Vida ciudad

Christmas is coming. Throughout the city, the calles and plazas that have for some weeks been adorned with various and often truly puzzling light fixtures now illuminate the nights. Giant conical skeletons of black iron and colored acrylic shapes and lights have emerged in all of the main plazas - sol, espana, atocha, etc. Today the temperature reached t-shirt temperature and still madrilenos scurried along bundled in long coats and scarves, like some holiday season protocol. I walked proudly in a cotton collared shirt in defiance. The police presence has escalated as well, prepared to bureaucratically deal with the tourism and subsequent petty theft. Clad in neon yellow-green vests like pacific heights crossing guards and navy berets like urban special forces, the swine. They congregate in groups and stare with that asinine confidence that all people of minor authority adopt, sizing me up and guessing my origins while they imagine me committing some crime as I return their gaze and imagine their indifference as they trample basic human rights. I walk swiftly past, recalling the crime I commit by simply being here and earning money. My birthday is coming too.

I have been teaching for 3 weeks. I have 24 students, ranging from 23 to 40something. I have gained an intimate knowledge of the world's most efficient metro system, taking 5 different lines on a daily basis as I trek across the ciudad from one business building to another, holding class in various conference rooms. My favorite has a cappucino machine in the office that makes some of the best coffee in the city, which I use to time student activities. Some of my students have revealed themselves to be great people. I had one class practice past tenses writing stories of their childhoods. One, Jose Maria, had few childhood friends and used to go into the hills and woods looking to find animals to play with. Now he deals in the stock market and has one of the most charming demeanors I have ever come across.
Last weekend Ruwan, Travis, Erik, Natalia, Santiago, and I made our first journey together - to the great enchantress, Barcelona. It was, as always with that city, remarkable. Private nightclubs disguised as apartments, bottles of absinthe, narrow medieval alleys with castle-like lamps, serpentine hillside parks, and the best salted cod of my life. I met with Richard, my perpetual euro-mate, who has taken residence in Barcelona, and we delved into the world of criminal hedonism. Colors of beige and fin de siecle green, all yellows reds greens and blues, sounds of voices carried through the narrow gothic capillaries, protests (I think they were actually protesting the crisis. I don't know who it was directed toward but the march was impressively large), and waves. Mediterranean electronic music and more English than I have heard in weeks. The most gorgeous brown eyes I have seen yet and a hundred packs of cigarettes. We left on the bus with 2 bottles of wine and several of beer and mused over the culture, geography, and the feeling of being in Barcelona, how that might compare with Madrid. I find Barcelona immeasurably more beautiful and charming. The feeling of being nestled among verdant hills at the Mediterranean's edge is infinitely soothing, and I speculate that man's proclivity toward valley cities comes from the development stage and being clutched in mother's arms and placed in a crib. The population of the city is by and large more youth driven and is far more international, resulting in two major aspects: the city is more cosmopolitan, with progressive style and that feeling of freshness that resides in a major port city; but it is this same aspect that makes her feel more indifferent toward one's presence than I have become accustomed to in Madrid. The city is as eternal as any major European city feels to be, but it's also transitory. People arrive on vacation and stay. Eventually they leave. In contrast to all of that, Madrid is 80% Spanish and maybe 80% of those are Madrileno by birth. This place is a home, handed down and passed on along the generations. Recently it has seen a major influx of African and eastern European, but by and large it is the same place. It was not until emerging from metro Tirso de Molina that I realized that Madrid has become my home and I am glad to be back. Nonetheless, Barcelona is always calling to be revisted and I can never sate my thirst for her. And contrary to what people say, the party in Madrid is bigger and longer.
(PS - no dog shit on the streets in Barca!)

Today I got paid. Once a month Madrilenos receive their means of sustinence. 12 times a year. Today I got a new flat in Plaza de Espana with a terrace that gazes up at el Palacio Real. I've never lived across from a palace. I am excited to assimilate the royal vibe. Today I lost 550 euros that I was counting on getting. Apparently moving out after the first means losing a month's worth of rent, no matter how friendly the landlady may seem. Today was a day of lessons. Tonight I exact my revenge and indulge myself for double-digit hours.