I heartily recommend the offbeat movie Waiting for Dali that we recently watched on the Kanopy 'Thoughtful Entertainment' streaming channel. Set in the lovely fishing village of Cadaques (home of Salvador Dali) on the Costa Brava, it features the escape of two culinary chefs from turbulent political upheaval in 1970s Barcelona.
I was reminded of my account of our own priceless personal experience in Cadaques with Dali and his art in the mid 1980s:
"It was December, 1985 and we were in England ahead of a family Christmas. First we had an exciting side trip to make - cross-Channel ferry to Calais, train to Paris Nord (where we crossed the city to Austerlitz station, loading up in an epicerie on ham, cheese, baguette, and vin rouge), train to Barcelona via the Pyrenees. We missed our connection at the Spanish border and caught up with our train via taxi for the descent into Barcelona. After several days soaking up its sublime cultural, artistic, and physical riches, we rented a car and sped up the Costa Brava coast for a brief but delightful stay in the fishing village of Cadaques, then famous as the home of one Salvador Dali.
My lovely friend Cornelia from Berlin had told me about her trips with amigos to Cadaques which had built a reputation as hangout for bohemians and hippies tripping around Europe in camper vans. We made the descent through the dry olive-groved hillsides to the idyllic bay and precious seafront of the village. It was off-season with a chill and gloom in the air. Our hotel was basic and dining opportunities limited. The food was eminently forgettable, the atmosphere spartan. After dinner we gravitated to the seafront coffee bar and requested a premium brandy. The owner's eyes lit up and he recommended a Carlos Primero or a Cardenal Mendoza. Which did he recommend? Why not both try a glass of each?
As the warm glow of the second glass began to work its magic, the loquacious owner, who joined us in imbibing, launched into stories of his seafaring days and dug out a cassette recording of the melodic sea shanties he and his fellow sailors used to sing to while away the long hours. When a French couple came in and asked for a coffee, he shooed them away saying he was closed, muttering under his breath some profanities about the French. Another brandy (on the house) and a few shared stories later - memory is fuzzy whether it was a Carlos Primero or Cardenal Mendoza - we were ushered by our host into a backroom which served as a gallery for a wall of early abstract Dali pencil drawings.
"What do you see in this one?" he prompted.
"Circles?"
"Yes, but you see the horse, no?"
"Oh, yes, yes"; when I squinted and imagined wildly, indeed I could.
Here we were, steps away from the legendary artistic and cultural maverick genius himself, yes, still alive yet elusive and enigmatic in the material sense. We got close to seeing him in person, but made do with a rich dose of his ineffable aura. Cadaques at this time, its famous son Salvador Dali still alive, was brimming with art, quirkiness, and his presence. Today, his ubiquitous spirit no doubt remains to regale the charming port, despite its accelerated tourist invasion, with an enduring surreal appeal."
