CHAMAEROPS HUMILIS, MEDITERRANEAN'S NATIVE PALM

Today, The Grandma is in Castelldefels for a double training session with future teachers. This morning, she has worked on key aspects of job hunting, and this afternoon she will lead the final session of a training course -also with future teachers.  

 

Temperatures are soaring, making a trip to the beach -or even to Garraf- unappealing. Instead, The Grandma has decided to have lunch in the gardens of the castle that gives the city its name; the gardens are cool and shady, offering a respite from the stifling heat and high temperatures.

One plant that particularly stands out is the Chamaerops humilis, a European fan palm named margalló in Catalan, a plant that many Castelldefels residents consider a symbol of their city -much like the artichoke in Sant Boi de Llobregat, the asparagus in Gavà, the lettuce in Viladecans, or the blue-legged chicken in El Prat de Llobregat. Indeed, despite their dense urban development and high population, these municipalities in the Delta region possess an agricultural heritage they neither can nor wish to leave behind.

Among the countless plants that define the Mediterranean landscape, few are as emblematic as the dwarf fan palm (Chamaerops humilis). Known in Catalan as margalló, this resilient species is the only palm native to the Iberian Peninsula and one of the most characteristic plants of the western Mediterranean basin. For centuries it has shaped coastal landscapes, provided valuable raw materials for local communities, and adapted to some of the harshest environmental conditions found in southern Europe.

The dwarf fan palm belongs to the palm family (Arecaceae) and is instantly recognizable thanks to its fan-shaped leaves. Unlike the tall tropical palms that line promenades and gardens around the world, Chamaerops humilis usually grows as a dense, multi-stemmed shrub rather than a single-trunk tree. Most specimens reach between one and three metres in height, although exceptionally old individuals can grow taller.

Its scientific name reflects its modest appearance. The Greek word chamai means on the ground, while rhops refers to a shrub or bush. The Latin species name humilis also means low or small, emphasizing its compact growth.

The dwarf fan palm is native to the western Mediterranean region. It can be found in eastern and southern of the Iberian Peninsula, the Balearic Islands, southern France, Italy, Malta, and large areas of North Africa, including Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia.

In Catalonia, it naturally grows mainly along the coastal and pre-coastal mountain ranges, where the warm Mediterranean climate provides ideal conditions. It thrives on rocky hillsides, limestone soils, cliffs, scrublands and dry forests, often becoming one of the dominant plants in these ecosystems.

One of the most remarkable qualities of the margalló is its extraordinary resilience. It tolerates prolonged drought thanks to its deep root system and tough, leathery leaves, which reduce water loss during the hot Mediterranean summers. It also withstands poor soils, strong coastal winds and salt spray, allowing it to flourish in places where many other plants struggle.

Unlike many ornamental palms imported from tropical regions, the dwarf fan palm is surprisingly resistant to cold. Mature plants can survive temperatures below freezing, making it one of the hardiest palm species in Europe. After wildfires -a natural part of many Mediterranean ecosystems- the plant often regenerates from its underground stems, helping vegetation recover after the flames have passed. The fan-shaped leaves are perhaps the plant's most distinctive feature. Their segments radiate from a central point like the folds of a traditional hand fan. The leaf stalks are armed with sharp spines that help protect the plant from herbivores.

The species is dioecious, meaning that male and female flowers usually grow on separate plants. During spring, clusters of small yellow flowers emerge near the centre of the leaves. If pollination is successful, female plants produce small oval fruits that change from green to yellowish-brown as they ripen. Although the fruits resemble tiny dates, they are not considered edible due to their extremely bitter taste.

The margalló plays an important ecological role within Mediterranean habitats. Its dense clumps provide shelter for birds, reptiles and small mammals, while its flowers offer nectar and pollen to numerous insects during spring. The fruits are consumed by some bird species and mammals, which help disperse the seeds. Because it is naturally adapted to the Mediterranean climate, the dwarf fan palm has become increasingly important in habitat restoration projects, especially in areas affected by erosion or wildfires.

For generations, people living around the Mediterranean made extensive use of the margalló. The young leaves were harvested, dried and woven into a wide variety of everyday objects. Baskets, mats, ropes, hats, fans, brushes and even sandals were traditionally crafted using its strong fibres. This artisanal activity became an important source of income in several Mediterranean villages, particularly before industrial materials replaced natural fibres. In some regions, the unopened central shoots were occasionally eaten as a vegetable, although harvesting them kills the growing stem and is therefore no longer a common practice.

Today, the dwarf fan palm is valued more for its ecological importance than for its economic uses. Although the species itself is not globally threatened, many natural populations are protected because they form part of fragile Mediterranean ecosystems. Habitat destruction, urban development, repeated fires and the introduction of invasive species have reduced some local populations.

Like many other palms, the margalló is also vulnerable to pests such as the red palm weevil, an invasive insect that has caused serious damage to palm trees throughout southern Europe. Conservation efforts focus on protecting natural habitats and promoting the use of native plants in landscaping, where the dwarf fan palm represents a sustainable alternative to exotic ornamental species.

The margalló perfectly embodies the character of the Mediterranean landscape: hardy, adaptable and deeply rooted in local history. It has survived droughts, fires and centuries of environmental change while continuing to support wildlife and human communities alike. Whether growing on a rocky coastal cliff, among fragrant pine forests or in the dry scrublands overlooking the sea, the dwarf fan palm remains one of the most distinctive symbols of the western Mediterranean -a reminder that some of the region's greatest natural treasures are also its oldest and most resilient.

More information: RHS

The Mediterranean Sea with its various branches,
 penetrating far into the great Continent, 
forms the largest gulf of the ocean, 
and, alternately narrowed by islands or projections 
of the land and expanding to considerable breadth, 
at once separates and connects 
the three divisions of the Old World.

Theodor Mommsen

CASPAR DAVID FRIEDRICH, LANDSCAPES AS EMOTIONS

Today, The Grandma has received a wonderful visit from Claire Fontaine and Joseph de Ca'th Lon, her dear friends who have been spending a few days in Germany.

The three share many things -including a love for painting- so visiting cities like Leipzig or Dresden inevitably leads to a discussion about Caspar David Friedrich, the 19th-century Romantic landscape painter considered the most important German artist of his generation.

Joseph de Ca'th Lon, Claire Fontaine, The Grandma, and Caspar David Friedrich share an affection for a city that, despite not being Swiss, Quebecer, Catalan, or German, has played a significant role in all four of their lives: Copenhagen.

Joseph and Claire have given The Grandma one of her favourite games -a memory game- this time featuring the paintings of that fascinating German artist. They have been playing and reminiscing about these Romantic paintings that are part of world art.

Among the great artists of European Romanticism, few have left as profound and lasting an impression as Caspar David Friedrich. His paintings are instantly recognizable: solitary figures standing before immense landscapes, ruined abbeys emerging through mist, frozen seas, ancient forests, moonlit skies, and silent mountains stretching toward infinity. Yet Friedrich was never interested in painting nature merely for its beauty. For him, every tree, cloud, rock, and ray of light carried a deeper meaning. His landscapes were not simply places -they were reflections of the human soul.

Born on September 5, 1774, in the Baltic port town of Greifswald, then part of Swedish Pomerania, Friedrich became the leading figure of German Romantic landscape painting. 

His works transformed traditional landscape art into a vehicle for philosophy, spirituality, and emotion. During his lifetime he enjoyed considerable recognition, later fell almost completely into obscurity, and was rediscovered only in the twentieth century. Today, he is celebrated as one of the greatest painters in European art history.

Caspar David Friedrich grew up in a deeply religious Lutheran family. His father, Adolf Gottlieb Friedrich, was a candle maker whose strict beliefs shaped the atmosphere of the household. Although financially stable, the family experienced repeated tragedies that profoundly influenced the young artist.

Several of Friedrich's siblings died during his childhood. The most traumatic event occurred when he was thirteen years old. While skating on frozen water, Caspar fell through the ice. His older brother Johann Christoffer rushed to save him but drowned in the attempt.

The incident haunted Friedrich throughout his life. Historians have often connected the themes of solitude, death, mourning, and spiritual reflection found in his paintings to this devastating childhood experience. Whether consciously or not, the memory of personal loss became part of the emotional landscape that would define his artistic vision.

Friedrich began his artistic education at the University of Greifswald before moving in 1794 to Copenhagen, where he entered the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts. The Academy emphasized careful observation of nature and precise drawing, providing him with a strong technical foundation.

Rather than immediately embracing dramatic Romanticism, Friedrich first learned the discipline of classical draftsmanship. He produced numerous studies of plants, trees, architecture, and landscapes, gradually developing the remarkable attention to natural detail that would characterize his mature works.

In 1798, he settled permanently in Dresden, one of the most important cultural centres of German-speaking Europe. There he became acquainted with poets, philosophers, scientists, and fellow artists who were helping shape the Romantic movement.

The Romantic movement emerged partly as a response against the rational ideals of the Enlightenment. While eighteenth-century thinkers emphasized reason, order, and scientific progress, Romantic artists sought mystery, imagination, emotion, and the sublime.

Friedrich embodied these ideals more completely than perhaps any other painter. For him, nature was not simply a collection of physical objects. It was a sacred space where human beings could encounter the infinite. Mountains suggested eternity. Forests represented mystery. Ruined churches spoke of history and mortality. The sea symbolized both freedom and uncertainty. Rather than depicting historical events or mythological heroes, Friedrich invited viewers to contemplate silence itself.

One of Friedrich's most original ideas was that landscape painting could express religious feeling without illustrating scenes directly from the Bible. Instead of painting miracles or saints, he suggested the presence of God through light, atmosphere, and nature. Sunrise often represented hope and renewal. Sunset suggested the passing of earthly life. Winter symbolized death, while spring represented resurrection. Bare trees, crosses on mountaintops, distant churches, and lonely paths all carried symbolic meanings. Every element within his compositions contributed to an emotional or spiritual narrative. As Friedrich himself famously observed:  The artist should paint not only what he has before him, but also what he sees within him. This sentence has become one of the defining statements of Romantic art.

One of Friedrich's greatest innovations was his frequent use of the Rückenfigur -a figure shown from behind, looking toward the landscape. Rather than revealing facial expressions, these anonymous individuals invite viewers to occupy their place. Standing behind them, we experience the same scene and are encouraged to reflect upon our own thoughts and emotions. This simple compositional device transformed the relationship between painting and spectator. Instead of observing a landscape from outside, viewers become participants in the experience. Many later artists, photographers, and filmmakers would adopt this technique, making it one of Friedrich's most enduring contributions to visual culture.

 More information: Caspar David Friedrich

No painting better represents Friedrich's artistic philosophy than Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, completed around 1818. The image shows a lone traveler standing atop a rocky summit while an ocean of mist hides the landscape below. Mountains emerge through the clouds, while distant peaks disappear into the horizon. The identity of the wanderer remains unknown. Is he contemplating nature? Celebrating a difficult journey? Reflecting upon his own existence? Searching for God? Friedrich deliberately leaves these questions unanswered. The painting has become one of the defining images of European Romanticism precisely because every generation discovers new meanings within it.

Equally revolutionary was The Monk by the Sea. At first glance, the composition appears almost empty. A tiny monk stands before an immense sea beneath an enormous sky. Traditional landscape painting generally filled the canvas with details and decorative elements. Friedrich did the opposite. He removed almost everything. The overwhelming emptiness creates a feeling of isolation rarely experienced in earlier European art. When the painting was first exhibited in 1810, audiences found it deeply unsettling. Today it is regarded as one of the earliest masterpieces of modern landscape painting.

Displayed alongside The Monk by the Sea, Abbey in the Oakwood explores themes of death and spiritual hope. A funeral procession moves through the ruins of a Gothic abbey surrounded by ancient oak trees stripped of their leaves. The setting sun fades behind the horizon. Although the subject concerns mortality, the painting does not inspire despair. Instead, it suggests that earthly life passes while spiritual existence continues. The ruined architecture reflects Friedrich's fascination with medieval Germany and the passage of time.

Among Friedrich's boldest works is The Sea of Ice, painted during the 1820s. Instead of presenting nature as peaceful or comforting, the painting depicts gigantic slabs of broken ice crushing the remains of a ship. The composition conveys extraordinary power. Nature appears indifferent to human ambition. Unlike heroic paintings celebrating exploration, The Sea of Ice reminds viewers that humanity remains fragile before the forces of the natural world. Many art historians consider it one of the first truly modern environmental images.

Late in his career Friedrich painted The Stages of Life, one of his most personal works. Five figures stand beside the sea while ships sail toward the horizon. Each person represents a different stage of human existence, from childhood to old age. The vessels mirror this symbolism: some are just beginning their journey, while others approach distant waters. Painted after years of declining health, the work reflects Friedrich's quiet acceptance of the passage of time.

One reason Friedrich's paintings continue to fascinate viewers is their extraordinary symbolic richness. A simple tree may represent endurance. A ruined church can symbolize the passing of civilizations. Mist conceals certainty. Mountains suggest spiritual ascent. The moon often evokes eternity. Even silence becomes meaningful. Unlike artists who explained every symbol explicitly, Friedrich preferred ambiguity. He trusted viewers to complete the emotional journey themselves.

By the 1810s and early 1820s Friedrich had become one of Germany's most admired painters. Collectors, aristocrats, and members of the Prussian royal family purchased his works. However, artistic tastes gradually changed. Realism became increasingly popular, while Friedrich's deeply symbolic landscapes came to be regarded by many critics as old-fashioned. His health also deteriorated. A stroke suffered in 1835 limited his ability to paint in oils, forcing him to concentrate increasingly on drawings and watercolors. Financial difficulties followed, and public interest declined. When Friedrich died in Dresden on May 7, 1840, he was respected by a small circle of admirers but largely forgotten by the broader artistic world.

During the late nineteenth century Friedrich remained relatively obscure. Everything changed during the twentieth century. Art historians recognized how remarkably modern his compositions had been. His emphasis on mood, psychological experience, and symbolic landscapes anticipated later artistic movements, including Symbolism, Expressionism, and even aspects of Surrealism.

Today his paintings occupy places of honour in major museums across Europe. His influence extends far beyond painting. Photographers have adopted his compositions. Film directors have borrowed his dramatic use of landscape. Contemporary artists continue to reinterpret his imagery. Even advertising, album covers, and digital art frequently echo his visual language.

Caspar David Friedrich fundamentally transformed landscape painting. Before him, landscapes often served as backgrounds for historical or religious narratives. After him, the landscape itself became the story. His greatest achievement was demonstrating that mountains, forests, oceans, and skies could express human emotions as powerfully as portraits or historical scenes. More than two centuries later, his paintings continue to invite quiet contemplation in an increasingly noisy world. Standing before one of Friedrich's canvases, viewers often experience something difficult to describe. There is no dramatic action, no heroic battle, no elaborate narrative. Instead, there is silence. That silence becomes a space where each viewer encounters their own memories, hopes, fears, and dreams. Perhaps that explains why Friedrich remains so relevant today. He reminds us that nature is not merely something we observe. It is something we feel. His paintings ask us to slow down, to embrace solitude rather than fear it, and to recognize that the greatest landscapes are not only those that surround us, but also those that exist within us. 

In the end, Caspar David Friedrich did far more than paint mountains wrapped in mist or lonely travelers gazing toward distant horizons. He transformed landscapes into mirrors of the human spirit, creating images that continue to inspire reflection, wonder, and emotional depth across generations. His canvases invite us to pause before the vastness of the world and, in doing so, discover something equally vast within ourselves.

More information: Met Museum

The painter should paint not only 
what he has in front of him, 
but also what he sees inside himself. 
If he sees nothing within, 
then he should stop painting 
what is in front of him.

 Caspar David Friedrich

WORLD CHESS CHAMPIONSHIP 1972, FISCHER VS SPASSKY

The Grandma loves chess. It is one of her great hobbies, and she always enjoys playing to relax and exercise her mind. She always carries her chessboard with her when she travels. She is an older woman, and although modern technology allows for virtual play, she prefers to lay out the board, set up the pieces, find a worthy opponent, and enjoy one of the most fascinating games in existence. With the high temperatures currently hitting Barcelona, ​​going out doesn't seem very appealing; so, The Grandma grabbed her board and headed to Can Deu in Les Corts to spend the day playing until well into the evening.

As it happens, today The Grandma and her playing partner found themselves reminiscing about the great 1972 chess match between the Soviet Boris Spassky and the American Bobby Fischer -a match that changed the world due to the political climate of the time.

Few sporting events have transcended their discipline in the way the 1972 World Chess Championship did. Held in Reykjavík, Iceland, between July 11 and September 1, the match brought together defending world champion Boris Spassky of the Soviet Union and challenger Bobby Fischer of the United States. Although officially a contest for the world's highest chess title, it quickly became a global cultural and political phenomenon, earning the enduring nickname The Match of the Century.

The championship represented much more than a battle between two extraordinary grandmasters. At the height of the Cold War, the encounter symbolized the ideological confrontation between East and West. For over two decades, the Soviet Union had dominated world chess, considering the game an expression of intellectual superiority and national prestige. Fischer, an unconventional American genius, sought not only to claim the title but also to end one of the longest periods of dominance in sporting history.

Since Mikhail Botvinnik became world champion in 1948, every holder of the world title had been Soviet. The USSR invested heavily in chess, establishing schools, training systems, and state-sponsored programs that produced an endless stream of elite players. Chess champions were celebrated as national heroes and symbols of Soviet intellectual achievement.

Boris Spassky became world champion in 1969 after defeating Tigran Petrosian. Unlike some of his predecessors, Spassky was admired for his universal playing style. He could attack brilliantly, defend patiently, and adapt to virtually any position. Calm, elegant, and highly respected, he entered the 1972 match as one of the strongest and most complete players in history.

Across the Atlantic stood Bobby Fischer, whose journey could hardly have been more different. Robert James "Bobby" Fischer had astonished the chess world from an early age. Becoming the youngest grandmaster in history at the time, he developed almost entirely outside the Soviet chess system. Largely self-taught, Fischer possessed an unmatched work ethic, exceptional memory, and an obsessive dedication to improving every aspect of his game.

By the early 1970s he had become the world's highest-rated player and was widely regarded as the strongest competitor outside the Soviet Union. Yet earning the right to challenge Spassky required surviving one of the toughest qualification cycles in chess history. Fischer's performances during the 1971 Candidates Matches remain among the greatest ever recorded.

He defeated Soviet grandmaster Mark Taimanov by an astonishing 6-0 score. Many observers considered such a result impossible between world-class players. Fischer then repeated the feat against Danish grandmaster Bent Larsen, winning another match 6-0. These victories shocked the chess community and demonstrated a level of dominance rarely seen in elite competition.

In the Candidates Final, Fischer faced former world champion Tigran Petrosian. Although Petrosian managed to end Fischer's remarkable twenty-game winning streak by taking one game, Fischer ultimately won the match convincingly and secured the right to challenge Spassky for the world title.

By 1972, anticipation had reached unprecedented levels. Despite enormous public interest, the championship almost never happened. Fischer was famous not only for his genius but also for his difficult personality and uncompromising demands. He repeatedly questioned tournament conditions, prize money, television arrangements, lighting, cameras, and playing facilities.

Negotiations became increasingly complicated. At one stage Fischer refused to travel to Iceland, prompting fears that he would forfeit the championship. The prize fund eventually doubled thanks to British financier James Slater, who dramatically increased the available money in hopes of saving the event. Even then Fischer delayed his arrival.

Only after intense negotiations -and reportedly personal encouragement from influential figures, including U.S. officials- did Fischer finally travel to Reykjavík. His late arrival transformed an already important sporting contest into an international media spectacle. The world watched to see whether the brilliant but unpredictable challenger would actually sit down at the chessboard. The opening game took place on July 11, 1972.

Initially, both players performed cautiously. However, Fischer unexpectedly captured a pawn on the edge of the board with his bishop -a move that many commentators immediately questioned. The decision proved disastrous. Instead of obtaining an advantage, Fischer found himself in an increasingly difficult position. Spassky converted his edge accurately and won the first game. Although losing the opening game was disappointing, what happened next became even more famous.

Before Game Two, Fischer renewed his complaints about television cameras, arguing that their noise distracted him. When organizers refused to remove them entirely, Fischer failed to appear. After waiting the required time, Spassky was awarded victory by forfeit. Suddenly the score stood at 2-0 in favor of the Soviet champion. Many experts believed the match was effectively over. Recovering from such a deficit against an opponent as experienced as Spassky seemed almost impossible. Some even expected Fischer to abandon the championship altogether. Instead, one of the greatest comebacks in sporting history began. To persuade Fischer to continue, organizers agreed to hold the third game in a small backstage room away from spectators and television cameras. Although the unusual arrangement generated controversy, it proved decisive. Playing with the black pieces, Fischer defeated Spassky for the first time ever in a tournament game.

The psychological balance of the match shifted dramatically. From that point onward Fischer displayed extraordinary confidence. His preparation in the openings surprised even Soviet analysts, while his tactical precision and endgame technique repeatedly placed Spassky under enormous pressure. The American gradually reduced the deficit before eventually taking the lead. Several games from the match entered chess history as masterpieces.

Game Six is often regarded as Fischer's finest performance in the entire championship. Playing White in the Queen's Gambit, he produced a positional masterpiece of remarkable elegance. His harmonious piece coordination, deep strategic understanding, and flawless technical execution left spectators and commentators astonished. Perhaps the greatest compliment came from Spassky himself.

After resigning, the Soviet champion joined the audience in applauding Fischer's extraordinary display -a gesture of sportsmanship that has become one of the most memorable moments in world chess. Throughout the remainder of the match Fischer continued to demonstrate remarkable versatility. He successfully employed openings that he had rarely used before, forcing the Soviet preparation to adapt continuously. His willingness to surprise opponents became one of his greatest competitive strengths. Meanwhile Spassky, despite moments of excellent play, increasingly struggled to regain momentum.

The 1972 championship was as much a psychological contest as a chess match. Fischer's unpredictable behavior constantly disrupted routines. His complaints about lighting, cameras, seating arrangements, audience noise, and even chessboard equipment created continual tension for organizers. Some observers believed these actions formed part of a deliberate psychological strategy. Others argued they reflected Fischer's genuine sensitivity to distractions and his perfectionist personality. Whatever the explanation, the controversy surrounding nearly every stage of the event ensured worldwide media attention.

Newspapers that had never previously covered chess devoted front-page articles to the match. Television broadcasts attracted millions of viewers who knew little about the game itself but were fascinated by the personalities involved. For many people, this was their first introduction to competitive chess. The championship cannot be understood without considering the political climate of the early 1970s. The Cold War shaped international relations, and every symbolic victory carried ideological significance.

For decades Soviet dominance in chess had been presented as evidence of the superiority of the Soviet educational and intellectual system. Consequently, Fischer's challenge attracted enormous political attention. Although neither player officially represented government policy, the public frequently viewed them as symbols of their respective nations. Western media portrayed Fischer as the lone individual confronting the vast Soviet chess machine. Soviet commentators emphasized Spassky's professionalism and experience while expressing confidence that the title would remain in Moscow.

The match therefore became far more than a sporting event. It evolved into a cultural confrontation watched by millions around the globe. As the championship progressed, Fischer steadily extended his advantage. Spassky continued fighting courageously, but the momentum had clearly shifted. Several games ended peacefully in draws, yet Fischer maintained firm control of the overall score. The twenty-first game, begun on August 31, proved decisive. Playing the black pieces, Fischer obtained a superior position after forty moves. As was customary under the rules of the time, play was adjourned overnight. Rather than returning the following day, Spassky carefully analyzed the position with his team and concluded that the game could no longer be saved. He resigned without resuming play. The final score stood at 12½–8½.

At twenty-nine years old, Bobby Fischer became the eleventh undisputed World Chess Champion and the first American-born player ever to win the title. His victory also ended twenty-four consecutive years of Soviet control over the World Championship. The impact of Fischer's triumph extended far beyond professional chess. Interest in the game exploded throughout the United States and many other countries. Chess sets sold in unprecedented numbers. Clubs experienced dramatic increases in membership, while newspapers expanded their chess columns. Schools introduced chess programs, and thousands of young players took up the game after following Fischer's achievement.

Publishers released books explaining his games and analyzing his brilliant ideas. For a brief period, chess became part of mainstream popular culture. This phenomenon became known as the Fischer Boom. Although the surge eventually slowed, its long-term influence remained significant, inspiring generations of players across the world. Despite the intense political atmosphere and Fischer's often controversial behavior, the relationship between the two competitors retained moments of genuine mutual respect.

Spassky consistently demonstrated dignity throughout the match, even under extraordinary pressure. His applause following Game Six became one of the defining images of sportsmanship in modern chess history. Years later, the two players would meet again in a rematch held in 1992, long after Fischer had disappeared from competitive chess. Although circumstances had changed dramatically, their rivalry remained one of the most celebrated in sporting history.

The 1972 World Championship has inspired numerous books, documentaries, films, and artistic works. The musical Chess, created by Tim Rice together with Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus, drew inspiration from the dramatic rivalry between an American and a Soviet grandmaster. The documentary Bobby Fischer Against the World revisited the championship using archival footage and interviews. In 2014, the feature film Pawn Sacrifice, starring Tobey Maguire as Fischer and Liev Schreiber as Spassky, dramatized the events leading to the famous match. The championship has also appeared in television programs, historical documentaries, and countless analyses by chess historians. More than fifty years later, its influence continues to shape public perceptions of competitive chess.

The 1972 World Chess Championship remains unique in sporting history because it united exceptional chess with extraordinary historical circumstances. 

Bobby Fischer's brilliant play challenged an entire chess establishment that had dominated the game for nearly a quarter of a century. Boris Spassky, gracious in both victory and defeat, proved himself a champion whose sportsmanship matched his immense talent. Their encounter demonstrated that chess could capture the imagination of the entire world, transcending language, politics, and culture.

Today, the Reykjavík match is remembered not simply because a world title changed hands, but because it transformed chess from a specialized intellectual pursuit into a truly global spectacle. It remains one of the greatest championships ever played and a timeless reminder that a contest across sixty-four squares can sometimes reflect the tensions, ambitions, and hopes of an entire era.

More information: Sjakknyheter

 The place of chess in the society is closely related 
to the attitude of young people towards our game.

Boris Spassky

'LA PELL DE BRAU' DE SALVADOR ESPRIU (POEMA XXV)

Direm la veritat, sense repòs,
per l'honor de servir, sota els peus de tots.

Detestem els grans ventres, els grans mots,
la indecent parenceria de l'or,
les cartes mal donades de la sort,
el fum espès d'encens al poderós.

És ara vil el poble de senyors,
s'ajup en el seu odi com un gos,
lladra de lluny, de prop admet bastó,
enllà del fang segueix camins de mort.

Amb la cançó bastim en la foscor
altes parets de somni, a recer d'aquest torb.

Ve per la nit remor de moltes fonts:
anem tancant les portes a la por. 

We shall speak the truth, without respite,
for the honour of serving, beneath the feet of all.

We despise swollen bellies, lofty words,
the shameless glitter of gold,
the crooked cards dealt out by fate,
the heavy smoke of incense offered to the mighty.

Now the people of lords have grown ignoble:
they crouch within their hatred like a dog,
bark from afar, yet from nearby accept the whip;
beyond the mire they still pursue the roads of death.

With song we build, within the darkness,
high walls of dreams, a shelter from this storm.

Through the night comes the murmur of countless springs:
we keep closing the doors against fear.

 

More information: World Literature Today

Direm la veritat, sense repòs,
per l'honor de servir, sota els peus de tots.

We shall speak the truth, without respite,
for the honour of serving, beneath the feet of all.

Salvador Espriu i Castelló (10 July 1913-22 February 1985)  

THE INAUGURAL WIMBLEDON CHAMPIONSHIPS BEGINS

The Grandma loves tennis very much, and that is why today she has been reading about Wimbledon -one of the most prestigious tournaments, with a fascinating history- which began on this day in 1877.

Today, Wimbledon is regarded as the most prestigious tennis tournament in the world. Every summer, millions of fans follow the Championships as the greatest players compete on the famous grass courts of the All England Club. White clothing, strawberries and cream, royal traditions and Centre Court have become symbols recognized across the globe. Yet everything began in a remarkably modest way.

The first Wimbledon Championship, held in July 1877, was not created to establish the world's greatest tennis tournament. It was organized for a far more practical reason: to raise enough money to repair a worn-out pony roller used to maintain the club's lawns. No one involved could have imagined that this local competition would eventually become the oldest and most prestigious tournament in tennis history.

To understand the importance of the 1877 Championship, it is necessary to look back at the origins of lawn tennis itself. The All England Croquet Club had been founded in Wimbledon, southwest London, in 1868. During the Victorian era, croquet enjoyed enormous popularity among Britain's upper and middle classes. However, fashions changed quickly, and by the middle of the 1870s enthusiasm for croquet had begun to decline.

Around the same time, a new outdoor sport was capturing public attention. Inspired by the ancient indoor game of real tennis, lawn tennis offered a faster and more accessible alternative that could be played on grass. Recognizing the growing popularity of this new sport, the club introduced lawn tennis in 1875 and soon renamed itself the All England Croquet and Lawn Tennis Club. The decision would transform not only the club's future but also the history of sport itself.

In June 1877, the committee faced a practical problem. The club owned a heavy pony roller used to flatten and maintain the grass courts. After years of use, it required expensive repairs, and the committee needed additional funds. Instead of increasing membership fees, they decided to organize a tennis competition. Each participant would pay an entrance fee of one guinea, while spectators would purchase admission tickets. The resulting income would cover the repairs. From this simple financial decision emerged what is now recognized as the first official lawn tennis championship and, retrospectively, the first Grand Slam tournament.

Although lawn tennis already existed, its rules were still evolving. Only two years earlier, in 1875, the Marylebone Cricket Club had published one of the earliest standardized versions of the game's regulations. The Wimbledon organizers adapted these rules, modifying several aspects to make competition more practical. The court was different from the one used today. Its dimensions varied slightly, the net was higher than the modern version, and the service rules also differed considerably. Even the shape of the court reflected the experimentation typical of a sport that was still defining its identity. Following the tournament, the organizers carefully reviewed what had worked well and what had not. Their conclusions led to important modifications, especially concerning court dimensions, many of which became permanent features of the sport. Thus, the inaugural Championship did not simply crown a champion -it helped establish the foundations of modern tennis.

The tournament began on 9 July 1877. Unlike today's Championships, there was only one event: the Gentlemen's Singles. No women's competition existed, nor were there doubles or mixed doubles events. Twenty-two amateur players entered the draw, each paying one guinea for the privilege of competing. The event took place on outdoor grass courts at the club's original Worple Road grounds in Wimbledon, long before the move to Church Road, where the Championships are still held today. The atmosphere was informal compared with modern standards. There were no television cameras, sponsorship deals, electronic scoreboards or international media. Instead, local spectators gathered around the courts to watch what was still considered an experimental sporting event.

Even during its very first edition, Wimbledon experienced something that would become one of its defining characteristics: rain. Persistent bad weather delayed the final by three days. The tournament schedule was also interrupted because the organizers wished to avoid clashing with the prestigious Eton versus Harrow cricket match at Lord's Cricket Ground, one of England's major sporting occasions. This decision illustrates the social hierarchy of Victorian sport. Cricket remained the nation's premier summer pastime, while lawn tennis was still establishing itself. Only later would Wimbledon become one of Britain's greatest sporting traditions in its own right.

The inaugural Wimbledon champion was Spencer Gore. Born in London, Gore was twenty-seven years old when he entered the tournament. Although remembered today primarily as a tennis player, he was also an accomplished rackets player and an excellent cricketer. His background proved particularly valuable. Many early tennis competitors came from rackets or real tennis, sports requiring quick reflexes and precise volleying skills. Throughout the tournament, Gore demonstrated an aggressive attacking style that differed significantly from many of his contemporaries. Rather than remaining at the baseline, he frequently rushed toward the net, volleying whenever possible. This tactic surprised many observers. In an era when players often preferred longer rallies from the back of the court, Gore believed attacking was the future of tennis. History proved him correct. Modern grass-court tennis would eventually become famous for its emphasis on serving and volleying, a style pioneered by players like Gore.

Gore's opponent in the final was William Marshall, another highly respected player of the period. Marshall had established himself as one of Britain's strongest competitors and reached the championship match after a series of impressive victories. Interestingly, before the final, a separate match determined second place in the tournament. Marshall defeated Charles Gilbert Heathcote to earn the right to challenge Gore in the championship match. Although this format seems unusual today, it reflected the experimental nature of early sporting competitions.

The final finally took place on 19 July 1877. Approximately 200 spectators attended, each paying one shilling for admission. By modern standards, this crowd seems tiny.  Today, Wimbledon welcomes hundreds of thousands of visitors every year, while millions more watch around the world. Yet those 200 spectators witnessed one of the most important moments in sporting history. Gore dominated the match from beginning to end. He defeated Marshall 6-1, 6-2, 6-4 in just forty-eight minutes. The victory made Spencer Gore the first Wimbledon champion. Remarkably, it would also remain the only major title of his career.

More information: Wimbledon

Winning Wimbledon in 1877 did not bring fame or enormous wealth. The champion received twelve guineas in prize money together with a silver Challenge Cup valued at twenty-five guineas. The trophy had been donated by The Field, a popular British sporting magazine. Compared with today's multi-million-pound prize fund, the rewards appear almost symbolic. However, for amateur Victorian sportsmen, prestige often mattered more than financial gain. Professionalism was still viewed with suspicion in many British sports. Victory represented honour, social recognition and sporting excellence rather than commercial success.

From the club's perspective, the tournament achieved exactly what had been intended. After covering expenses, the Championship generated a profit of approximately ten pounds. Most importantly, the money paid for the repair of the damaged pony roller. No one could have imagined that this small fundraising event would eventually become one of the world's most valuable sporting competitions. Today, Wimbledon generates hundreds of millions of pounds in revenue and stands among the most recognizable sporting brands anywhere on Earth.

One of the most significant outcomes of the inaugural tournament was not the identity of the winner but the lessons learned. The organizers carefully studied the matches and evaluated how the rules influenced play. They concluded that certain aspects of the court encouraged excessive net play while others created unnecessary tactical limitations. As a result, modifications were introduced after the tournament, particularly regarding the dimensions of the court. Many historians consider these adjustments essential steps in the development of modern tennis. Rather than viewing the rules as fixed, Wimbledon demonstrated a willingness to refine the sport through observation and experience. This practical approach helped shape tennis into the game we recognize today.

The success of the first Championship encouraged the club to repeat the event annually. Over time, additional competitions were introduced. Ladies' Singles and Gentlemen's Doubles appeared in 1884, while Ladies' Doubles and Mixed Doubles followed in 1913. The Championships gradually attracted stronger players, larger crowds and increasing international attention. As tennis spread across Europe, North America and eventually the rest of the world, Wimbledon became the sport's most prestigious destination. Even after the emergence of the Australian Open, the French Championships and the U.S. Championships, Wimbledon retained a unique aura rooted in tradition.

The original 1877 tournament was held at the club's Worple Road grounds. These courts bore little resemblance to today's magnificent complex. In 1922, the Championships moved to Church Road, where the famous Centre Court became the symbolic heart of world tennis. Modern spectators experience retractable roofs, electronic line-calling technology, giant scoreboards and seating for thousands of fans. Despite these innovations, the Championships continue to preserve many traditions dating back to Victorian Britain. Players still wear predominantly white clothing. The grass courts remain central to the tournament's identity. Royal patronage continues. The emphasis on etiquette and sportsmanship survives. These traditions help explain why Wimbledon occupies such a special place in sporting culture.

Curiously, Spencer Gore himself did not believe tennis represented the future. Years later, he reportedly described lawn tennis as rather boring and suggested that baseline play would eventually dominate the sport, making it less exciting. Ironically, his own attacking game became one of the defining characteristics of grass-court tennis for more than a century. Champions such as John McEnroe, Martina Navratilova, Stefan Edberg, Boris Becker and Pete Sampras all embraced aggressive serve-and-volley tactics that echoed Gore's pioneering style. Although modern tennis has evolved once again toward powerful baseline play, Gore's influence remains an important chapter in the sport's tactical history.

Many sporting competitions claim long histories, but few can trace their origins to such a clearly documented beginning. The 1877 Wimbledon Championship marked far more than the first edition of a tournament. It represented the moment when lawn tennis began its transformation from a fashionable pastime into an organized international sport. The event introduced standardized competition. It demonstrated that tennis could attract paying spectators. It generated written records, formal administration and continuous annual organization. These characteristics helped distinguish lawn tennis from many recreational games of the nineteenth century. Within only a few decades, the sport had spread across continents. National championships emerged in numerous countries, international rivalries developed and Wimbledon became the benchmark against which all other tournaments were measured.

Looking back nearly a century and a half later, it is remarkable how modest everything seemed in July 1877. Twenty-two amateur competitors. A single event. A crowd of around two hundred people. A repaired lawn roller as the financial objective. Yet from these humble beginnings emerged one of the greatest sporting institutions in history. Every Wimbledon champion, from William Renshaw and Suzanne Lenglen to Roger Federer, Serena Williams and Novak Djokovic, owes something to that pioneering tournament held on the grass courts of Worple Road.

The inaugural Championship demonstrated that careful organization, sporting excellence and respect for tradition could create an event capable of enduring for generations. What began as a local fundraising competition ultimately became the oldest tennis tournament in the world, the first major championship in the history of the sport, and one of the most celebrated annual events on the global sporting calendar.

More than simply crowning Spencer Gore as its first winner, the 1877 Wimbledon Championship laid the foundations of modern tennis itself—a legacy that continues every summer when players step onto the grass courts and compete for one of the most coveted titles in sport.

More information: Historic UK

Grass is a surface I have always loved, 
Wimbledon is a tournament I have always loved.

Steffi Graf

BONNIE TYLER, THERE IS NO ONE IN THE UNIVERSE...

 In memoriam

(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely
And you're never coming 'round
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit tired
Of listening to the sound of my tears
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit nervous
That the best of all the years have gone by
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit terrified
And then I see the look in your eyes

(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then, I fall apart
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then, I fall apart

(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit restless
And I dream of something wild
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit helpless
And I'm lying like a child in your arms
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit angry
And I know I've got to get out and cry
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I get a little bit terrified
But then I see the look in your eyes

(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then, I fall apart
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then, I fall apart

And I need you now tonight
And I need you more than ever
And if you only hold me tight
We'll be holding on forever
And we'll only be making it right
'Cause we'll never be wrong
Together, we can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time (All of the time)
I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks
I really need you tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight

Once upon a time, I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
There's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time, there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart
(Turn around, bright eyes)
(Turn around, bright eyes)

(Turn around)
Every now and then, I know you'll never be the boy
You always wanted to be
(Turn around)
But every now and then, I know you'll always be the only boy
Who wanted me the way that I am
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I know there's no one in the universe
As magical and wondrous as you
(Turn around)
Every now and then, I know there's nothing any better
There's nothing that I just wouldn't do

(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then, I fall apart
(Turn around, bright eyes)
Every now and then, I fall apart

And I need you now tonight (And I need you)
And I need you more than ever
And if you only hold me tight (If you love me)
We'll be holding on forever
And we'll only be making it right (And we'll never)
'Cause we'll never be wrong
Together, we can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time (All of the time)
I don't know what to do, I'm always in the dark
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks
I really need you tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
(Forever's gonna start tonight)

Once upon a time, I was falling in love
But now I'm only falling apart
Nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time, there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart
A total eclipse of the heart
A total eclipse of the heart

(Turn around, bright eyes)
(Turn around, bright eyes)
(Turn around)
(Ooh-ooh)
(Ah-ha, ah-ha)
(Ah-ha, ah-ha)
(Ooh-ooh)

Whenever I sing 'Total Eclipse of the Heart,' 
the way people sing along with me still excites me. 
It's one of the songs that audiences know all the lyrics to, 
and they sing along with me, and it makes me so happy. 

Bonnie Tyler

CELEBRATING THE WORLD CHOCOLATE DAY AT MUSEUM

Today, Claire Fontaine and The Grandma have decided to celebrate World Chocolate Day by visiting the Museu de la Xocolata de Barcelona, a fascinating space that tells the story of this very special food.

World Chocolate Day, or just Chocolate Day, is an annual celebration of chocolate, occurring globally on 7 July, which some suggest to be the anniversary of the introduction of chocolate to Europe in 1550.

The observance of World Chocolate Day dates back to 2009 and is not to be confused with International Chocolate Day.

Other Chocolate Day celebrations exist, such as National Chocolate Day in the United States on 28 October. The U.S. National Confectioners Association lists 13 September as International Chocolate Day, coinciding with the birth date of Milton S. Hershey (13 September 1857). Ghana, the third largest producer of cocoa, celebrates Chocolate Day on 14 February. In Latvia, World Chocolate Day is celebrated on 11 July.

The U.S. National Confectioners Association lists four primary chocolate holidays on their calendar (Chocolate Day (7 July), two National Chocolate Days (28 October and 28 December), and International Chocolate Day (13 September)).

More information: Brown Living

Hidden in the heart of Barcelona's charming El Born district, el Museu de la Xocolata (Chocolate Museum) is much more than a paradise for chocolate lovers. It offers visitors an engaging journey through the fascinating history of one of the world's most beloved foods, from its sacred origins in the Americas to its place in modern European culture.

Chocolate first arrived in Europe during the 16th century after the Spanish conquest of the Americas. The cacao bean had been highly valued by civilizations such as the Maya and the Aztecs, who considered it both a precious commodity and a ceremonial drink. Through Spain, chocolate gradually spread across the continent, becoming a luxury enjoyed by European royal courts before eventually becoming accessible to everyone.

Barcelona played an important role in this story. As one of the Mediterranean's great trading ports, the city became a gateway for cacao arriving from the New World. Over the centuries, Catalonia developed a rich tradition of chocolate making, with family-owned workshops producing everything from drinking chocolate to beautifully crafted confectionery.

El Museu de la Xocolata celebrates this heritage through a collection that combines history, art, culture, and craftsmanship. Visitors can discover how cacao is cultivated, learn about the chocolate-making process, and explore the evolution of packaging, advertising, and chocolate consumption through the centuries.

One of the museum's most distinctive attractions is its extraordinary collection of chocolate sculptures. Master chocolatiers have recreated famous monuments, fairy-tale characters, historical figures, and scenes from popular culture entirely in chocolate. These detailed creations highlight the remarkable artistic skills required to transform chocolate into genuine works of art.

The museum is also closely connected to Barcelona's culinary identity. It is managed by the Barcelona Confectioners' Guild, whose members have preserved the city's long-standing pastry traditions while continuing to innovate. Throughout the year, workshops and demonstrations allow visitors of all ages to experience the creativity behind chocolate craftsmanship.

A visit to el Museu de la Xocolata is both educational and delicious. Whether you are interested in history, gastronomy, or simply looking for a unique experience, the museum offers an enjoyable glimpse into how a humble cacao bean became one of the world's most treasured delicacies.

In a city celebrated for Antoni Gaudí's architecture, medieval streets, and Mediterranean atmosphere, el Museu de la Xocolata provides a different perspective on Barcelona -one where history, culture, and sweetness come together in every bite.

Chocolate is proof that history can be tasted and Claire Fontaine and The Grandma are ready to do it.

More information: Museu de la Xocolata

Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar 
into four pieces with your bare hands
-and then eat just one of the pieces.

Judith Viorst