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runswithscissors


Wednesday, January 01, 2003

If you've read any of this journal's entries from the last week or two, you know that fireworks -- loud, explosive fireworks -- have been a constant part of the holiday season here in Madrid, or at least here in the city center. Explosions, major ones and minor ones, around the clock.

Every morning for about the last week and a half, someone (or someones) has set off a major fireworks explosion here on this street, right around 7 a.m. Every morning. Last night, as you might imagine, was a big night for fireworks, from early in the evening till early in the morning, tailing off somewhere around 4 a.m., along with most of the street activity hereabouts. And then 7 o'clock came and went -- no explosion. I vaguely noticed as I drifted in and out of sleep. Got up at 8:30 to stumble toward the bathroom, noticed the time, realized there had been no explosions, smiled about that all the way to the bathroom and back. Five minutes later, in bed, drifting back to sleep -- huge explosion. Right in front of the building. Bugger. Still, apart from that it's been quiet today. Far quieter than Christmas day, just a week ago. Possibly because the Christmas Eve activities are family affairs which lead happily to bed and a Christmas Day of more family happenings, whereas the New Year's Eve activities are more or less a long, extended demolition derby. Today is a day to sleep, hang around the house, recover.

Went out at 11 to track down a cup of espresso, found that the Cafetería Vivares, a neighborhood joint I often head toward for a decent cup of morning pick-me-up, was open. Some people walked quietly about the streets, many looking like they'd been out all night – some dressed elegantly, some normally, some as if they'd suffered through a long, hard campaign with the end of the war nowhere in sight. It felt like giving them all a wide berth might be a smart thing to do, and I did.

The traditional New Year's Eve breakfast here is churros and chocolate, and it turned out that Vivares was making their churros on the premises this morning. Signs were posted advising that churros would only be served with chocolate or café, along with other notices regretfully advising that no alcohol would be served this morning. (Two guys next to me at the counter ordered and got beer from the tap – maybe the sign meant hard liquor. Or maybe the management just wasn't very serious about the whole thing. Or maybe the management was home in bed and the counter help ran the place the way they wanted to.)

Found a stool, ordered café y churros, a few minutes later a cup of espresso landed in front of me, accompanied by a plate of four fresh, warm churros, and the churros were excellent. Perfect, in fact. Whoever they had back in the kitchen cranking them out knew what they were doing. The kind of food that gets me making involuntary sounds of pleasure as I work my way through it.

A gray day, the air moist and slightly misty after early morning rain, the sidewalks remaining wet well into late afternoon. Few people about, little traffic on the main thoroughfares. I rousted myself around 3:30 and rode the nearly-deserted Metro over to la Plaza de España to take in a film at one of the theaters off la Calle de Princesa, a small complex that houses four different theaters showing films from all over in the original languages with subtitles in Spanish. The biggest theater of the bunch, a 9-screener, turned out to closed and dark, a surprise given that this place had been one of the few theaters open on Christmas Eve. And I was not the only one caught flat-footed – numerous Spaniards milled about, confused and conferring with each other in amazed tones. A little-bitty sign posted inside the front entrance said that they'd be opening at 5:30, which didn't seem to mollify any of the locals who'd dragged themselves out into the cool afternoon for some diversion -- apparently the local theater listings had the normal showtimes, beginning at the usual 4 o'clock to 4:30, with no mention of the change in routine. A 60ish woman passed by, mentioning loudly that all the theaters in the complex were closed, information which generated further incredulity and indignation.

I decided to walk home, a good-sized hike along most of Gran Vía's length. The number of people picked up some over by la Plaza de España, most looking to be furriners of one kind or another, appearing a bit disoriented at finding themselves in a city that seemed to be mostly asleep. The foot traffic picked up on the way up the avenue toward Callao, where most of the activity was concentrated, tailing off almost immediately after that, the sidewalks stretching away from Callao nearly deserted.

(Callao: a plaza at a bend in Gran Vía through which an enormous amount of automotive, bus, Metro and pedestrian traffic gets siphoned, bookending the major pedestrian thoroughfares which extend from there to la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, ringed by tall buildings which bear large product logos and several-story tall ads, not to mention abundant displays of Christmas lights. The images that currently loom over the scene: a four-or-so story display of lights on the Corte Inglés building which presents a bright, though restrained, image of reindeer, Christmas trees, Nativity Star. Across a pedestrian way, on the end of the FNAC building, hangs a four-or-so story high ad for a Calvin Klein cologne or perfume (damned if I can figure out which): an enormous photo of a naked couple, from mid-ribcage up, both facing us, caught in a moment of passion: her in front, his mouth by her ear, her eyes closed/mouth slightly open, a bottle of a CK fragrance in one of her hands, being held between her breasts. Across the plaza from that, stretched along the side of a huge movie theater complex is an ad for Air France – an enormous expanse of white, with a close-up of a beautiful woman's face at one end – letting us know that there are now ten flights daily between Madrid and Paris ("DIEZ VUELOS DIARIOS"). Christmas lights abound around the rest of the plaza, the various elements adding up to a festive, slightly surreal blend of visuals.)

The rest of the walk was impressive in the consistent lack of people on the streets. By the time I arrived home, I'd begun to see the attraction of locking the door, getting something to eat, doing nothing strenuous for the rest of the day, maybe even heading back to bed. In fact, the idea of some horizontal time is looking mighty attractive right now. Maybe with a book, maybe not. We'll see.

Feliz Año Nuevo to all.

rws 12:49 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
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December 2003
January 2004
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January 2008
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October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

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MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

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OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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