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Monday, March 17, 2003 Written this last Saturday night: "Today: the eighth day in a row of spectacular spring weather. Conditions like this show up here, people start pouring out into the street and before you know it, the plazas are full of Spaniards of all ages hanging out, sipping tasty liquids, gabbling happily away as they pursue the national warm-weather sport: people-watching. (No wonder I feel so at home here.) Meanwhile, tourists stumble about, appearing stunned at the blind luck that’s dropped them in the middle of an urban paradise. "Saturday morning continues to be my favorite time of the week here -- everyone out buying groceries, taking walks, tossing down cups of fine coffee, sitting outside enjoying the weather, talking in groups, reading newspapers. People walking in pairs or groups, carrying bags of groceries, bouquets of flowers, baguettes. Most of the shops close at 2 p.m., the activity shifts from commerce to lunch or what I just described in that last paragraph. "An extra wrinkle -- today had been set aside for the next wave of gatherings against the war. This is a major deal here. Apart from the fact that the population is nearly unanimous in their opposition to an invasion of Iraq, they’ve been galvanized into expressing it in response to Aznar’s refusal to acknowledge the country’s strong sentiments. This, in combination with an accumulation other things, has shaken off what some Spanish acquaintances have described to me as a more traditional passivity. There has been a happiness in the air today that could be attributed to this the weekend or to abundant spring weather or to the coming together to express something the community feels strongly about. Or some combination of all that. Whatever it is, I could feel it all day long." I got no more written ‘cause I’ve been discovering that I have a hard time focusing for this kind of cyber-scribbling when I have company staying in the piso. I’ve been getting lots of writing work done lately, with and without company around, but whatever focus I’ve needed to produce entries for this journal has been hard to come by. So. Saturday. Amazing weather. A friend who has been mostly out of town called, we went to see ‘Chicago’ (which has been packing them in here). Afterward, a walk to Las Huertas, one of Madrid’s more intense party zones, to sit at an outdoor table for a table for talk and tapas-hoovering. Lots of people about for that early in a Saturday evening, many carrying peace demonstration accoutrement. This tapas joint sits in a long row of like restaurants and cafes that run along the south side of la Plaza de Santa Ana, a narrow street -- literally one car wide -- extending along the block between the sidewalk and the plaza. At one point two or three cars went by, the handles adorned with hand-tied white bows -- apparently the aftermath of a wedding. Then a walk to la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, where the demonstration was to wind up. It’s an enormous space, Sol, Madrid’s central point, with 8 or 9 streets and pedestrian avenues that feed into it. We arrived at sunset, the plaza overflowing with people, more beginning to pour in so that the crowd density quickly shot up to an intense, uncomfortable level. We made our way along the plaza's south side, a long, slow process until we neared a side street and I got motivated to move laterally and up that street in search of some relief. Found some elbow room, hung about for a bit, talking, people watching -- as with the massive mid-February mobilization, this gathering largely consisted of families, those in attendance ranging from 10 and under to 70 and over. At one point, ‘Imagine’ played over the gathering’s sound system for the occasion, the crowd of two to three hundred thou’ quieting for it, the sound of piano, drums, voice floating over the scene, crystal clear. (The crowd count is one of the more entertaining aspects of this particular gathering. The mid-February mobilization was monstrous to the point that no one could deny it, not even the Spanish government -- this time, however, they claimed the turnout to be around 120,000, an extremely creative estimate. The demonstration's organizers took creativity in the other direction, claiming a figure of around one million, identical to last month's turnout. The news media put it in the neighborhood of 300,000, probably the most realistic figure, and not one to be ashamed of.) After a while, the crowd density again began intensifying, we headed up the side street, away from Sol, eventually finding out way to la Plaza Mayor for a bout of further people watching/café drinking. This is often what weekend nights are like here. Wandering from one place to another with friends for food/drink/entertainment/conversation. The amazing part is watching how the crowds continue to grow as the night wears on. When most cities throw in the towel and head to bed, Madrid gears up, the streets filled with people. A few different musical groups had arrayed themselves around the plaza, playing to the crowds at the restaurants and cafes. The one nearest us consisted of guitar/double bass/violin/accordion, and dealt in lite versions of classical music’s greatest hits. There is nothing quite like Pachelbel’s Polka -- er, I mean, Canon in D -- played on an accordion. If the tone of this entry is a bit -- what, scattered? boring? -- it’s ‘cause I have some getting-back-in-the-saddle to do, journal-wise. It’ll get better. rws 1:12 PM [+]
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