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runswithscissors


Thursday, March 20, 2003

The last couple of days here in Madrid have reminded me of a kind of April day I remember from upstate New York: deep blue skies, warm sunshine, the air still holding on to a feeling of chill. The only clouds to be found were the ones rising from Iraq, at the other end of the Mediterranean. The news of the eruption of open warfare was everywhere, TVs covering it everywhere I looked, newspapers splashing it across the front page, to the point where it felt a bit surprising (and came as a comfort) to find normal life going on all around. Went to the gym, went for a quick café, met a friend and went to el Museo Thyssen. Went to lunch, talked and talked. Came home, studied. I had Spanish class tonight, and as I got ready to go, the sun going down but plenty light remaining, I began noticing some sort of racket outside, the kind you get from certain kind of engines, a kind that can set one's teeth on edge after a while. Coming and going, fading then returning. And with each return, it seemed to grow in volume.

On stepping outside, the source became visible -- a helicopter, hovering several hundred over the small intersection nearest to this building. As I made my way toward Gran Vía, I saw more of them, making slow passes over the barrio. The streets were crowded with people and the din had many looking up toward the sky. The only time I've seen helicopters here putting on that kind of display were during the recent peace demonstrations. And indeed, as I approached Gran Vía I began to hear voices, began to see what appeared to be a crowd spread out at the end of la Calle de Hortaleza. The anger at the commencement of the U.S. attack on Iraq had shown itself in a spontaneous demonstration, a large one, that spilled across the avenue, stopping traffic, making enough noise that the sounds from the helicopters were no longer dominant. Banners, chanting, whistling, many, many people, channeling substantial amounts of outrage into a show of feeling at once peaceful and assertive, impossible to ignore. Not that anyone was trying. The police spread out across the boulevard did not appear threatening, possibly because they, like the vast majority of the country's population, are against the war. They seemed to deploy themselves with more interest in holding back any impatient drivers than anything else. Not that any drivers appeared to be upset with what had brought traffic to a standstill. No car horns sounded, no drivers showed impatience. Many smiled in sympathy, many actually appeared happy, talking with each other companiably. Some got out of their vehicles and joined with the ongoing chants from the protest.

I made my way past, noting the general vibe of community, the absolute absence of horns sounding or anger toward one another. When I came to a side street, I veered down that into the network of pedestrian ways that fill the blocks between Gran Vía and la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, walking quickly, slipping through the evening crowds. Nearing Sol, I began hearing the kind of noise I'd just left behind on Gran Vía, and when the plaza came within view I could see that it was filled with yet another enormous crowd out in response to the conflict going on to the east. Same situation: chanting, whistling, sprawling crowds, police deployed around it all and acting in remarkably tolerant fashion, routing traffic off in other directions.

At school, a TV was on in the office, when I noticed it someone mentioned that a bombardment was underway right then. The school remained open, classes continued, though the awareness of what was happening on the international scene hummed quietly beneath it all.

Afterwards, I walked toward Sol with a woman from my class. People streamed past us, moving away from the plaza, Spaniards of all ages from the very young to the very old, many with banners or flags, most wearing large stickers or buttons bearing some variation on the message NO a La Guerra. The plaza itself remained full out to its periphery, chants rising periodically, swelling than fading away. My classmate and I stood and talked for a while, the night air slowly turning cold, until we went to a nearby tapas joint for a something quick to eat before heading off in different directions, to home.

I found my way toward one of the main pedestrian ways that run between Sol and Callao, still crowded though all businesses had closed for the night save some cafeterias/sandwich shops. A group of five police officers -- four male, one female -- walked slowly by in the other direction, talking, expressions serious but not appearing to be on edge. Ahead, I could see what appeared to be white streamers waving high into the air. As I approached the FNAC building, I saw that a 30-something male armed with a long roll of industrial strength paper towels -- the classic "pull down then tear" kind -- was winding the paper around the grids in the enormous air vent that's sunk into the concrete along the center of that length of the walkway, doing it so that he left long, long lengths of slack that the steady current of vented air brought to graceful, rippling life. I stood for a while, watching the long streaming arcs of white paper eddy restlessly about above the heads of passersby.

When I found my way out to Gran Vía, I joined a crowd waiting at a crosswalk to get the green light. The sidewalks were filled with people, the street packed with traffic now circulating steadily along, the earlier demonstration apparently having moved on. An ambulance approached from down near la Plaza de España, lights going, siren in full cry. As traffic parted and the emergency vehicle surged past, a mime done up in white face and a gaudy harlequin outfit (complete with a classic court-jester's headgear) -- 20 or 25 feet away, behind us and slightly to one side -- suddenly began barking loudly, stridently, so that people around me jumped in startled surprise.

The light turned green, the crowd moved out into the street, some glancing back at the mime who still carried loudly on, distinctly un-mime-like. The sidewalk on the other side of the street was clogged with people walking, I veered back out into the street, breaking into a trot until I'd passed the congestion and was able to move onto the sidewalk once more, slowing to a walk. Behind me, the mime started up once more with the barking, his voice slowly diminishing amid the noise of people and traffic until it finally faded completely away.

rws 5:55 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
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MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS

Personal History



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

Excerpts from GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1 (complete)
Chapter 6 (complete)
Chapter 8 (excerpt)
Chapter 9 (excerpt)
Chapter 9 (excerpt)

Screenplay excerpt:
BURBANK SHRUGGED

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

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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
digital camel
letting me be
kung fu grippe
franklin avenue
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
the happy booker
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
tomato can brushes
playing with my food
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:
muxtape
soma fm
pandora
last fm

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