By Gus Travis
Spain is the best country on the globe in which to live, in the opinion of Dr. William H. Kemp, brother of T.D. Kemp of 1732 East Eighth street.
And Dr. Kemp ought to know. Where he hasn’t been—ain’t. From the tropical jungles of South America to the highest mountains in all civilized countries, his work has taken him. A dentist by profession, a business man by shrewdness, a traveler by circumstance, and a cosmpolitan by knowledge, he declared Saturday that as far as “byes” are concerned with him, it is good-bye to every place but balmy Spain! There lies his Utopia.
Nestling by the warm Mediterranean in a little resort called Caldetas, just outside of Barcelonia, lies the house that “Bill” built. Only a hundred yards or so from the big sea it stands—and yet looks out upon the vast waters from an altitude of 150 feet. Around it the big hills glisten with vineyards famous for their luscious grapes. And all about is the atmosphere of romance found nowhere but in old Spain. There Dr. Kemp lives with his Spanish wife and two children. He doesn’t merely exist—he lives! And who wouldn’t live in such a place?
Dr. Kemp practiced dental surgery in Argentine, South America, for 15 years—and lived even longer than that on the continent below the equator. He has traversed every country in South America, crossed the lofty Andes, visited outlying islands, and seen the real life of practically every race and people north and south of goodness-only-knows-what.
And there are a few interesting facts about that Argentine republic of South America, according to Dr. Kemp who spent Friday and Saturday with his brother here. There lies the camping ground of all nations. Americans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Germans, Spaniards, Irishmen, Scotchmen, Canadians, Mexicans, Bulgarians, and people from Cincinnati ply their trade or seek their pleasure around that famous metropolis, Buenos Aires. Every language almost in existence is spoken there. And to Dr. Kemp these representatives of the various corners of the globe owe thanks—for it was through his hard work that the automatic telephone came into existence in that place. Now no irritating centrals are needed to endeavor to understand the babble of many different tongues for automatically the Bulgarians and the Frenchmen are connected over the phone, the Frenchmen and the English put in touch with each other, and the Americans and the people from Cincinnati are able to wage their linquistic controversies.
But enough of Argentine. Back to the land of sunshine, contentment and romance—Spain!
Dr. Kemp has discovered in his observations that the Spanish people are over and over again our Southern folks. That’s the secret of his delight. There is hospitality, he declared, unequaled in all the world—except the South. Mingle with the Spaniards, know their language, and presto—the hokus-pokus man of fate has changed you into a price among princes. There is always welcome within their doors. They cannot do enough for you. Your smile and appreciation is their most desired reward. And then you begin to like them. Soon you are part of them, and suddenly, the hokus-pokus man waves his magic wand—and when Gabriel blows his horn he’ll turn the old trumpet in our directin sand say, “Here’s one toot for John Smith in Spain!”
But Spain has its eccentricities. With something like 16 million people crowded into a territory hardly as large as one of our smallest state, there one finds peculiar conditions. For instance, Spain is in a way unprogressive—and wisely unprogressive. The do not take to modern machinery and labor saving devices, because—well, Mr. Spaniard has got to have work, that’s allt here is to it. Every machine that saves labor knocks just that many men out of jobs—and that’s one thing old Spain won’t stand for. Six million men have got to work. And so inventive genius grows rich elsewhere.
Then, another thing against machinery—that is, gasoline motors and the like. Gasoline in Spain costs about $1.25 a gallon. So tourists, don’t take your cars to Spain. A little cool spin in the evenings across the pretty hills and dales is expensive—and incidentally, the automobile industry plods its unsatisfactory course in Spain with a sardonic frown.
And to shift to France momentarily—one has to pay 80 cents a gallon for the flivver juice in the pollus territory. But strange to say, you can ride twice as far for the same price in France that you would have to pay in the land of the free and brave. I’ll say it’s brave. If we had a yellow streak we would have succumbed before the demands of the taxi drivers 15 years ago.
But back to Spain again—not in a taxi, though! And suppose we stop a while in Barcelona this time? The most wonderful city in the world, it is contends Dr. Kemp. There is but one New York, that’s true—and but one Paris, one London, and one Buenos Aires. But there is also but one Barcelona. Each has its distinctive characteristics—but Barcelona excels in that atmosphere of beauty and delight. It stands alone in its hospitality, climate and picturesqueness—the one ideal home of the lover of tranquility and natural beauty.
Barcelona bows to but one rival—Caldetas. With only a 50-minute ride separating the little resort from the fine city, there is a difference of 10 degrees in the climate. Hemmed n by the big hills, Caldetas knows not the cold moans of the four winds or the howl of the raging tempest. At her feet the warm, sunny Mediterranean laps the yellow sands and whispers soft zephyrs to the glistening hills. The lazy sighing of the trees and the gentle beating of the waves lull the dark-eyed Spanish maidens to sleep under the big bright moon and—oh--who WOULDN’T agree with Dr. Kemp that there’s no such a thing as Paradise Lost in Caldetas.
Dr. Kemp is a native of Mississippi. During the recent World war Mr Kemp made his home in Mobile, Ala. Last year he, his Spanish wife, who is from a family which has long made its home in Barcelona, and their two children returned to Spain to make their home.
Dr. Kemp was in conference here with representatives of some of the electrical manufacturers. He left Saturday night for Alabama, but will return to Charlotte in some weeks for a more extended visit with his brother here before departing for his home in Spain.
From the Charlotte News and Evening Chronicle, Sunday evening, Feb. 20, 1921
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