More musings





Chris and I were on the platform of a metro station the other day when he noticed a condom machine on the wall.  I've seen them in men's restrooms before, but never in public, next to some one's grandma waiting for the train to arrive!  Iwas kind of creepy and a bit embarrassing, but I waited for everyone to clear out and took my photo with it.  In retrospect, we should have backed up the camera a bit for context ...

The old Atocha train station with its glass arched roof (where the trains used to pull through years ago) has been converted into a very nice botanical garden and shopping area.  But the air is so dry in Madrid, that they have to have constant misters on the tropical foliage to keep it from drying out.  My skin itches just thinking about how low the humidity is here.  And across the street, the Ministry of Agriculture building is yet another entrant in competition of who has the most outrageous bronze sculpture on top.

There is a famous Chocolatería that is always packed with people which serves (exclusively) the Spanish tradition of churros and warm chocolate.  Churros in Spain are like the Latino churros you can get at street fairs in the U.S., but without the sugar sprinkled on top.  The chocolate is used for dipping the churros and is served as a thick, warm  liquid in coffee cups.  Hmmm.  I love dark chocolate, but wasn't so sure about this one.  No doubt if we had been ten years old we would have wolfed down this rich sugar bomb, but a few bites were enough for us.  Walking away, we agreed that we were glad that we tried it, but didn't want to do it again.

Chris has discovered "Havana 7", a Cuban rum that he really likes.  But once we leave, he's going to have to say "adios" to his new find, because we can't bring back any products from Cuba thanks to the U.S. trade embargo.  We've also have our favorite pub which serves tapas on a slice of baguette, and are topped with either thin sliced cured ham, Spanish tortilla, chicken, salmon, cheese and apple, or pork.   Portions of food are served lighter here in general than the U.S. and they're really good. 

And lastly, I had to take a photo of Chris and Héctor's (at least) nightly smoking time on the balcony of the apartment.  If getting bundled up and standing out in the freezing windy air isn't incentive enough to stop smoking, I don't know what is ...   Oh wait!  Maybe it would be the huge letters on the front of packages of cigarettes that says "FUMAR MATA" (smoking kills), or the photo on the back of the package that shows the physical results on the human body of smoking.

Toledo



Leaving Atocha Station



There are a few easy one-day trips from Madrid and yesterday Chris and I took a train to Toledo.  It wasn't the AVE bullet train; that one we'll take later to Barcelona.  But this was an electric train that is still faster than American ones.  Round trip it takes 35 minutes to go from the Atocha Station in Madrid to the train station in Toledo.  Atocha was the station that was bombed by Al Qaeda in 2004, which became known as "Europe's 9/11".  It was actually ten separate bombings of trains coming in and out of Madrid, two or three of which were actually in the Atocha Station when they detonated..



View from atop the fortifications of Toledo

 Before the Moors took control of Toledo, it had been the capital of (what is more or less) Spain since the 8th century.  The Moors took the city, continued to build upon it, and it was re-taken by the Christian Spaniards in 1085.  It would be almost another 500 years until the capital was moved to Madrid in 1561.  Since Toledo was built on a high rocky point inside a hairpin curve of the Tagus River, it had great natural defenses.  And also because of it's topography, the city remains largely intact today.  Most medival cities lost their original walls as they were dismantled, because they were no longer needed for defenses.  But most of Toledo's original walls are still standing due to the sheer drop-off from the city down to the river; there was simply no way to annex beyond the walls.


The Alcázar



Toledo´s Gothic Cathedral

Toledo has a magnificent (mostly) gothic cathedral that dates to the 12th century.  Chris and I were able to step into the corner of it, get a peek at the architecture and listen to the pipe organ during mass, but we didn't tour the entire building because we would have had to wait until after Mass and once Mass was over, the line was very long to get in.  I've seen plenty of gothic church interiors before, includiong this one, and Chris didn't want to wait. 



The upper courtyard of the Alcázar

 

Bullet pock marks from the war

We also visited the Alcázar, which is Spain's much older version of Westpoint.  The last time I was in Spain, the Alcázar building was still the military academy, but it has since been moved across the river and the historic building is now a military museum.  Under part of it, they excavated away some of the original foundation, which was built on older foundations, which dated to the 8th century.  It is the highest point in Toledo.  While we were in the upper courtyard, we saw bullet pock marks in the stone arches that surround it, put there during the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s.  Unfortunately, the combatants didn't respect their own historical treasures, and the old fortress was the site of a battle in which much of it was destroyed and later re-built.



Chris in stocks in the dungeon



 We visited the old Jewish Quarter of Toledo and saw a historic synagouge, as well as a Leondardo DaVinci exibit (he lived in Toledo for a while).  In the building that housed the DaVinci exibit, we also toured a dungeon that had been used during the Spanish Inquisition.  I had to get a photo of Chris is stocks inside a cell ...

Papá Hemingway

Since I stumbled upon Hemingway in my blog the other night, and feeling the pasión of España myself, I thought maybe I’d try some bad rip-off of Papá …

It was a cold Saturday night, colder than most.  I had had too much rioja, so I wasn’t as coherent as I might have been, but it didn’t really matter.   A buxom young Madrileña wearing too much make-up and hot pants that made her look like an extra on Laugh In asked, “Señor, can you give me a light?”, as she shook her booty in our direction.   Cristóbol rolled his eyes, and I wondered if we hadn’t met the dumbest bitch in Madrid.  “You must have us confused without someone else” I said, as we continued our way along Gran Via.  But she followed us, throwing back her black hair and flashing a Jordache smile like a long-ago episode of Charlie's Angles, and said, “No Señor.  It is you to whom I am speaking”.  But we walked on, we in our thoughts and she in hers. 

I wondered why the buxom señorita with her plunging bust line had stopped to talk to us.  I wondered why her legs had been bare on such a cold winter night.  I wondered why the traffic lights were on the side of the street rather than above the lanes.  But it didn’t matter.  Not tonight.  Tonight we would forget all that.  Tonight we would eat and drink and try to forget the economic reality that surrounded us. 

But the memory of the Gran Via hooker lingered with me like a garlic sandwich on rye.  Her penetrating coal-black eyes haunted me with their wanting, provocative gaze.  I fell asleep wondering how different her life would be, had circumstances been different.  Some might have thought her immoral, but what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after.  I wondered how many times she felt good after.  

I thought about her saunter up and down Gran Via, and I thought about her pimp.  I thought about who he might be and thought about what she might earn.  I wondered for whom the belle strolled and hoped that she didn't stroll for free.  I had an eerie feeling that I had known her before, but downed another cup of java and turned my thoughts to other things. 

 Spain has had so many new experiences, but none more august than its wine and cheese ...

Guernica

Chris and I both got good news about school.  I passed my exam to move onto the next level and he got into the higher level that he was seeking.  Carnival is what most Americans know by the French name of "Mardi Gras", and it starts today, so Chris and I are going to go out and celebrate our accomplishments.  Héctor said that it´s not a big event here, but we'll check it out anyway.  Now those of you good Catholics who are saying to yourselves that Ash Wednesday is not until next week; well this is Spanish culture baby, and these people get a head start on the partying.  Carnival lasts from today right up until the first day of Lent.  ¡Madre mia!

Guernica is a small town in the Basque region of Northern Spain which was the setting of a horrible war crime during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939).  Civilians were fleeing the advance of mercenary troops throughout the province of Vizcaya, and thousands were funneled into the town of Guerncia as they tried to make their way to the Loyalist stronghold of Bilbao.  On April 26, 1937, the town was swelling with people for the weekly market, along with the refuges streaming through the town, looking for a place to rest before heading onward. 

German Condor Legion in flight

Generalisimo Francisco Franco was leading the Republican forces to win the war for their side, and he enlisted the German Luftwaffe to provide him with an air force.  Hitler was all too willing to oblige, because he needed to test out his newly developed war weapons on the eve of World War II.  Around midday on that April day the Germans began bombing Guernica.  Planes left Burgos, dropped their bombs on Guernica, strafed the streets with machine guns, headed back to Burgos to reload and refuel, and took off again. They caravaned in a circular pattern, nonstop for seven hours.  The world had not yet seen incendiary bombs used until the Spanish Civil War; bombs that didn't just explode, they burned with intense heat and created an inferno.

Guernica after the bombing

Guernica had little strategic purpose in the war, and the attack was grossly out of proportion to the size of the town.  People had crammed into makeshift bomb shelters, but the fire was so intense that it sucked all of the oxygen out of the air and stacks of people were later found simply suffocated.  Many who couldn't fit in the shelters were either killed by the intense heat or gunned down as they fled down the streets.  International outrage was immediate.  It made worldwide headline news as the world saw how war had not only moved from the battlefield to the city streets, but that it was being employed  for heinous, non-strategic reasons.

Pablo Picasso

Pablo Picasso's most famous work, and one of the most important paintings of the 20th century was his depiction of the chaos and devastation that day in Guernica.  Art appreciation classes on modern art always include a survey of it.  It measures 24.5' wide and 11' tall.  The reason that I tell you all of this is because Guernica was my mother's home town.  The painting now hangs in the Museo de la Reina Sofia in Madrid, and given my own family's connection, I had to once again make the pilgrimage and pay homage.  It's been sixteen years since I last saw it and every time I do, I am deeply moved ...

"Guernica"

Tomorrow I have my final exam at school, but tonight Hector, Chris and I are having drinks and talking.  Hector is helping us with our bad Spanish, and I'm explaining some finer points of English to him.  I have to study tomorrow, but thankfully I don't have my test until 2:30 in the afternoon, since I'm in no shape to do it tonight.

Last night, Chris and I went out to dinner at the restuarant that we liked so much the other night.  Chris came with a bufanda (scarf) that was knitted by a friend of his in New York.  By sheer coincidence, she knitted it in the national colors of Spain, so I had to snag it.  His jacket is black leather with red, white, and blue stripes, which didn't work at all with the colors in the scarf.  Mine is a brown leather jacket, which works well with them.  He got may black scarf and I got his red and gold one ...

The metro in Madrid has announced that it is going to cut wages across the board, and it has created a big controversy here.  Actually, I'm beginning to think that this country thrives on controversy, and I have to admit, that sometimes I feel the pasion myself.  This evening, a big protest of union workers came down our street, right below our balcony.  And while I wasn't feeling their pasión tonght, I was enjoying the spectacle.  They had drummers like American football bands.  I was dancing in the living room to the rhytum.  Chris was a drum major in high school, and he said that those drummers were hired; they weren't simply part of the union.  I told him that he needed to go down there with a baton and lead the parade.  He's only 5'-5", but his attitude more than makes up for it.  I tol' him to go down there and feel-a the pasión of España ... he refrained.

More Observations ...

I bought something this week that I’m not sure can even be found in Florida; a humidifier. Not knowing the word for it, I went to El Corte Ingles and asked for a machine that puts water vapor in the air. “Si, claro” she said and took me their selection of several different models. The air is so dry in Madrid that my skin itches all the time. Some models were quite expensive and I explained to the lady that I live in Florida and will have no use for the machine when I leave. She showed me a small unit for 37 euros, I brought it home, and have had it running ever since.

My final exam for my current level in Spanish class is this week, so I’ve been studying hard. Chris and I have been having supper together and not a whole lot else. I’ve shown him some of the places that I’ve written about and he’s shared his impressions of them. I took him by my stand-up breakfast bar for a cup of cafe con leche and pastry to show him Spain’s version of “cheeseburger, cheeseburger”.  A woman completely devoid of personality took our order at the counter, and Chris asked why I never mentioned the floor in my blog. Huh?  While I’ve never seen it that messy, I thought that he had a point and decided that it would only be fair to point the camera straight down this time. With the trash basket mostly full and litter on the floor all around it, I thought, this looks a lot like the pattern created by men peeing "in the direction of" the toilet.

Meanwhile, across the street at McDonald’s, people were snapping up American fast food at the ever crowded counter. “McMenu” and “McNifica” headliners were hawking Big Mac meals with fries and drink, and cerveza is one of the drink options. I guess it’s what constitutes a “happy meal” in Espana. It seems you can buy alcohol anywhere here.

There is of course, the ubiquitous Starbucks here as well. The first morning that Chris was here, he went down to the street to get some good, American coffee ... aaaah. He asked if they had “cafe Americano”. “Si, claro” and gave him espresso topped off with hot water. Barf. Yesterday, I went down and asked if they had American coffee that is perculated through a drip filter, not espresso with water. After all, Starbucks is an American coffee company, so I didn’t think I was being pushy by asking for a cup of American coffee. And neither did they. One thing I’ve noticed about Madrileños is that they are ever gracious people who are as accommodating as they can be. “Si, claro” and she pulled out two conical drip baskets that she put on top of individual cups and brewed the coffee right there on the counter. I shrugged: that works. And Chris and I enjoyed our first cup of American coffee since we’ve been here. Wanting to get to the bottom of this misunderstanding, this morning Chris went down and inquired further. He found out that they call watered-down espresso “Cafe Americano” and actual American coffee is called “American Cafe”.

While walking down the street, I snapped this photo of someone’s dry sense of humor stenciled onto a lamppost pedestal: "TU NOMBE AQUI" (your name here). Commentary on the over-commercialization of Spain? This could easily have been in the U.S.

And what blog entry would be complete without a snippet about the Puerta del Sol? The other night I took this photo of a bloodmobile there. Notice the “s” shaped cots inside. Maybe it’s my American sensibilities, but it seems that lying in Macy’s window in Spain’s version of Times Square would be a deterrent to giving blood ....

BTW, you can see Chris' blog about his experiences in Spain at: Cristóbol en España

Chris' Arrival

In all fairness, I have to say that he gave me fair warning that it would happen. He told me that a trans-Atlantic flight without a cigarette would be a bear and to expect him to not be in a good mood when he got off the plane.

Young adults in their early 20s stay out all night drinking on weekends, not going home until daybreak, which it’s known in Spain as “la marcha”. I got up early and took the first metro train on Saturday morning to the airport. Key point in that sentence is that I took the FIRST metro train out of the station at Puerta del Sol, because the station was filled with nothing but young adults who had been out all night, and were waiting for the first metro train of the morning to take them home. Some laughing, some staggering, some sitting with their heads cradled in their hands, they were 80-90% guys and 10-20% girls. I don’t think I realized until that moment, how old I am.

I got to the airport at seven o’clock and scurried over to the international terminal to pick up Chris. His was the first of 231 international flights coming into Madrid on Saturday. Relieved when I saw “en tierra” (landed) on the schedule board at 7:19 AM, his flight was exactly one minute early. I waited, then a second flight landed from Filadelfia. I waited, and finally he made it through customs about eight o’clock, and into the airport where I was waiting.

“I can’t believe what a stupid airport this is we must have taxied for twenty minutes before we got to our gate and I wasn’t able to sleep at all on the plane either and my iPod fell under my seat because they have this stupid gap between the seat and back and I couldn’t listen to my music the whole flight, then we had to walk forever down hallways, up and down stairs, and they didn’t have any escalators and when I got to the luggage claim, it took them thirty minutes to start the luggage carousel, and even then the bags came out so slowly, one bag at a time, then the customs agent didn’t even look at my declarations sheet, I mean, what did I even fill out the form for? and there was nowhere to stop and take a smoke along the way”, he said, as he walked right past me toward the exit.

Once outside, he lit a cigarette and sucked it down like a kid drinking a thick milkshake through a straw (Ooo. That sounded kinda Hemingwayesque ... and right here in España!). He lit up another and said “it is so fuckin’ cold here! why did you say that this airport had such a great design?, this just looks like an old American airport to me ...”. “International flights come into the old terminal. Would you like to see the new Terminal 4?”. “No, I just want to go”. After a while, enough nicotine had hit his brain that he calmed down, we said hello, and then began to make our way “home”.

I had reserved a hotel for four days to ease him into life in Madrid. He slept the morning and part of the afternoon and we went to a bar on the roof of Óscar Hotel in the Chueca district. It is a rooftop terrace with swimming pool, big white canvas umbrellas, white chairs and chaise lounges, and the whole rooftop is glassed-in for the panoramic view and to keep the heat in. Outside was right about freezing, but with heaters up there, it was comfortable. They did a very good job of capturing the essence of Miami Beach in the heart of Madrid. We sat there for a couple of hours and had drinks while Chris “detoxed”. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my camera with me until later. That evening we found a great little restaurant for dinner, and agreed that we’d go back there soon.

This morning Chris was still recovering from his flight, but we finally went out in the afternoon to see the “Palacio Real” (Royal Palace) of Spain. Chris has never been to Europe and so I thought that seeing a royal palace would be a good introduction. Unfortunately, photos inside are prohibited, so I was only able to snap some pictures of the exterior.

Afterward, we stopped in to a bar on the way back to the hotel and had a few drinks. Chris is sleeping again, but we’ll go out for dinner in a few minutes ...