ONE WEEK into the month of February and the sun has finally returned to la capital. Yesterday was Thursday, which for me not only begins my weekend but is my shortest day. At 3:30 I was already at my flat eating lunch on the terrace, considering how to spend the remaining four hours of sun. I decided that it was too late to take the metro to a park across the city so I threw on a scarf and some shades and headed out on foot to Retiro. I entered from the SouthWest and walked up a beautiful hill toward the eastward crest. Turning left, I began to amble along a massive boulevard of rollerbladers, bikers, and the octogenarian army. Something to my left kept pulling me off the tarmac and into the green until I finally found myself rolling down a slope along a network of strange statues and busts. All of a sudden I saw through the trees what looked to be the skeletal outline of a roof and stumbled upon the Crystal Palace. Not quite 1851, but a magnificent structure all the same that elected to introduce itself to me at the exact moment of this very sort of day during this very sort of season when it would be able to house all of the light hitting its Western facade within its crystal skin. Chance alone?
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This week I have realized the folly of dichotomizing the week and its fin. I had been living four days of the week in a hibernation state, working, reading, studying, lesson-planning, and spending no money or time on enjoying myself in madrid. Hours divided up among classes, metro rides, office visits, and home work. Weeks flew by at a speed exceeded only by their ends and the months slipped through my fingers like sand. I spent Tuesday evening with Natalia drinking some of the finest Belgian beer and talking about our lives with a 19 year old Spanish porn star who offered me 3kilos of moroccan hashish to go home with her until Natalia and I finally broke away and got to spend an hour or two sitting with some 1e cañas at a quiet bar in Los Austrias thinking about the absurdity of life. Last night I met with Natalia and Erik and we had a 3 hour tour of Malasaña wine bars smoking, drinking, and talking. Thai people call it sanuk - fun time with friends - and only a short while ago did I realize that the Spanish do it as chronically. Walk down any street with a bar on it and you see groups of Madrileños sitting, talking laughing and gesturing with vivid enthusiasm four hours with no concern of "what are we doing next?" This is what they're doing. And we were able to pull it off with less than 10e. I found this to be one of the best weeks I've had in months, both at and after work as well as bodily and mentally. Chance alone?
I have recently read a book about a British xpat in Paris and it not only helped me consider aspects of my own situation here, but it reminded me of Paris. This of course begged multiple comparisons, and I thought of the nocturnal armies of streetsweepers that scrub each city every night. I recalled that the Parisians turn their rues into waterways as they remove the debris, while I had only seen Madrileños walking down the calles in teams of threes with a wide broom, a small broom and shovel, and a rubbish cart. Last night, as we left el pozo after some basque, rioja, and ribiera del duero copas, we found the streets glistening after the water tanks had driven by and soaked and scrubbed the streets like celebrity teeth. All this on a chance February Thursday. Chance alone?
...
This week I have realized the folly of dichotomizing the week and its fin. I had been living four days of the week in a hibernation state, working, reading, studying, lesson-planning, and spending no money or time on enjoying myself in madrid. Hours divided up among classes, metro rides, office visits, and home work. Weeks flew by at a speed exceeded only by their ends and the months slipped through my fingers like sand. I spent Tuesday evening with Natalia drinking some of the finest Belgian beer and talking about our lives with a 19 year old Spanish porn star who offered me 3kilos of moroccan hashish to go home with her until Natalia and I finally broke away and got to spend an hour or two sitting with some 1e cañas at a quiet bar in Los Austrias thinking about the absurdity of life. Last night I met with Natalia and Erik and we had a 3 hour tour of Malasaña wine bars smoking, drinking, and talking. Thai people call it sanuk - fun time with friends - and only a short while ago did I realize that the Spanish do it as chronically. Walk down any street with a bar on it and you see groups of Madrileños sitting, talking laughing and gesturing with vivid enthusiasm four hours with no concern of "what are we doing next?" This is what they're doing. And we were able to pull it off with less than 10e. I found this to be one of the best weeks I've had in months, both at and after work as well as bodily and mentally. Chance alone?
I have recently read a book about a British xpat in Paris and it not only helped me consider aspects of my own situation here, but it reminded me of Paris. This of course begged multiple comparisons, and I thought of the nocturnal armies of streetsweepers that scrub each city every night. I recalled that the Parisians turn their rues into waterways as they remove the debris, while I had only seen Madrileños walking down the calles in teams of threes with a wide broom, a small broom and shovel, and a rubbish cart. Last night, as we left el pozo after some basque, rioja, and ribiera del duero copas, we found the streets glistening after the water tanks had driven by and soaked and scrubbed the streets like celebrity teeth. All this on a chance February Thursday. Chance alone?
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