far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Monday, April 03, 2006

[continued from previous entry]

Along the narrow way, a thin, slightly weather-beaten 50ish male stood to one side singing a Spanish tune, hat in hand to collect whatever coins passersby might be willing to part with. Just beyond him stood the entryway to another bookstore, this one looking like your standard, nondenominational joint. I stepped inside to find myself in a cavernous-feeling room that extended far back into the building, rows of bookstands off to either side, each featuring stacks and stacks of books. A dangerous place. A half-hour and 80 euros later, I left with a bag of books, wondering what the hell had come over me. At the cash register, I heard a voice singing outside, commented on it to the cashier. She said a couple did the singing. Sure enough, when I stepped back outside, the 50ish male had been replaced by a 50ish female, dressed nicely, hat in hand, delivering a song like she knew what she was doing.

Middle-aged German couples abounded, many wearing strangely awkward-looking outfits -- someone's idea of traveling clothes, I think -- walking together discussing what they saw or referring to maps. Many young American women were about, strolling in twos and threes, all speaking English. Folks from other places could be seen among the mix of people streaming through the center, along with locals going about their day -- delivery people, individuals working in shops or stalls, business folks walking together talking or on cellphones or crowding into cafés for a hit of caffeine.

Clothing stores are strewn around Sevilla's streets with amazing abandon, shop windows displaying flamenco dresses were visible on virtually every block.



As were tiendas dealing in garb or wares a bit more startling to foreign eyes, in particular the KKK-style outfits for the Semana Santa processions.



No, it's not a shop catering to coneheads -- it's a business specializing in made-to-order processional outfits, something taken with pride, part of an expression of devout, deeply emotional beliefs and traditions.

So. Much of the day passed in wandering mode, me happy to be where I was. Stopped at a neighborhood restaurant for a good meal, the only furriner there until the end, reading a Spanish paper and speaking Castellano well enough that they didn't seem to know what to make of me. A nice place, tucked away on the ground floor of a flatiron-shaped building, relaxed and quiet until just after the stroke of two, when neighborhood workers began lunch, pouring in the door, one 60ish woman in the middle of them all, the only other furriner.

A woman sat in an SUV outside the door at the building's outside corner, every few minutes she'd lean on her horn, piping its delightful song directly into the restaurant where eating would stop, heads turning in her direction, expressions less than sanguine until she'd stop. It turned out someone had double-parked directly behind her vehicle while she was off having a life, she returned to find herself trapped, using the horn in the traditional Spanish means of calling out to those who have reduced your life to a parking space with no exit. A 30-something male from the restaurant realized the situation, went out to confer with her, managing to guide her out of the space. She drove off, he returned inside to sit down quietly and resume eating.

And through all of these hours of life happening around this city, perfect weather. Sunny, temperature in the 70's. Just what el médico ordered.

[continued in next entry]


Madrid, te quiero.

rws 11:00 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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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