cumbersome tennis paraphenalia in the back of the closet.

Here’s my tennis trophy:


I’ve done a fairly good job of blogging about the perks and dives of being an immigrant here in Spain, of the exciting and rich experiences this country has to offer. I spent years riding around and photographing the intriguing architecture, recording unique sounds, getting to know the hills of Montjuic and Tibidabo, while absorbing Catalan culture. I even learned to speak conversational Catalán, which is a real ice breaker at pharmacies, super markets, dog parks, bank lines, street life.  Having been raised bi-lingual, I’ve always had a good ear for music and for language, which is lucky considering the life I’ve chosen to live.

Now, almost 8 years later, I’ve finally found a sport to replace tennis with in my life. The game is called Padel and there are courts at the gym literally across the plaza from our home on the beach. Our gym, Club Nataçion de Barcelona is a *real* club with lots of activities to jump into. Mark goes there  to work out and I go to swim. They have dancing, yoga, tai chi, aerobics, spinning etc. but we haven’t gotten that ambitious yet.

Until we moved to this cool new pad with the amazing views we lived in an apartment only a half a block away (yet worlds way) with 88 stairs to climb to get home. I have lots of happy memories, blogs, photos and well documented stories from those years, but there was a major drawback to joining a health club; the stairs. It was a workout to do those damn stairs every day just to take the dog down, do errands etc. To get involved in any regular exercise regime .  Just idea of taking a class was too much. They say you get used to stairs, but I can honestly tell you this is not true. Instead, after climbing the horrid stairs to our tranquil abode, I found myself smoking a lot of pot, and being ¨creative¨, unwilling to venture out again unless it was for guaranteed fun. I’d still go on bike excursions, but always combined them with taking my dog Quixote down to pee.  I rarely ventured out for the joy of movement, exercise, possible new friends…

But life in our new reality, began last July. The splendid move to beachfront apartment with sea views afforded me the luxury of not just joining but participating in club sports. Mark has become addicted to the weigh lifting machines and recently I’ve taken up a new sport; PADEL, to which I immediately became addicted.


Padel is the perfect game for me. It combines two sports I’m good at; tennis and ping pong. Its fast and reflexive like ping pong, but more physical, like tennis. And it is proving to be the perfect game for me; Its way easier to play than tennis, yet it involves the same set of skills.

It’s an outdoors doubles game and is extremely social. Its very popular here in Spain in all age groups, and has been catching on throughout Europe. The courts are smaller than tennis and have glass walls which are also part of the game. The same scoring system is used as in tennis, and the game follows many of the same rules, only the wall is part of the game. I enrolled in a few lessons at the club and was put in an intermediate group of “what’s app” (text) padel players who play at the club. Its fantastic! I get texts every day asking if I want to play, by members of the padel what’s app group from the club. So I’ve jumped right in and now play 2 to 3 times a week.

Incorporating the wall into my game has been the only challenge, but I’m quickly learning the tricks. I love the wacky part of this game; lots of silly corner shots, crazy bounces, and lots of running around. If you’re a net player like me, there’s also lots of jumping. Its fast paced, fun, and a good workout. Padel has provided the one missing ingredient to my otherwise happy, fulfilling and successful life so far; its like tennis only easier, and perfect for my age and motivation. Being an ex tennis player gives me automatic court cred here, and my ability to consistently whack a ball has other players starting to notice. I’ve only been at it a couple months, but all those years of tennis (and ping pong)  has enabled me to easily transition into my newfound padel career, heh heh heh.

This is what “professional padel” looks like:

According to the AB Sport Club – self-styled Home of Padel in USA:


Padel is a racquet sport played extensively in Spain, Europe and Latin America. It is considered a tennis-squash hybrid.

The game of Padel is always played in doubles on an enclosed court. The balls used and the scoring is the same as normal tennis, with a key difference which is the underhand serve. The rules of the game allow for the use of the back wall and sidewalls resulting in longer rallies.

Padel is a great sport for players of all ages and skills, as it is both quick and easy to pick up, and it is less physically demanding than similar sports like Tennis. Most players get the grasp of it within the first 20 minutes of playing and find it easy to achieve a level of proficiency so that they can enjoy it because the game is not as dominated by strength, technique and serve as it is in Tennis. It is considered a family game and a very social sport. Men, women and youth can compete together without physical strength being key to win. Padel has gained tremendous popularity due to its simplicity and similarities to already existing racquet sports.

I’ve only been playing for 2 months, yet I’m getting better and better at it. I’m trying to befriend the wall, with some success. Hitting a ball as hard as I can against a wall in order for it to rebound onto the other side of the court is not something that comes instinctively. My coach gave me some technique but hitting it against the wall with all my strength is counter intuitive. I’m learning though. Padel is a gratifying sport because I see noticeable improvement in my game every time I play.

I’ll have to take a selfie with some of the kooky characters I play with – having a fun personality is a big plus, so I’m using my Californian charm to make new friends. It great to be involved in something other than my projects, dog walks and bike rides. Most padel players are Catalan, so I’m now learning how to not just keep score in Catalan. but to make silly exclamations in Catalan as well; good fun.


Padel is typically played in doubles on an enclosed court a third the size of a tennis court. Scoring is the same as normal tennis and the balls used are similar but with a little less pressure, the main differences are that the court has walls and the balls can be played off them in a similar way as in the game of squash and that solid, stringless racquets are used. The height of the ball being served must be at or below the waist level. The sport was invented in Acapulco, Mexico, by Enrique Corcuera in 1969. It is currently most popular in Hispanic American countries such as Argentina and Mexico as well as in Spain, although it is now beginning to spread rapidly across Europe and other continents.


click on the following link to learn why Padel is set to become the sport of the 3rd Millenium.

Padel is very convivial. The distances between all the players are a lot smaller than with tennis, which means that it is easier to communicate between rallies, even with the opponents. Compare it to squash, but with 4 players. No wonder it is very popular to practice the sport with business partners or colleagues.

Padel is also cheaper than tennis. The courts are considerably smaller than tennis courts, which means less space is required to build the courts. Prices to rent a court are generally the same as renting a tennis court. As padel is always played in doubles the cost per player is lower.

I haven’t been at it long enough to have anything more to say on the subject, other than that I highly recommend it! I’m hoping to find players in L.A. when we go next month, because I’ve found some courts there. However I have no idea if the padel scene is happening in L.A. yet or if any of my artsy music friends are up for trying the sport of the 3rd Millenium...