Metro

Madrid’s metro is really exceptional. The routes are extensive, the trains are new and clean, the stations are clean, and there is ZERO graffiti anywhere. They have accordion hinges where the trains’ cars adjoin, so each interior has one long open space. And the third rail is overhead, so nobody dies! How simple was that? I’ve never seen a nicer subway system anywhere.

The people who use this subterranean system don’t look like they are extras from a zombie flick either. They look like, nice, normal people commuting around town. On the way home from school today one whole section of the train was in a jovial conversation, telling jokes and enjoying each other’s company. Strangers. When have you ever seen that in New York?

In the metro station at the Puerta del Sol, I pass the same performer who is there every day. She is a frumpy little middle-aged woman who sings along to a little karaoke machine on wheels. She always plays the same song, the song is mostly instrumental, and the part that she sings, she always sings off-key. But every day she’s there, bundled up for the cold, smiles and waves to the passersby, and I keep wondering to myself: Is she as crazy as she seems or is this just a really good schtick? Is she the lady who’ll be on the evening news for having 47 cats in her one bedroom apartment, or the one who’ll die with 2.3 million euros stuffed in her mattress? I guess I’ll never know. But I do know that the world would be a lot less interesting place without people like her. I think that she and Sponge Bob, Captain Hook, Mickey and Minnie, spray-painted Jesus, and the mariachis need to get together and have a tea party. Will you have one lump of acid or two, Mr. Carroll? I gave her a euro and snapped the picture.

Last week, my new school placed me in the last week of a seven week program. On Friday I was tested on the preceding seven weeks, but didn’t realize it until I sat down for the exam! Ouch. This section was all about grammar and that’s my weakest area. Yesterday morning I found out that I barely passed the exam, so I asked to be put back a half-level. Once in class, I realized that I made the right move. We’re going over verb conjugations that I have formally studied in years, and I know that I can read behind and catch up on the things from the first half of the course. And as Chris pointed out, this should be fun, not stressful! I’m not sure I know how to do fun …

Madrid's skyscrapers

Today was a bright and clear, but cold day in Madrid. Feeling a bit better, but still not good, I decided to take the metro ride up to the new business district sector of the city. I haven’t ventured out of the old city center since I’ve been here, and I wanted to get a better idea of how modern Madrid lives. The new “Cuatro Torres” (four towers) district looks like an American city. If not for the street signs, I wouldn’t have known that I wasn’t in the United States.

As American urban planners are trying to figure out how to make our cities more livable and intimate, it seems that here they’re going in the opposite direction. Maybe it’s their answer to Epcot: reproduce America in Europe! Not that they didn’t do a beautiful job on these buildings; on the contrary. But there’s nothing uniquely Spanish about them. And I didn’t expect to be in Dallas when I got out of the metro station.

The Cuatros Torres district is an annexation of the modern business district that was conceived in the late 40s, but not realized until the 1970s. One of the later additions to that original district was the twin towers called the “Torres de Castilla” that lean over the Paseo de la Castellana. I was shocked to read that Philip Johnson and John Burgee collaborated in the design of these buildings in 1996. They look like something from a decade or more prior, and not from such renowned architects as those two. When I stood in front of them, I thought: what’s the point? This is gimmickry, not architecture. And look at the photo of the entrances to the buildings; oy!

My visit to the business district showed me what I’ve read about from others. That is, that Madrid is a thoroughly world-class modern city. However my disappointment was that it was not uniquely Spanish. Spain has produced some great designs that are uniquely its own, but these buildings, while some are beautiful, look like they could have been built anywhere in the world. And three out of four of the Cuatro Torres were designed by foreigners. The one which was designed by a Spanish team looks like a copy of some design, I can't remember where, that I've seen before. Is Spain insecure about its own ability to create great designs? I can’t imagine why. Spain has a great style of its own! I was just hoping to have seen it today ...

Mercado de San Miguel

I’m still feeling terrible, but I got out for a few minutes this afternoon and stopped by the Mercado de San Miguel. It’s a nineteen century cast iron open market that has been enclosed with huge sheets of glass to create a great interior space, and one which draws in both natives and tourists alike. They did a great job in maintaining the original architecture and making a now closed-in market feel like it’s original open air space. They sell all kinds of prepared foods as well as raw fish and vegetables. Madrilenos go there after work and on the weekends to eat and drink wine with friends.

Spain has a love affair with cured ham. There are shops all over town with hams hanging from the ceilings and people noshing on tapas made of either Serrano or Iberico very thin-sliced cured ham. It’s a lot like Italian prosciutto, but don’t tell Aunt Mary I said that. Hector took me to a place where they served small cups of warm juice from the hams; really. It must be an acquired taste ...

Lastly, Spain has great pastries. I had to snap another pastry shop window photo on the way home. It’s the window of my stand-up breakfast bar and it is constantly jammed with people. Since I have to start school at nine-thirty and this place doesn’t open until nine in the morning, I have to buy pastries the day before and take them home. The pay at this place must be abysmal, because the employees are completely devoid of personalities. And no, that’s not a typo; they don’t open until nine o’clock. This is not an early-to-rise kinda city. Suits me well ;-)

On the way back to the house, I saw an American style high-end RV coming down the road and my first thought was: Sarah Palin's in town barn-storming! I still have night sweats about her campaign trips through Florida. Maybe it's a publicity stunt on it's way to the Puerta del Sol and Tiny Fey is going to pop out and tell everybody how swell it is to be in Madrid. Then as it passed, I realized it was actually a tour bus. Whew.

I hope I feel better tomorrow and can venture outside of the immediate area. I want to go up to the new city, where they have skyscrapers and modern architecture, to see what that’s all about ...

Resfriado

This has been coming on for a couple of days, but today it hit me full force. Like half of Madrid it seems, I have a miserable cold. Nothing interesting to report; just working hard at school.

The attached photo needs no explanation. I went to the farmacia today and added new words to my vocabulary: resfriado (a cold), dolor de garganta (sore throat), tos (cough), congestion en la cabeza (head congestion), flema (phlegm). Need I say more? I'm going to bed ...

Meow

Argh. Bad day at school. While I was barely able to keep up yesterday, I wasn’t able to keep up well at all today. I’m going to pore over the lessons tonight and see if I can’t figure out what I couldn’t understand today in class.

At least we have Valentina, Hector’s four month old kitten. I mixed up a martini and told her all about it. She’s such a good listener ... although I don’t think she speaks English.

Be careful what you wish for ...

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. The curriculum at the new school is SO much more rigorous than the last! My brain is fried and I have to do more homework tonight. NO ENGLISH. The teacher doesn’t even speak English, so don’t bother. They speak very clearly and they’re repetitive, but the pace is fast and the program interactive, so there's no faking it.

I would be discouraged, but I actually can keep up, albeit barely. Enforex is an internationally well known school and I feel that they know what they’re doing, both in instruction and placing me at the proper level. I have to place my trust in them, because my emotion is telling me to go back a level! Their placement test was both written and oral. I did the written portion first, and they told me that I am in between two different levels, and that they’d decide where to place me after the oral interview. I know that grammar is my weakest link, so after listening to my pronunciation and conversational ability, she placed me at the higher level. Keep in mind that this is all relative; I’m still at a lower level!

I’ve always had the problem that, when Spanish speakers hear me speak for the first time, they assume that I speak better than I do. So when they come back at me with rapid-fire Spanish, I’m like a deer in headlights. So I’m a bit nervous with this new school and where I’ve been placed. But I keep telling myself that they know what they’re doing. Still, I crawled back to the school’s bookstore after classes and bought the lower level books to brush up on my own! Bye … gotta go study.

Flea Market

Just a quick entry for today: This morning I went to the Sunday flea market in the Plaza de Casacorro to see all the junk vendors. There were a lot of camiseta (t shirt) vendors with some really cute designs as well as some really vulgar ones. I’m expanding my vocabulary, but I don’t think that mother would really approve.

In the plaza, there were also several street performers. Spray painted Jesus came down from Puerta del Sol for his weekly gig on the corner of Los Estudios and San Millan, while three grimy, but infectiously cheerful Latin American performers sang some indigenous Andean songs on the opposite corner.

Later, Hector and I went for a drink of Vermut (vermouth) at a local drinking establishment, and then on to a tapas bar for some great tapas and Spanish wine. As always, Hector converses with me, patiently correcting my horrible grammar as we go.

He also gives me great commentary on any variety of subjects regarding Spain. I couldn’t have asked for a better host.

Tonight, I’m going to a Chinese New Year’s supper at the home of one of the students from my school. She is from Beijing and is preparing an authentic Chinese New Year’s supper for the group. I bought her some flowers at the market today, but I have to remove two from the bouquet so that I have the correct number to symbolize a prosperous new year ahead. I hope, that if she read yesterday’s blog, she has a sense of humor about it and I don’t come home with the flowers smacked over my head. Wish me well …

P.S. Later this evening, I ran across spray painted Jesus back in the Puerta del Sol, taking a break with Captain Hook ...

Chinese New Year

Madrid is a thoroughly international city with ethnic representation from all corners of the globe. Monday is Chinese New Year’s Day and the Chinese community of Madrid turned out in large numbers for a big celebration in the Puerta del Sol. It’s becoming clear to me that the Puerta del Sol is the staging ground for every popular event, grievance, or other public expression in this town.

As I walked toward the plaza, I heard the sound of beating drums. It had the discordant tones of an American high school band warming up for practice. Images of majorettes and flag twirlers flashed in my head ... oh sweet Jesus, tell me it isn’t so. I considered going back to the house to get some Valium, but just then I caught a glimpse of the big dragon making its way through the crowd, and I realized what it was.

Hector tells me that, because of the problems that the world is having with defective Chinese products, Madrileños tend to be a bit stand-offish toward the Chinese immigrants here. Couple that with the inherent differences between the Eastern and Western cultures, and the Chinese community rather keeps to itself. But not today. Today they were showcasing their culture to Madrid. Apparently all the various regions of China were represented, because each group was in its own regional costume, standing behind identifying numbered banners. And while they were waving flags of the People’s Republic of China, they were smart enough to make sure that they were waving more flags of their host county.

Men and women had their distinctively separate activities. Men twisted nylon dragons on poles through the throngs of people, while women wore elegant costumes and danced in groups. All the while, the disharmonious sounds of beating drums, woodwinds, and cymbals were coming from all corners of the plaza. It was clearly evident on the

faces of all the Chinese people who were there, whether performers or observers, that they took great pride in showcasing their cuture(s). And their caucasian audience responded with keen interest and paparazzi-like photographing. I’d say it was a resounding success in cultural relations for them.

By pure coincidence, I had my own experience with one of the Chinese students at my (now former) school this week. Wherever they are, Chinese students seem to study harder and longer than any of the other students in school, and so it has been my observation here as well. I’ve noticed that they take pride in this distinction of being “most studious student”.

This past week, I went to school early everyday to review the previous day’s lesson in the study room/library, and early on, I noticed that a young Chinese man seemed to be competitive with me. On Monday, he seemed to be startled that someone was there studying before he got there, was curious about what I was studying, and engaged me in conversation to see which of us was more fluent in Spanish. Each day he got there a little earlier, and each day I was already there, and each day he seemed a bit more agitated. Then on Thursday, with one eyebrow raised, I thought, “I’m gonna f with this Chinese kid ...”.

I got there particularly early on Thursday morning and took several books off the library shelves and opened them in front of me on the table. I had three pages of notes laying out from previous classes with arrows and bullets all over them, and I even mocked-up some diagramed sentences. Then, when he walked in the door, I was poring feverishly over my notes. When he saw the situation, his eyes popped opened like somebody had just stuck him in the ass with a pin :-) He didn’t make it to study hall on Friday. I’m not sure if he had something else to do or if his head simply exploded.

Reconciliation

As I stood in the supermarket reading labels today, I noticed that Barbra Streisand was singing “Evergreen” on the musak and I realized that I had to make a decision: (besides the fact that I hate Barbra Streisand) Am I going to go nuts every time I hear American music or am I just going to roll with it? Felipe nodded toward the wine section and said “just go with it, you uptight Americano”, so I bought some cabernet and provisions for lunch and went home.

Passing through the Puerta del Sol, I decided to be okay with the Californication of Madrid. I noticed that Minnie Mouse had rather muscular legs today in those black tights, and walked more like a bouncer than Señorita Mini. I waved to Sponge Bob. I stopped to listen to the mariachis ... they’re actually very popular with the locals ... and I stopped to take a quick video of people dancing while they sang “La Bamba”. My first thought was: if you guys are going to come over here and crush my pre-conceived stereotypes, can’t you at least play authentic Mexican music and not Ritchie Valens? Does everyone have to sell out to American pop culture? Gimme that damn microphone …. you’re not even doing it right! Down boy, said Felipe; you’re only a block from home ...

One thing I appreciated in the plaza, however, was a street performer who was utterly Spanish. He was a modern interpretation of Christ, dressed in skin-tight jeans and contemporary shirt, with long hair, a crown of thorns, carrying a big cross, and his entire person was painted in silver metallic paint. He stood perfectly still as a statue with a hat on the ground for tips. Spain has a complicated relationship with Catholicism. On the one hand,

Spaniards absolutely revere the Church, but on the other, hardly anyone goes to mass anymore. One could write an entire dissertation of the subject. Anyway, my sense of appreciation for the new-age Christ-form was jolted when, while taking a break, our savior cat-called a hot señorita walking by, while she ignored him. I just had to laugh; he was the very embodiment of enigmatic España. You just can't make this stuff up. Sa-al-ve, sa-al-ve, sa-al-ve Re-gi-na …..

!Rebajas!

REBAJAS is the word of the month in Madrid. Every store in town is having huge after-Christmas sales. With over 20% unemployment, the economy in Spain is worse than in the U.S. There are “Se Vende” and “Se Aquila” (For Sale and For Rent) signs all over the place; both commercial and residential. Still, the streets are abuzz with people rushing here and there. It’s a lot like the streets of New York in that regard, except the people don’t look burned out. People here are well-kept, generally well dressed, and seem to be happy. There are a lot of panhandlers and street performers though. While I was in a tiny, inexpensive restaurant yesterday, a panhandler came in and went to the two tables where people were sitting and asked for money. What was interesting, however, was that the manager didn’t shoo him out the door as he would have in the U.S. I watched him watch the beggar with compassion.

Last night Hector and I went to the most well stocked liquor store in Madrid: Madroño. The sales floor was small, but their stockroom must be enormous. Spaniards don’t drink a lot of gin; it’s more of an English-culture drink, but Hector and I both like gin. However, finding out that the poor boy had never had a gin martini, I realized that it was my American duty to rectify the situation at once. Madroño has over 100 different brands of gin! I didn’t know that there were 100 brands of gin in the entire world.
I bought some gin and vermouth, and Hector bought a bottle of wine and he started to head back home. I explained that it would be a sacrilege to drink a martini in a highball glass, so we headed to El Corte Ingles in quest of some inexpensive martini glasses. To my surprise we found the glasses for 3.20 Euros apiece, and while we were there, I picked up a jar of olives too. Back at home, I grabbed my iPod and mixed up the martinis, while Hector hooked up the iPod to his receiver. Fortunately, I had some 50s-60s Las Vegas-style lounge music on the iPod, and Hector and I spent the rest of the evening getting buzzed on martinis and listening to the likes of Ann Margaret, Frank Sinatra and Bobby Darin, as he tried to wrap his head around 20th century American culture. Fly me to the moon ….

My first day of school

There are schools here that teach foreigners how to speak Spanish, and yesterday I got up and hit the streets to visit some of them. Enrollments begin every Monday, so I went ahead and enrolled in the one closest to me for one week so I could start classes, but after school I set out in the afternoon to see other ones. As soon as I left the school it began raining, and as I was looking for an overhang to dash under, I noticed that I was standing right in front of an umbrella shop. Nothing but umbrellas and walking canes; what are the odds? After getting an el cheapo umbrella, I decided to hop on the metro rather than make the several block hike in the rain to the snazzy neighborhood of Salamanca (not to be confused with the city by the same name). I ran past a very attractive American girl standing on a crate preaching Christianity in the Plaza del Sol, while a local man translated for her, sentence-by-sentence. As I sped down the steps to my train, I wondered if she knew that she was standing in Sponge Bob Square Pants’ spot from the day before. On the metro, I wondered if they ever show up on the same day. I mean, who needs Almodovar?

I was only able to make it to one school yesterday, because a second one wasn’t at the address listed. Not seeing any signage for the second school, I randomly buzzed one of the apartments or offices (I don’t know which) and told the woman that I was looking for such-and –such school at this address, but didn’t see it, and did she know where it was. She just hung up on me! I’ve learned a few Spanish words that one wouldn’t find in the Bible since I’ve been here, but I refrained from using them and went on my way.

Today the weather was clear and beautiful. I went to class in the morning and visited two more schools in the afternoon. Tonight I’ll make a final decision as to which school I’m going to attend. Nothing too exciting today, except for a small case of mistaken identity … I was walking down a street when a couple of attractive young women acknowledged me and smiled. Feeling kinda good that the ol’ boy still had some mojo (must be the hot new leather jacket and dashing black scarf), I finally realized after a third woman did the same, that I was in the red-light district …

Sunday

Sundays find the streets of Madrid filled with people shopping, eating, and generally on paseo. I stopped in to a stand-up pastry and coffee shop for breakfast to (literally) rub shoulders with the locals. Spain has incredibly good pastries. It feels good to be able to order, chat, and pay for breakfast without asking them to repeat themselves. My grammar is bad, but at least I’m understood.

In the Puerta del Sol this afternoon, there were Mickey Mouse, Square Bob Sponge Pants, an American Indian Chief, and Mario Brothers. Sigh. Don’t these people know that they’re ruining my experience? And, get this: there were Mariachis singing and playing in full regalia, in front of KFC, right in the Plaza de Espana! Gasp. I’m quite certain that the end is nigh.

Thoroughly shaken, I stumbled to the only place where I might find solace: The Catedral de Santa María la Real de la Almudena. It’s a crazy mix of architectural styles, but a cathedral none the less. Inside there were piped-in recordings of gregorian chants ... hmm, and flat screen monitors everywhere ... eeek! (thank God they were turned off while I was there). There were the usual soaring gothic vaults and gold leaf bling on the side altars. But when did they change out the votive candles with electric ones under plexiglass?? Make an offering and push a button? WTF is that?!? Oh, and notice the electric cord plugged into the wall in the photo ... nice touch.

As disconcerting as the afternoon was, I popped in to a small cafe for the “plato del dia” for a late lunch. It was Paella Valenciana. So I thought, it’s the daily special; the special has to be good, right? It was a plate of yellow rice with some grilled red peppers on top, and one, yes one, ring of octopus on top. Before I ordered it the waiter made sure that I understood that it was paella de mariscos (seafood), and not chicken. I considered pointing out afterward that it was technically marisco, not mariscos. But not wanting to be an ugly American, I just went home.

Second day

The flight really went by quickly and we landed in Madrid at 7:00 AM.  I hopped on the tram and went to Terminal 4, which is the new, oh-so-Spanish building/terminal at the Barajas Airport.  Wow.  I took some photos, but it's the kind of space you have to experience; a picture just won't capture what a great space it is.

I made it easily to my host's house in the center of the old city.  Hector is a college professor at the Universidad del Rey Juan Carlos, plus he's working on his doctoral dissertation in economics (which he's writing in English).  He's a very interesting and nice host, and we spent the afternoon and evening together, speaking only Spanish.  He's also a patient and a good teacher.  He speaks English because he lived in the UK for three years, but he understands that I want to speak Spanish only, and so we did.  As we all know, Philip is never short of an opinion, and as I have discovered, neither is Felipe!

I had only slept for less than an hour on the plane, so when we got home, I went to bed and didn't wake up until twelve hours later.  But then I got up and hit the streets to experience Madrid by myself.  First stop was an incredible pastry shop for a breakfast snack where the lady there mistook me for a Frenchman ... really.  Feeling self-satisfied that I hadn't been mistaken for an American, I went about my day poking into shops around town where the episode was not repeated.  How dare they speak English to me??  Can't they see that I'm a native Madrileño?  Hmmmf.

Madrid has a such style and decorum about it.  The way people dress and carry themselves ... what a great city!   The architecture of the old town is so charming, but it's blended well with modern interior design which gives it a style all it's own.  I know I will spend a lot of time just taking it all in.  I stopped into a tiny light fixture store that had such amazing modern light fixtures  that I was there 20 minutes just studying them and their presentation.

Later I stopped into what they call a supermarket.  Small, crowded, but full-service, it is what Americans would call a grocery store.  Taking forever to read labels to understand what I was holding, I finally picked up some needed supplies.  While it was interesting to see the similarities and differences from my own culture, one thing, I observed, is the same the world over:  little old ladies are shrewd grocery consumers.

Getting into the swing of the local schedule, I had lunch at three o'clock.  I sat next to an American and we had a conversation in English which just totally reset my little brain.  Afterward, I couldn't understand a simple question in Spanish.  However at lunch, a glass of wine was less expensive than water ... I'm gonna love this place!

Well, here goes ....

After years of threatening to do this, I finally am.  When I was young, I didn’t have the money.  As I was working in my career, I didn’t have the time.  Now that I have both, I’m more than a little nervous about actually doing it.  Soooo, I'm going to Spain for three months and enrolling in school to learn the Castilian language. There.

I might possibly be the most un-spontaneous person you’ve ever met.  I’ve been thinking about making this trip for at least 35 years and I’ve been seriously contemplating it for the past three.  Now that I’ve decided to do it, I’ve read countless hours of expatriate blogs, the US State Department’s website, gotten credit and debit cards with the most favorable exchange fees, lined-up my accommodations in Madrid, updated my will, recorded where all of my assets are located, lined-up competent people to watch my properties, had my annual physical two weeks ago (the cholesterol is back in line now) , learned how to do online banking, left files in order and notes to cover every conceivable situation, had my year-end tax planning with my CPA and got all of my year-end tax information to her, thoroughly investigated my health care coverage and identified the approved hospital and doctor list for Madrid.  Oh God, have I left anything out?

Sitting here at Max’s Bar & Restaurant at Dulles Airport waiting for my flight to Madrid, I think that it’s finally setting in that I’m really going.  As I contemplate the faux iron riveted trusses across the ceiling, I know that I’m not going to miss the American kitsch (although I do admire the amazing job they did of making them look real).  I’m going to see real history, not an Epcot facsimile.  And more than that, I’m going to see Spain’s huge advances in modern art, architecture, energy and transportation.  Spain isn’t just a player; it's one of the countries leading the way.

The name of this blog, besides being a shameless rip-off of the title "Julie & Julia", reflects who and where I am.  I am American.  My American roots are more than 350 years old on my father’s side, and my mother, well she was from Espain.  So the title of this blog not only reflects the contrast and diversity of my parentage, it also exposes my split personality as I embrace it.

So if you’re so inclined to know things espanol (I gotta figure out how to make my keyboard make that little squiggle over the n), follow along as I figure it out.