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.
1 comment:
Hey, I think I recognize the girl on the right. She looks like someone who was at the French school in Middlebury. There were actually several people from Spain who were there just to learn French. I kept wondering why they didn't just drive a bit north across their border.
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