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Tuesday, March 05, 2002 I started two more weeks of intensive Spanish classes yesterday. Same school as in January, right outside the oldest part of the city, Madrid de los Austrias, right near the opera house, la Plaza de Oriente and the royal palace. I catch the subway right here in la Plaza de Chueca, go three stops to the south, get out at the station called Opera (called that, oddly enough, because it's right out in front of the local opera joint, El Teatro Real). To get to the surface from the line I take in the morning you have to struggle up four flights of stairs (stairs -- not an escalator in sight). Then one blessed flight down. Then a final ascending flight of stairs that brings you up and out to the street. And it's in that last climb upward that I've re-encountered something I loved about the commute to the school back in January. The national lottery here is run by an outfit called ONCE, which is not the English word 'once.' Here, 'once' is the Spanish word for 11 (pronounced 'own-thaye'). It's also an acronym for the Organización Nacional de Ciegos Españoles (National Organization of Blind Spaniards). ONCE has stations all over the city, some of which are little booths, some of which are just places where people stand selling lottery tickets. And because it's an organization for the blind, many of the vendors are blind folk. A high number of the blind pass through la Plaza de Chueca, feeling their way along with telescoping canes. Way, way more than in your normal neighborhood. I sat at an outdoor café just off the plaza one time with a Spanish woman, both of us becoming aware that there was a nearly continual stream of blind folks going by -– singly, in twos, in threes. Neither of us knew what to make of it. In our ignorance, we theorized that there might be a school for the blind nearby. I later found out that ONCE has an office a block or two off the far side of the plaza, the traffic being people en route to or returning from business there. Every morning as I mount the final flight of stairs up out of the Opera subway station, I hear the call of a blind fella who stands off to one side at the top, leaning against the railing there, selling lottery tickets. He usually stands behind a small table, usually has an umbrella set up for when it rains or for days of oppressive heat and sunlight. He calls out various sales lines, delivered as long, drawn out chants, most of which are variations on, "Vamos, señores, el premio para hoy...." ("Let's go, ladies and gentleman, the jackpot for today...."), after which he'll name the figure of the day's expected winnings. He usually extends the word "hoy" (which is pronounced "oy"), letting it go on and on and on, so his rap actually goes something like, "Vamos, señores, el premio para hooooooyyyyyyyyyyy...." I can't explain exactly why, but something about coming up out of the ground into the center of Madrid in the mornings, being met with that -– it sounds so exotic and musical, vaguely Arabic -– tugs on something down inside me. Like many things in this city do. A month from now I'll be back in the States. There are things about being back that I will enjoy very much -- people I'll be closer to, the green mountains of Vermont -- but I am going to miss Madrid in ways I can't even begin to describe to you. That's a few weeks away, though. In the meantime, I get to enjoy being here. rws 12:33 PM [+] |