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If I had been in Madrid last week, I would have doubtless lined up, with tens of thousands of madrileños, to pay my respects to Adolfo Suárez, the first elected prime minister of post-Francoist Spain, who died on March 23
The Centro de Arte Contemporáneo de Málaga is currently hosting an exhibition of works by El Roto, the pseudonym of Spanish cartoonist Andrés Rabago, whose work appears regularly in the daily newspaper El País. Entitled ‘Apocalipsis: Cartoons from the Book
When I was in Sochi the year before last, I took a pleasure cruise on the Black Sea. I remember being fascinated by the city’s skyline, its cranes as striking and numerous against the snow-capped mountains as the dashes on
The Sochi Winter Olympics, which begin next week, will forever be known as Putin’s Games. However they eventually pan out, Russia’s President has staked a good deal of political capital on their success — not to mention plenty of actual
“One thing that I really like about the Spanish,” my friend John Hemingway wrote in a recent blog post, upon his return to Montreal from Madrid, “is that when they get fed up with something, usually having to do with
“You smell that?” Johnny Depp asks towards the end of The Rum Diary, Bruce Robinson’s 2011 adaptation of the Hunter S. Thompson novel of the same name. Playing Paul Kemp, Thompson’s thinly veiled self-portrait and protagonist, Depp stands in the middle
Long before Dennis Rodman’s most recent trip to North Korea, his status as an incorrigible twit was pretty much beyond doubt. His blow-up on CNN this week, followed by the news that he had sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to Kim Jong-un—lover
Madrid is no Athens. Athens wears its economic crisis on its sleeves, on its walls, its shuttered shop fronts. Madrid’s is not so readily apparent: it is there, but you have to go looking for it, taking notice of the