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runswithscissors


Tuesday, December 09, 2003

It's the day after a three-day weekend here, yesterday being la Fiesta de la Inmaculada Concepción. A religious holiday that gave everyone an excuse to either flee town for a few days or commence Christmas shopping, both options chosen by many, many Spaniards. Massive traffic jams on Friday evening signaled the exodus away from the capital. That in combination with rain produced a night far quieter than normal here, most partyers either gone away or driven inside.

Saturday a.m.: gray, quiet. Strangely quiet, most places of business closed up tight, streets deserted, few souls about. Conditions that changed drastically when I left the barrio to rendezvous with an American couple just in from the States -- friends of a friend back in Vermont -- discovering that for every person that fled town the night before, one or two people from elsewhere made the trip here for (a) the three-day weekend, or (b) the 25th anniversary celebration of the Spanish Constitution, a big deal in a country with a history as turbulent as Spain's, or (c) the beginning of the local Christmas season. The lighting of the city's holiday decorations happened Friday or Saturday night, the annual Christmas fair in la Plaza Mayor got going. I arrived at the rendezvous point just as police were blocking off streets within a half-mile radius around the Spanish Parliament in advance of a ceremony set to take place in the legislative chamber, the official observation of the Constitution's 25th anniversary, all important national political figures in attendance and then some, the royal family at the center of it all. Traffic, already more intense than for the normal Saturday midday, now a bit more harried and wild. Crowds of pedestrians streaming in every direction. Gray, chilly.

J. and H. found me, I herded them further toward the city center, inflicting far too many local sights on them in a long string of veering detours. We eventually followed large crowds to la Plaza Mayor for a brief wade through the scene at the Christmas fair (a strange scene -- see entry of December 19, 2002). Many, many families about, many young couples, many clusters of young folks. Many people wearing silly multi-colored wigs, silly eyeglasses. (December 28 is the local version of April Fools Day -- el Día de los Santos Inocentes.) Rows of booths set up in the enormous space of the plaza, Christmas trees being sold around the periphery. People continuing to pour into the plaza. After a fast look-round, we poured out of the plaza, heading west toward the Palace and la Plaza de Oriente, pausing for food and drink inside el Café de Oriente, a small, elegant place that produces the most single most wonderful tapas I have ever had the pleasure of inhaling.

Post-tapas-ecstasy, I inflicted another leg of the lightning tour on them, then called it a day.

Until the next morning. I'd been thinking of going to el Rastro -- an immense, sprawling, hyperinflated fleamarket that takes over most of Madrid's La Latina district every Sunday -- to check out one or two particular stalls that deal in used jeans. J. and H. mentioned they'd been thinking of going. We hooked up, made the short Metro trip, found ourselves in the middle of an ocean of people. Me, not very good company I'm afraid, until I tossed down a cup of espresso and a helping of tortilla española. Better after that, though as I woke up, it became clear that J. & H. were underwhelmed with el Rastro. And I can see why. Intense crowds. Touristy out on the main drag. Off the main drag: mounds of curbside junk being hawked to passing throngs, shops filled with more junk lurking behind it all. What a combo, huh? This is why I tend not to go unless (a) I have a specific purpose (usually jeans) or (b) visitors want to see it. We did stop at a local churrería where I picked up two churros and two porras. J. tried one of the porras, found it too greasy. It was, which failed to stop me from hoovering down mine.

Found our way back to the Metro, set up a date for dinner (tonight), waded through crowds both on and off of trains, said good-bye.

Later Sunday: headed back into the center (far more crowded than on Saturday, more stores open) to meet with an intercambio for the first time. Both of us waiting near the bear in Sol. Not finding each other. For 25 cold minutes. On one side of the bear stood a Peruvian band, playing musaky versions of songs like Bridge Over Troubled Water and Imagine. On the other side, a rumpled, disturbed-looking white guy jerked and twitched his way through truly bad hip-hop robot type dancing to nearly inaudible music coming from a small, low-fi radio/tape player that had seen better days. No jacket, no coat, no sweater, despite genuinely frigid weather -- just a creased, worn white shirt, sad, saggy black pants, black shoes. Dancing so badly that people stopped, mouths open, at the sight. Every little while he paused to move out through the passersby, thrusting a hat at them, asking aggressively for money.

Eventually my intercambio and I hooked up, I spent the next 3+ hours working my butt off, discovering that this person was nearly impossible to understand in both Spanish and English.

Next morning: Monday. Still gray and cold. Nothing open except the gym. Got myself up out of a nice, warm bed and went. Found myself walking the streets of Salamanca, Madrid's ritziest barrio, virtually alone. After which, returned home, crashed. Stayed home the rest of the day.

Monday, 10 a.m., in the barrio of Salamanca, Madrid:







Today: Still gray, cold, intermittently rainy. The city's reverted to its normal weekday self.

Took myself to la Universidad Complutense in northwest Madrid to investigate their course of studies in Spanish for furriners. The jury is out on whether that'll be something I'll investigate further.

Will be meeting J. & H. for dinner tonight at a fun, inexpensive restaurant specializing in roast chicken and hard cider.

Thursday morning I board a plane to the U.K., where I'll spend six days inflicting myself on various friends. London at Christmastime. Oxford. Stoke-on-Trent.

Posts may be scarce for the next week or so.

Be well.

rws 11:21 AM [+]

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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
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008

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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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done.



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