The pace picks up

'Scuse the long interval. My theory is that writing several days after the fact will make for breezier accounts. Now to put that theory to the test:

Corrido de toros

When the opening group of toreadors (it's a team game, the matador is the captain) first pierced their bull, I felt a strong wave of revulsion. I spent the duration of the next five cycles of fights trying to "appreciate" the finer points of this traditional Spanish event. It's undeniable that it takes a lot of courage and skill to get in the ring with a very angry, very powerful animal and survive. I was impressed with the agility of the toreadors, especially when they would get up on their tip toes in the second part of the fight, taunt the bull, and then sidestep it as they placed barbed flags called banderilleras along its spine. (Forgive the graphic nature of the description, I'm actually sparing you the worst.)

I looked for signs that the crowd truly respected the beasts at the center of the sport. In fact, the matador who undertook the fourth fight was booed for needing to use two different swords to finish his bull. The aficionados don't like the bull to suffer needlessly. That's not to say they don't expect the bull to suffer. The end goal of the dance of the matador and bull is domination, consumated by the death blow.

Bullfighting is not modern; it does not belong to this age. That means that in part it should not be judged by our criteria out of hand (it's not simply about exploiting the bull for profit i.e. cynical capitalist spectacle, it has real, rich meaning for people) and in another sense that it should rightfully die out in the not too distant future. Spaniards under thirty don't attend the fights and are often embarrassed by them. Though I would want it abolished as much as anyone, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see it once, or that I regret seeing it.

PS. The photo below is of a statue of a bullfighter saluting the discoveror of penicillin. Before that wonder-medicine the death rate for being gored was extremely high.

Salamanca

The bullfight was two Sundays back. The following Friday myself and four other program-mates took a bus out to the city of Salamanca.

Right off the bat we managed to get a private room in a hostel located INSIDE the plaza mayor (central square), thought to be Spain's most beautiful. Credit goes to Lonely Planet for the tip. We felt like VIPs gazing down on all the citizens from our perch atop a second story balcony.

In brief, Salamanca was lovely. It was more peaceful and less packaged than Madrid. We paid a few Euros to be able to walk the upper stories of the stunning cathedral in the center of town. Some great views, as you can imagine. We also walked by the river (it was a warm autumn day with a slight breeze), crossing a bridge built by the Romans. At night we bought some awful beer on the down low (technically no place should sell after 10 PM but they always do if you press them), distracted ourselves from the taste of said beer by playing some drinking games, hit some cheap shot bars, and danced an hour or so away before sprinting back to our hostel in a drizzle. The five of us had goood chemistry. Everyone stayed laid back and showed enthusiasm for whatever we were doing. So important.

The photo below is of a curious detail in the relief around the cathedral's main door. The structure was built a few centuries back, so why is there what appears to be an astronaut in the mix?? A few other tourists and ourselves pointed it out and marvelled at it. Later I read that the figure was added during renovations in the 1990s, but this is a case where ignorance is a good deal more fun. 

Second photo. Who should show up among the ring of busts of local heroes circling the Salamanca plaza mayor but Franco himself! Salamanca has a... complicated history with the now almost universally denounced dictator.

Caminar por la ciudad

The day after we got back, last Sunday, I met up with a girl I worked with over the summer (I was a server at a country club, for those out of the loop) and her friend. I budgeted three hours for eating and walking around but it turned out to be more like five. All the better, and I was proud of myself for not losing focus on being unfocused. The three of us walked up the Eastern edge of Retiro (Madrid's central park, once the king's private hunting grounds) and found a street cafe where we sipped drinks and ate a platter of jamon serrano/ cheese.

We then took a train down to Arguelles, the northwestern barrio I hadn't been to yet. It was a very leisurely stroll past the arch city promoters are trying to make Madrid's symbol (the image of a bear pawing at a strawberry tree, the current icon, doesn't mean much even to locals), along a park where residents were picnicing with their kids, skirting the entry for the teleforico (the tram ride over that part of the city which my friend told me is totally lame). One of the last things we happened upon was really strange: an authentic Egyptian temple, over 2,000 years old, moved to Madrid as a sign of gratitude from Egypt for Spain's intervention in preserving a more important Egyptian temple in Nubia. It was so out of place... but it was dignified all the same. Check out the photo.

PS. My friend/ co-worker, her name is Nina, is working as an English teacher here. She told me a story about how for one lesson plan she drew a venn diagram, one circle titled "Spain," the other, "USA." The students were asked to find common ground between the two nations. Predictably Nina was dictated a long list of brands and TV shows, although the funniest were the faux American things the students assumed to be representative of our country, like a novelty chain called Foster's Hollywood, which serves hellishly bad hamburgers, hot dogs, etc. We should be glad we don't have it back in the States, I'm told.

Juntos a la vez

Eh, I'm losing steam already. Who's up for some bulletins? ... I finally visited the Prado (the most conspicuous omission on my tourist checklist, I live about five minutes from it) during its free hours at the end of the day and it was really very cool- high-ceilinged with lighting adjusted for the mood of each room's paintings... I'll be going back... This week I managed at last to do some of my reading, the classes don't really have deadlines and I wasn't making any of my own prior to now... My aesthetics teacher is a pretentious, sleazy, charming lunatic- he ranted for ten minutes last class about how the "supposedly open" society of Spain would frown on him coming to work dressed as Marie Antoinette (he described the costume in exquisite detail, down to the feathers twined into his bun)... The whole episode was only vaguely related to a lesson plan, the sort of thing he wouldn't allow to constrain him... Today I participated in a mini World Cup (mundialito) among the Erasmus kids... I played for the combined English, US, Dutch, Croatian team (we tried very hard to describe how our countries could be considered a unit, the best I could do was that all of us had been part of the "Coalition of the Willing" during the War in Iraq ground operation) and I was pissed when we lost in the finals to the Iraq-War Haters (a combination of Germany, Italy, Spain, and France)... I may have been an ugly American in the final minutes, I may have told opposing players I knocked over to "get up" when they asked for a foul...

Now a look into the future. I pitched the idea to a few Midd friends (others who go to UCIII, my university) that we go to Valencia this weekend. We'll divide our time seeing the tourist attractions in the daylight and watching my boys (pictured below: they don't know we have a relationship so don't say anything to them), Animal Collective, perform in a music festival at night. Not originally part of the plan: We have no hostel tomorrow night (all booked up) and it's supposed to rain. We hope to either find a hostel, miraculously, or to stay out all night at bars, drink a lot of coffee Sunday morning, and sleep in shifts at the train station until our ride back to Madrid arrives.

I will let you know how this potential disaster turns out. For now, I wish everyone well. Adios.

Enfermedad

Getting sick is a rite of passage for a traveler, so why have I been taking it so personally? It started Monday and I've had a whole succession of symptoms (use your imaginations) that have completely laid me out. Arduous days, fitful nights. I'm the kind of person who tries to keep going if he can, but this one threw up too many obstacles. I even missed a little class, which is cause for concern if you know me. 

Many times I've thought about how much better off I'd be if I were in the same condition back home. Here I'm on my own and have to fret about how I'd explain everything were I to end up at a doctor's office (nightmare scenario: my limb is amputated when I mis-describe a stomach ache). I feel all right tonight, but other moments of optimism have given way to discomfort and pain. In short, WAAAAAAAAAH.

My Spanish has followed the rest of me. When you're really sick you basically regress to infancy, and I didn't know English, let alone the language of Cervantes, then.

But let's focus on the positives: 1. I have saved money (having no appetite will do that), 2. I have learned tons of medical vocabulary, 3. I have re-evaluated aspects of my lifestyle here which may not be so healthy (I will cook the bean stew longer next time, whether this is food poisoning or not), 4. At least I don't have this.

There's not much more to say about this past week. It won't be one I'll want to remember down the road. As such, no pictures this time.

Before I go I will put a quick plug in for This American Life's free podcast. It has helped me pass the long hours of this illness.

Also a protagonist, Spanish television's awesome collection of movies. In the US you get a rotation of recent films or films that have remained popular over time. Here they'll play anything. Sometimes this means they have a longer memory for good movies (I'm watching "Blown Away" as we speak). Often it means schlocky, truly forgettable movies ("The Promised Land") get air-time. 

Today I discovered a real gem which has been lost amid newer, better releases. It's called Victory (1981) and stars Michael Caine, Sylvester Stallone, and Pelé as Allied prisoners of war facing down the Nazis in a soccer match. Stallone as the goalkeeper has terrible technique (befitting an American, I suppose). He lunges and kicks out his legs at odd angles. The Nazi players are rough with the Allies but of course the ref never calls fouls against them. Funniest continuity error I've ever seen: Pelé injures his arm but re-enters the match late in the second half when the score is tied. He's holding his tender arm close to his body every touch of the ball, protecting it from the German players. When he bicycle-kicks in the winning score, however, he lifts the same arm into the air in triumph! His teammates all pile on top of him because his arm is fine, right? But then when he's on their shoulders he's holding his arm again. Could have been the shot of adrenaline... more likely carelessness on the part of the filmmakers. It did made a sick boy smile.

Resumen

So far I've made my trip sound like the basis for a forthcoming book report. Maybe more description and less analysis will liven things up. You don't want facts, do you?. You want action, and pictures, and details about quirky foreign things. Well I want what you want. I will make a point to pander more from now on.

El Dia del Espectador

Every Wednesday in Madrid is "the day of the spectator." Movie theatres sell their tickets for half-price in order to attract more people. This past week I took in Woody Allen's "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" in a cinema in the district of Callao. The auditorium was huge, at least two hundred seats, a converted Broadway-style theatre. Even though there was nothing near a capacity crowd the night I went, the ushers checked tickets and assigned us to specific seats. I did not see that coming, so I hesitated a bit before sneaking several rows forward in order to get closer to a friend. You can buy tickets together, but the system still seems absurdly anachronistic.

The Spanish custom of dubbing every import (the theatre that subtitles is the exception- dubbing made life easier for Spanish censors during the Franco era, nowadays people are accustomed to it) was particularly wrong for this movie. The American stars (Rebecca Hall, Scarlett Johansson) are supposed to be naive foreigners enthralled by the mysterious land they are visiting for the Summer, yet in this version the two spoke perfect Spanish! You had to work to overlook that detail. I liked the film overall, though the themes of travel (enchantment with what you don't ultimately have access to) and love (where what you think you want may not be what you need) sometimes aligned too easily.

Before I forget that I'm trying not to analyze let me say that a big takeaway was the enchanting portrait of Barcelona. I'm more excited about going after seeing the film.

El fin de semana

This weekend Evan, an old friend from Framingham who's studying in Barcelona, passed through Madrid on a program trip. He had a pretty tight schedule but we managed to meet for dinner on Friday. Over plates of jamon, patatas, and huevo we compared notes on our areas (he says that Barcelona's big but still manages to feel homey) and discussed our favorite ways of hiding the fact that we're struggling to say something (to stall you only have to say "pues...," "bueno...," or, in a tight spot, "pues... bueno..."). After leaving a small tip, which Catalunyans like Evan don't do but Madrilenyos like myself do (5%), I walked him to the nearest Metro so he could make a flamenco performance at 10.

When the show got out I invited him to my apartment where the two of us had a glass of wine with my piso mate Sara and her friends. They were all dressed up to go out dancing and they wanted a record of the night. Enter a digital camera. More shameless even than we young Americans, they repeatedly posed, shot, and crowded together to evaluate every pic. In fifteen minutes they must have snapped three dozen photos, see example below. 

A little later Evan and I ventured out into the night to try and find friends at a bar near the Metro stop Tribunal. For some reason I thought it was a good idea to try to angle over, cutting through side streets, rather than walk the main artery through the city center. Big mistake. We were so lost that the Spaniards we asked for directions shook their heads and buzzed their lips in pity/shock/irritation. I wouldn't say our waywardness was a miracle in disguise, but we did have the opportunity to talk a lot and I got Evan back to the place he was staying earlier than it would have been (he had to get up at 8) had we gotten where we wanted to go. So I'm not a competent guide after a month, but he intends to come back, and I plan to be on the ball then.

Last night was Zaine's birthday. She's the Spanish helper Middlebury has contracted to answer our stupid questions about life in Madrid. About a dozen of us (half Spanish, half American) set up in a bar where they serve beer in metros, meter-long cylinders with taps that cost E10 each. The Mahou (in my brother Daren's opinion, Spain's worst beer) did flow. We even held a series of carreras, team drinking competitions, in a friendly spirit.* Speaking Spanish tends to get easier by the glass, something which I'm sure other students studying abroad have discovered.

Since showing up drunk to every interaction with Spaniards is impractical, not to mention unhealthy, I guess we'll all have to keep slogging.

*Playing on the bar's TV was an amazing match between FC Barcelona and Atletico Madrid. The two combined for five goals in a half hour (three in the first eight minutes, all from Barca). I kept thinking all those Americans who think soccer is boring would be obliged to disagree, at least in this case.

La campaña

Yesterday I watched the first presidential debate in the auditorium of the Casa America here in Madrid. The overflow crowd was majority American, but curious Spaniards and other Europeans were also on hand. Representatives from both campaigns manned merchandise tables and distributed information. Anyone who hadn't already registered to vote could do so at a non-partisan table. At fifteen past six the lights dimmed, voices hushed, and Jim Lehrer's sober introduction played out on a large projection screen.

From the responses the two candidates got (unlike those who saw the debate firsthand, we weren't prohibited from clapping), it was immediately clear that the crowd leaned heavily towards Obama. Personally I thought he acquitted himself very well. He came off as knowledgeable, sincere, and composed. Contrast that with McCain's condescension and tendency to appeal to his own character rather than the precise nature of his policies. His swerves into sentimentality and forced humor (for an example of terrible comic timing, see McCain's joke about bear research) seemed manufactured. The only time Obama made me wince was when he followed McCain's description of the bracelet a fallen soldier's mother had given him by firing back, essentially, "I have a bracelet too!" The brinksmanship could not have been more transparent.

After an hour or so the debate wore on the crowd. Both candidates lectured, refusing to address each other. My own attention wandered, and I love this stuff! The popular metaphor for debates is a boxing match; this one was more like a gentlemen's archery contest- competitors facing forward rather than towards each other, taking turns firing arrows at the vulnerable spots in the armor (skepticism) of voters. I hope that makes sense.

Anyway, following the debate the organizers of the event presented a round table discussion (in English), featuring two Republicans and two Democrats and moderated by the same guy who hosts the nationally-televised show "Tengo una pregunta para Ud." in which ordinary people get to ask a famous person, often a politician, questions. (It's really cool.) To my dismay the Republicans were much better spoken. They gave substantive and thoughtful answers whereas the Democrats repeated Obama/Biden slogans, to wild applause. I think when you know you're in enemy territory you raise your game.

The moderator had the panelists comment on a very surprising moment in the debate- a reference to Spain! Obama noted that McCain had recently refused to commit himself to meeting with the Spanish president upon ascending to the White House. That would be a continuation of the Bush administration's current diplomatic freeze-out of the socialists in power here (they pulled Spanish troops from Iraq after defeating the ruling conservative government run by Bush-buddy Jose Maria Aznar). Obama's take was, "It appears that Senator McCain has forgotten that Spain is our NATO Ally." At that the room erupted in cheers. 

Obama is so popular in Europe because he understands that contemporary problems require international cooperation. Electing him will instantly improve our standing in the world. From the discussions I've had it's clear that people actually want to embrace America- they just need us to repudiate the last 8 years first.

PS. Some 9/11 truth nuts passed out pamphlets outside the building. When I saw three college-aged girls tentatively nodding and accepting the material, I couldn't help but say something:

[Shaking my head] "Don't take those. It's nothing more than a sick fantasy."

And it is. What repugnant people.

A partir

Hello, friends. I'm in a large city (Madrid) in a medium-sized country populated by smallish people who speak very quickly. I've been here about three weeks, one week in a youth hostel and almost two in an apartment located not far from the famous Prado art museum (which I have yet to visit). I've been toying with the idea of making a blog for a while but it is tonight, a night when crowding into a dark, hot, noisy room didn't appeal to me much, that I put in the time.

It'd be hard to catch you up, nor would a summary give you much of a feel for my experiences. Suffice it to say there has been culture shock, sticker shock, and other, more sedate forms of surprise. Every day I learn a little something about the way things are here. In time I may be able to group those things and make some broader conclusions, but I feel no particular need to break things down at the moment.

Enough introduction. Here's some background on my surroundings, the everyday life stuff which I wouldn't otherwise focus on at this point due to its ubiquity:

1. Romance: There is unabashed PDA at all hours of the day. In addition, staring at women on the street is not only common, it's expected. One girl in my program received attention from a pair of precocious 11-year-old boys.

2. Manners: Spaniards don't apologize or say excuse me when they bump into each other. Waiters and other workers who deal with people rarely make an effort to be friendly. If you have transgressed in any way, however, you must justify your actions ("Es que..." = "It's that..."). That's the Catholic influence at work.

3. Getting around: Most everything is within walking distance if you live towards the center of town (as I do). If you have to use the Metro, it's both cheap and efficient. Spaniards almost never use cabs: they're for drunks and foreigners who don't mind paying the steep 25% tax on top of the time/mileage.

4. Wetting your whistle: The alcohol content of mixed drinks is much higher here than in the US. Beer is dispensed at McDonalds and in vending machines. A really popular combo among younger people is red wine + coke = calimocho. Groups gather in squares and sip the stuff from tall cups.

5. Feeding your face: The #1 restaurant chain serves reasonably-priced, tasty Turkish dishes which I can already tell I'll miss when I go home. The #2 chain is called the "Museum of Ham"- it's decent. The government mandates that all restaurants offer a budget lunch menu which includes two plates, a beverage, dessert, and often bread as well, all for under E10.

6. Sanitation: No one cleans up after their dogs. You are advised to watch your step. Fertilized pavement notwithstanding, the city is clean overall; trash is picked up daily.

7. Vagrancy: I don't know what the situation is exactly but at least one down-on-his-or-her-luck individual is stationed outside each high-traffic business. I regularly pass one man whose sign says he's dying of AIDS (here, SIDA) and another without arms.

8. Checking your watch: Spaniards don't seem to mind waiting in lines for extended periods. On the other hand, the bad rap they get for having a loose sense of scheduling is partially undeserved. When they're meeting friends they're not overly concerned about arriving on the hour, but when it comes to more formal appointments, they are punctual.

9. Entertainment: Everyone is football-mad, except my flatmates, who prefer trashy celebrity news and reality TV (the Spanish incarnation of Big Brother, in particular). There are a lot of American series (Grey's Anatomy, House, The Simpsons) and even more movies (Signs, The Edge, Alexander) badly-dubbed- always dubbed, never subtitled- into Spanish.

10. Media: El Pais is the center-left paper of record, with a more international focus than its competitors. El Mundo is another left-leaning daily. ABC is traditionalist and pro-monarchy while La Razon is liberal in the European sense. A few sports dailies and free, sensationalist papers round out the offerings. There's a lot of coverage of the presidential race and the financial crisis, so it would be impossible for me to ignore the US entirely, even if I wanted to. (I spend too much time and energy contemplating events a few thousand miles west of me, if I'm being honest.)

Finally, a few photo highlights to round out this inaugural post (one of the palaces, a futile hunger strike against Madrid's unbelievable congestion, the city at night):

Gracias for your time. In the future I'll have more story-driven, bite-sized content for you. Save that link!