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runswithscissors


Friday, March 12, 2004

Sleep did not come easily last night, as you might imagine. With this morning's first light I gave up, pulled on clothing, headed to the gym for the therapy of simple, mindless, repetitive physical effort, a venting of energy I find helpful during times of stress. The Metro ride was as crowded as on any other morning, though virtually everyone remained silent, some reading newspaper accounts of yesterday's events (others reading over their shoulders), most seeming to be looking inward, lost in thought.

During my time here, Spain has not been a country given to flagwaving. The flying of the national banner is unusual, and I'm aware of only a handful of places around Madrid where the bands of red and yellow can be seen. As I emerged from the Metro in the barrio of Salamanca and made the hike to the gym, it became apparent that, overnight, banners and flags have begun appearing all over the place, most emblazoned with a black ribbon of mourning -- an echo of the way American flags became ubiquitous stateside in the days following 9-11.



Another change: since yesterday morning the drone of low-flying helicopters has become normal, now and then growing suddenly louder as a 'copter shoots into view above nearby buildings, flies across a street or avenue, disappears beyond other buildings.

I went for a long walk yesterday evening as darkness fell. A sense of more or less normal life had reasserted itself over the city center, streets busy with traffic, sidewalks and pedestrian ways crowded with people, the air nicely cool and fresh. Couples of all ages walked together, many hand in hand; groups of friends clustered together, talking. All this came as a relief after the intense atmosphere of the morning and afternoon -- though I suspect that over to the east side of the city, in the area around Atocha Station, things remained intense.

Stepping into a store to pick up one or two items, I waited at the check-out while 'Mrs. Robinson' played loudly over the in-house P.A., the guy behind the counter crooning softly along with it. (Coo coo ca-choo, Mrs Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know....) Heavily-accented pronunciation provided a distinct contrast to the original version, the scene feeling like one more slightly unreal moment in a day already overflowing with them.

In la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, the very heart of the city, spontaneous protests against the terrorist group ETA -- at that time presumed responsible for the attacks -- had gathered during the course of the day, varying in size from large and sprawling to more compact. When I passed through around 7:30, something more than 1000 people remained, mostly college age, gathered together in front of the city government offices -- el Ayuntamiento -- chanting the words "¡Hijos de puta!" over and over again. Around me, I saw a huge range of emotions being acted out, from passing groups of laughing younger folk -- unconcerned at that moment with the greater drama -- to folks standing together talking soberly, the cheeks of a few shining with tears. A couple looking to be Central American in origin passed, her expression distraught, him holding her hand, saying, "Cariño, escucha -- estamos aquí, estamos bien. ¿Sabes? ¡Estamos bien!"

The lines at the mobile blood donation center were shorter than they'd been earlier, though still considerable. Staff encouraged people to come back during the coming days, reminding everyone that the need for blood would remain high, entreating people to please not forget.

I made my way home through streets comfortingly busy, went to bed late, slept little.

Today has seemed much harder. I'm not sure I can explain why. Less intense in terms of actual events, far more difficult emotionally. Maybe there's been enough time for it all to sink in, without the filters of cataclysm and shock to diffuse the impact of the simple fact of the happenings, with all their implications. Maybe the ongoing shows of grief have something to do with it -- that of individuals who survived the explosions, of their family and friends, of people involved in the rescue work. Or the collective emotion, the grief, anger, dismay, confusion of the pueblo. Maybe now that the noise and smoke from yesterday's events has cleared away, the uncertainty of what's to come, the anxiety about unanswered questions has begun to occupy a growing part of the emotional picture. Whatever the reasons, I heard a woman early this afternoon talking about this, working to speak through knotted emotions, and I realized I was experiencing something similar. Not as dramatic, not as disruptive. But not much fun.

Today's newspapers have, of course, focused extensively on yesterday's events, some with restraint, some without. This morning's edition of 20 Minutos, the free mini-paper distributed on the streets during the morning hours, featured lurid, intensely sensational images of chaos and carnage. El Mundo showed more self-control, El País even more. The television outlets continued the more or less continuous coverage begun yesterday, alternating harrowing footage from the actual events with panel discussions, interviews with victims or relatives of victims, and stories re: today's developments. Essentially wringing every ounce of emotionally cranked-up mileage they could get out of the drama. (Not that I take a cynical view of that. Harrumph.)


Sidenote: Thanks to Paul at Playing with my food.... for posting today's image by El País political cartoonist Forges, and for caring whether I sleep late or not.
For those seeking other Spain-oriented journals/blogs:
Puerta del Sol
Calles de Madrid y Granada
Caspa.tv


Madrid, te quiero.

rws 6:17 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
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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



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