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My flatmates are not very fond of hosting travellers, so I told Thomas that he should leave on Sunday, before they come back from their villages. So he tried to look for another host for the next days. Yesterday he managed to contact Jeremy, another parisian, whom he didn’t know, and who couldn’t host him either but who was very nice with him and showed awareness. We decided to meet up Jeremy, who was at the moment with two french female travellers, showing them around. Jeremy waved a hand at us, he recognized us by Thomas description. I don’t know much french, but I think I undestood “I’m wearing a green t-shirt, and he is wearing a red one”, and these two details were enough to be recognized among all the people that were hanging around in Plaza de España. I could have thought that the waving hand was not for me, maybe he is waving hello to another person, but for some reason I was sure it was him, and besides, he was with two girls, so it should be Jeremy.
They were sitting on the green grass, and we too set our asses down after introducing oneself to the others. The girls were beautiful and were drinking beer, we men got to drink pastis in glass cups from Jeremy’s house who apparently lived a few steps from there. The girls were just passing the weekend here, they were from Lyon, they found Madrid very big, they said some places look like New York or something, and both of them agreed on that Madrid was a nice place to visit, but no to live in. The blonde was more talkative, the other looked like a quiet artist. Jeremy was very thin and took ages to find the right word when he wanted to say something
Later, when the girls were standing up getting ready to go to have dinner at the house of the person who was hosting them, and interchanging some last words in french with the guys, a tall blonde guy, who seemed to me a kind of romantic english pirate, appeared from nowhere and said “français?” with a smile. We would meet the girls later after dinner for some drinks, so when they definitely left I invited Raphael, the newcomer, to sit down with us and stay for the fiesta if he was alone and had nothing to do. He looked somewhat shy, and although he was getting bald on the front, he was nice-looking. So there we were, four people who didn’t know much about each other, but didn’t know many people in Madrid anyways, and wanted to have a good time. We had someone to take a picture of us.
Later we went to J’s house to eat. There we met his gay flatmate, who was waiting for the heater to turn the shower water hot. He was without shirt, and covered his chest with his hands while talking. When he saw that the heater was taking its time, he went to put something on. J made salad for us. We ate green and drank water. When done, he asked if we were full, and I lied a light Yes.
We left to have a drink somewhere while waiting for the phone call from the girls. On the way, I talked mostly with R who seemed a very interesting person to me, the conversation were in english and spanish, we talked about music, among other things, and I learned he was a guitar player and he loved flamenco. He mentioned “fados”, I didn’t know what it was, traditional portuguese music. They are songs about pain, he said, sad songs. So, obviously, I got intested in this music. And I wonder now why some people like sad songs, why we have thirst for tragedy, why one of the songs I have played more times, according to last.fm, is Verso por una niña muerta (verse for a dead girl). Why T likes ska, and I don’t, finding it too… happy. Shouldn’t this be a bad thing? why we like to chew the sadness, to appreciate it? Is this a kind of masochism? No, of course not. Has it something to do with the fact that some people, me too, like scary movies? I mean, fear is bad, we shouldn’t like something that tries to impose fear on us, but actually it happens that the more scared you get the more you like the film (if it’s a scary movie). Why Shakespeare wrote… why there are so many tragedies written since …ever? We humans are weird, aren’t we? Anyways…
Out there in the night, you will find people who wants to invite you for a drink and take you to a pub. They make a direct approach, speak fast, smile at you. There are a lot of pubs, and no one wants to go into a pub where there’s no one, so the pub managers need to put people in somehow, so they have these people working for them, they are walking the main street, they tell you “free drink”, you follow them to the pub, you suspect most of the customers in there must be having a free drink, probably they had, then they decided to stay for another drink (this time, paid). So we had a soft sangria for free, and as the place was not so pleasant, we left.
Then we went into Bodega de la Ardosa, and asked for beers except Raphael who asked for a glass of red wine, una copa de vino tinto, he said, yeah, you can say just un tino, I said. Posted on the wall, there’s a board with some drinking records. The winner is someone who apparently drank 17 pints in less than three hours. Obviously this is not so important for me as to remember how many pints exactly, so most probable it’s not 17 but another number. On other blackboards it was written what there was for eating and the prices. I decided not to look at it because it was expensive and I was getting hungry.
Two missed calls, oops, I didn’t hear them. It’s an unlisted number, probably the girls, or their host, a spanish guy. I call back and the blonde answers. She tells me where they are, not far from here I say, I tell her to wait there, we have to finish our drinks first.
Then we meet them at a terrace in Plaza del Dos de Mayo. Time for only one beer, because they’re closing in 15 minutes. Then we move to another place, and after one beer they turn on the aggressive lights, which means “get out”. Then we went to another place which… well, a good night. When the girls left at around 5 am, we didn’t see any reason to stay longer, so we decide to leave too, although I was having a nice conversation with R about acting, music, dancing… J took one direction, I and T took the other, and where is Raphael, I asked T. He had been all night long saying “I’m going home”, and only stayed with us after some of us insist him to stay. If he had left when he first said I’m going home, he would have left 4 hours ago. Now that everybody leaves, he decides to stay alone in the pub.
well, well, lazy bastard. how long without any post? what have you been doing all this time?
i kno ikno, i shouldve written something for anandalusiangod, but ive been quite busy u c, and now im working on another blog, in spanish.
fuck sake, you traitor. Well, do you have something to talk about? i guess you came ere with an idea in your head, didnt you? What are you going to write about now?
Truth is I dont have any idea, or rather i have a lot of things to write about, so i have to choose a topic, but it takes ages for me to make up my mind.
Ok, so, you prefer an interview?
OK
Let’s see. How do you like Madrid so far?
I do like it. It is much better than i thought. Before coming here I had an image of Madrid wich was totally wrong. I preferred Barcelona, because Barcelona looks like… younger, alternative, european, progressive, etc. While Madrid was the city of the fascists, old people who vote for the conservative party, a city without views to the sea, a dangerous city of crimes, deeply spanish, dirty, polluted… Reality turned out to be better. I ask myself now, where did i pick those stereotypes from? Madrid is cool. There’re very nice places to chill ou, interesting people around, jazz clubs, infinite possibilities, magic… Of course is dirty and polluted, some areas more than others, it’s a big city.
Good. How many times have you masturbated since you are in Madrid?
Hey! what kind of interview is this?
Ok, ok…, er… What’s the last movie you’ve watched?
My Beautiful Laundrette. It was free with the friday newspaper. It’s not bad. It’s about homosexuals (now you realize, such a gay title), about money, about tradition, about ambition… Another good movie recently watched: Match Point, directed by Woody Allen…, oh, supreme!
Yes, yes. Are you comfortable in your new place? You feel good there?
I feel good in Madrid, I don’t feel like coming back home. I feel like staying here for a long time, cuz here i see a lot of … doors, you know, a lot of things to do. If i go to my homeplace, thatd be like a good portion of my freedom is suddenly cut off. Do i feel comfortable in this flat? I guess so. flatmates are nice people. the flat could be better, yes, but for now im ok.
Plans for today?
No. Weekends are time for meditation and creation. I don’t have any friends yet here. I was going to go out yesterday night, alone, just to have a walk, see the night atmosphere, have a coupla beers… I finally didnt. Today is sunday, so i’ll just stay here in my room, writing, reading and surfing the net.
Good. I think that’s enough. would you like to say something to the people who’s reading us?
oh yes, if they are thinking about coming along to madrid, i found something that might interest them. The New York Times published, in an article about the spanish city, a little funny glossary of useful words. It might interest anyone who’s learning spanish:
*
What they never taught you in Spanish 101.
Guay (gwhy) Cool.
Cojonudo (ko-ho-NOO-doh) Better than cool.
Me mola (may MO-la) Love it!
Alucino (ah-lu-THEE-no) Can’t believe it!
Paso (PAH-so) Couldn’t care less.
Juerguista (hwer-GHEE-stah) Party animal.
Cutre (KOO-tray) Seedy, lacking class. Sometimes used affectionately, as in, ”Sometimes the most cutre places serve the best tapas.”
Ligar (lee-GAR) To pick up someone.
Hortera (or-TER-ah) Flashy, tacky, kitschy.
Fashion (FASH-yohn) Trendy, obsessed with the latest. Used as an adjective, not necessarily related to clothing, as in, ”The people who hang out in Chueca are really fashion.”
Gente guapa (HEN-tay GWA-pah) Beautiful people.
Pijo (PEE-ho) A posh and conservative type, as in, ”That party at the golf club was crawling with pijos.”
Sometimes I watch TV, and sometimes I watch things different from The Simpsons, Family Guy or Malcolm in the middle (great shows). Sometimes you find interesting things: once I was watching a show of the sort of… a kind of News, but it isn’t news, it’s about people, and curious news, and injusticies that didn’t find their place in any other news show; and here they introduced a new invention called Kalzatines. A retired spanish gentleman (or his wife) had problems to put on his socks, it gets harder when you are older; so he invented this device, which in essence is just a metal figure in which you hang the sock, and then you can easily put on your socks with a cool movement that makes unnecessary bringing up your leg to a hand reach or bringing down your hands to your feet. Curious. Unfortunately I didn’t find any image on the Internet.
If I’m not watching TV, I’m probably reading, surfing, writing, or doing everlasting paperwork. Two days ago I finished reading The Great Gatsby. I gave up Gravity’s Rainbow, because after a long pause I was a little bit lost, didn’t know who’s who, what were these characters talking about, etc. So I’ll start reading it again in a remote future. As related to The Great Gatsby, I liked it. It’s the story about a dead dream, and about a lively dreamer. Throughout the story, we find through the eyes of the narrator Nick Carraway, a depiction of a cynic and superficial society guided by the lights of two stars: money and alcohol.
The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo
and introductions forgotten on the spot, enthusiastic meeting between women who never knew each other’s names.
Nick is new in the neighbourhood, he guy living next to him is a mysterious character, everybody talks about him, rumours circulating get weird legends linked to his name. This guy with no face gives parties at his house, but no-one sees him, and most of the people doesn’t even know him. Nick is invited to his party once:
As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host, but the two or three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an amazed way, and denied so vehemently any knowledge of his movements, that I slunk off in the direction of the cocktail table – the only place in the garden where a single man could linger without looking purposeless and alone.
He’ll find him. And he would dislike him and like him, he’ll learn him and he’ll learn from him. But probably he will be too late to save him from the vacuum that glitters… Vacuum that glitters? yes, well said, because in this world beauty is an appearance, something rotten inside. A further example of the society that Fitzgerald masterly depicts, a hilarious fragment:
‘What do you think?’ he demanded impetuously.
‘About what?’
He waved his hand toward the book-shelves.
‘About that. As a matter of fact you needn’t bother to ascertain. I ascertained. They’re real.’
‘The books?’
He nodded.
‘Absolutely real – have pages and everything. I I thought they’d be a nice durable cardboard. Matter of fact, they’re absolutely real. Pages and – Here! Lemme show you.’
Taking our scepticism for granted, he rushed to the bookcases and returned with Volume One of the Stoddard Lectures.
‘See!’ he cried triumphantly. ‘It’s a bona-fide piece of printed matter. It fooled me. This fella’s a regular Belasco. It’s a triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop, too–didn’t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?’
He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable to collapse
But for god’s sake, who’s Gatsby? where does he come from? what does he do? Is he a bootlegger? – Who cares? I want party time!
‘Anyhow, he gives large parties,’ said Jordan, changing the subject with an urban distaste for the concrete. ‘And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’
And now, I’m going to stop writing, and we’ll meet again in the next post. I know what you feeling, but don’t you worry, it’s OK, there’ll be more posts. This is not an end, this is just a see-ya-when-i-see-ya. I know how you feeling, I know it’s not easy, and as an example of my sympathy for your pain, here a last fragment from The Great Gatsby that’ll make you understand your pain:
The reluctance to go home was not confined to wayward men. The hall was at present occupied by two deplorably sober men and their highly indignant wives. The wives were sympathizing with each other in slightly raised voices.
‘Whenever he sees I’m having a good time he wants to go home.’
‘Never heard anything so selfish in my life.’
‘We’re always the first ones to leave.’
‘So are we.’
‘Well, we’re almost the last to-night,’ said one of the men sheepishly. ‘The orchestra left half an hour ago.’
In spite of the wives’ agreement that such malevolence was beyond credibility, the dispute ended in a short struggle, and both wives were lifted, kicking, into the night.
After a period (longer than shorter) of total uncertainty, a restless rest, a time of constant sickness out of seekness, searching in pseudo-panick from Poland to Polinesia via Panama for something that would pour some light to my darkest dreams, something that would contribute with bricks of hope to a new dimension, just for the sake of movement, at last, i have decided something! (applauses and great joy).
No matter how good your job is, no matter how much free time you get to think or to play videogames or to read Thus Spake Zarathustra in german, no matter how many books you buy or even read, no matter how many languages you speak,… You are going to die. YOU ARE DOOMED.
But who knows, maybe it is possible to cheat Death, hm? That’s what I think I’m trying, I’m making difficult for her to guess where am I going to be, so she (treating Death as a “she” is usual in english?) can’t catch me. At the end of february, if i am still alive, I will be in Madrid, I’m going there to stay for a while. Less than 2 weeks ago I didn’t know I was going to do this, did she? What I am going to do there is not so important, the thing is to go and live there for at least 2 months. Ocourse I would have been more enthusiastic about going to Santiago de Chile or La Plata or anywhere else in hispanoamerica, as I was willing to go, but at the end it has bocome impossible, I’ll do that next year if I get a grant or something, (improbable). But finally I’m going to Madrid, I’ve chosen so. Even if it sounds a quite arbitrary choice to some people, Madrid offers a greater variety of courses and jobs… Whatever.
So, I keep on running away from death, I don’t let myself get stuck anywhere, grgrgr. Although… now that I think about it, maybe what I am doing is exposing myself to an painful and slow Death, Madrid is such a polluted and inland city for such a healthy andalusian coast kid like me used to the salty smell of the sea and the sweet touch of the sun…
(Truth is: if I don’t get out of this humid house, i’ll get rheuma soon).
