Update #2 from Madrid!

It’s been one hectic week since last I wrote you. I’ve moved into an apartment in central Madrid with colleague and native midwesterner Ellen Wilkinson, I’ve bid farewell to the wonderful family who opened their home to me for the first week in Spain, I’ve attended orientation for the Masters program and started to get a feel for what our schedule will be consist of, and I’ve enjoyed Madrid’s “Noche en Blanco,” the official “night out on the town.”

Our apartment hunt was, to rely on a cliché, an emotional rollercoaster. First we would get excited about one online listing or another, then immediately suffer for our enthusiasm when our phone call (in awkward, halting, thickly foreign-accented Spanish) paid off only in a brusque “it’s no longer on the market” from the renter . On one occasion the number was evidently fake: the woman who answered hung up on me on my first call, and when I redialed (assuming my Spanish had confused her) and asked again if she was renting an apartment she practically yelled at me: “si eso es un broma, hágalo por favor con otro teléfono,” or “if this is a joke, please pull it on another phone.” My bad.

Once we finally got some appointments to check out apartments in person, we allowed ourselves to float a little on hope – only to run aground repeatedly on the jagged reef of disappointment. Why do two-bedroom apartments come with only one bed – not just once but on several occasions? What’s with the full-year contracts – isn’t Madrid supposed to be full of other international students who’d also prefer month-by-month? Oughtn’t you to mention it in the listing if your apartment building is noisily under construction and/or unsafe? And what the hell people, take your listings down once you’ve rented the apartment! Consider also the brief interaction I had with one would-be landlord who, immediately after promising to call within a few hours with his rental verdict (he didn´t), asked me – apropos nothing – “si [yo era] un judío” or if “I was a Jew" (sic re crass phrasing), citing my apparently Hasidic features and body type. After decades of proximity to close Jewish friends, it seems that the osmosis has finally kicked in.

Finally we found our ideal apartment: small, reasonably priced, very near the central Atocha train station, on a leafy street and facing in towards the quiet interior patio where indolent cats nap on cobblestones and bat at butterflies in the dappled sunlight. Our dueño Diego is a relaxed, wordly man who had no problem at all with the ten-month-only lease: success! That meant that Thursday morning was time to pack up, thank, and say goodbye to my host parents, the kind and elderly Candelas & Jesús. They really made that first week much easier and more enjoyable.

Various asides: the Retiro Park is really gorgeous when it’s windy and fall feels like it’s right around the corner. Also, I saw a young woman sitting by the side of the road with a goofy-looking wiener dog, so quite naturally I smiled at the duo in greeting. In response, the wiener dog charged and savagely nipped me in the leg.

Friday morning was our Masters orientation in Alcalá de Henares. Roomie Ellen and I met up with classmates at the Cercanías station in Alcalá and got to know them during the walk from the train station through the Plaza Cervantes to Instituto Franklin itself, which is housed in a gorgeous old building in the historic center. Honestly, the orientation didn’t give us that much new information relative to how long the whole procedure took – that said, it was a lot of fun to meet so many future classmates and learn even a little more about the program. I went out that afternoon to line up some houseplants for the apartment, and ended up in a florist’s shop in the Retiro neighborhood. The stern, elderly patrons of the shop were watching Friday’s stage of the Vuelta a España – Spain’s answer to the Tour de France – on the shop computer, and I caught the last two kilometres or so. Mark Cavendish won the sprint finish by several bike lengths and actually bunny-hopped in celebration as he crossed the line; the Spanish florists – visibly nonplussed by the whole thing – discussed w/ abundant gesticulation Spanish sprinter Oscar Freire (who finished 10th or so) before, during and after the actual sprint, at no point acknowledging Cav’s win or cocky victory salute. The euro attitude of it all was downright inspirational.

The weekend – our last before classes and student teaching being – has been chock-full of Spanish nightlife. Friday night we ended up in a bar in the La Latina area that I can only describe as a pastiche of both Spanish and non-Spanish cultural stereotypes; Polynesian masks joined Sancho Panza-themed artwork, Arabic script, and 1950s-U.S.A.-type iconography on every wall. The venue also offered an “Arab backroom and lounge chillout” [sic] complete with the requisite pillows and hookahs – all sarcasm aside, the bartender and patrons were super-friendly and the drinks both inexpensive and tasty. From there we wandered the old cobbled streets near Puerta del Sol, a region where bars entice you in by offering free rounds of shots or beers. American promoters take note: this technique works, but wandering patrons will abuse it with ease.

Saturday night – last night – was pretty wacky. It was the annual “La Noche en Blanco,” an official night out, and the city of Madrid scheduled something like 80 different “cultural events” around the city from around midnight clear through to 7am. 2010’s theme was “play,” and the event’s rhetoric suggested (to yr. correspondent at least) Bakhtin: all “privileged spaces,” “multiple voices,” “exploration of rules,” “carnival,” etc. This entailed stuff like enormous swingsets in plazas, public poetry readings, various musical performances, extra-late-night free access to National museums, and an (rumored but unconfirmed) enormous game of Twister. Our experience, however, was a bit different: we wandered first towards what was publicized as an “infinite summer”-ish thing – sand, “island in the city,” etc. – south of the Plaza Mayor. The streets were absolutely packed and everyone was carrying beer or wine; every street was effectively pedestrian-only. This was 100% a family event: kids, toddlers & straight-up babies enjoyed the city’s events with their parents and played soccer wherever there was room. The “Caribbean” plaza offered none of the expected steel drum music; instead, a DJ with a hand-held mini-turntable thing danced frantically to rude ultra-high-bpm techno beatz as more and more of the crowd joined him onstage. Our DJ lost his shirt almost immediately; he spent the last 30 minutes or so of his set also w/o either pants or underwear. Recall again 1. that this was a family event, and 2. that the DJ was hired directly by the city for his performance.  We met some Australians and joined forces with them for the remainder of the night, questing north in search of the event’s (again unverified) huge McDonalds-playearea-style ball pit – failing that, we ended up at a bar until about 6am. The streets were still choked with Madrileños – and the kids were all still up – during the walk home. There´s no doubt about it: Madrid’s “La Noche en Blanco” definitely puts to shame every other municipal events I’ve ever attended.

It’s been good to get out and socialize this weekend, because the Masters program starts in earnest this week. I’m pretty darn excited to reenter the world of academia – the first quarter’s classes will be Techniques of Writing and Spanish Art History, both of which sound awesome.

Anyways, I feel that I’ve rambled with this update – I hope you still enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!
Take care,
-Dave