|
Monday, April 14, 2003 An old friend arrived this last Thursday night, sending me out to the airport late in the evening to meet her when she disembarked. The Metro line that goes out that way is a showcase for the city's subway system -- shiny, fast, high-tech. And thanks to the expansion of the line that runs into the city from the airport, a trip that used to take an hour now takes an average of 25 minutes. So that I could faff about here at home until just before 10:30 and still get to the airport to meet an 11 o'clock flight with time to spare, more so because a glut of incoming flights at that hour meant that my friend didn't emerge from baggage-claim/customs until well after 11:30. Seriously, 11 p.m. Friday night must be a major arrival time for incoming flights. From the moment I got to the reception area, a continuous stream of people poured out of the baggage/customs salon, often in long, straggling collections of folks from a particular country. A major flow of passengers from Japan to start with (one lone woman wearing a surgical mask in homage to the pneumonia thingie going on China/Asia right now). Then England. Then more from England. Some Americans. Then England again. Then Ireland. More Americans. Then more from England. Then still more. My friend, J., arrived amid one of the rivers of British arrivals. It's fun to watch families or halves of couples awaiting the appearance of someone they love, erupting into spasms of waving, jumping about, calling out Yoo-hoo's or aquí's, followed by hugs, kisses, all that. One 30ish Spanish mother met some relatives who emerged from customs with the young mother's two small children. She quickly had both kids in her arms, holding them tightly, murmuring words of welcome and love. When she left, they were still plastered to her body, relatives following with baggage. The next morning, when I went out to the plaza here in the neighborhood to pick up a paper and a cup of espresso, the skies were gray, the temperature uncharacteristically cool, as if London had followed J. south for the weekend. I turned the corner into the plaza to see three males shambling in my direction together, talking loudly. Two of the three: transvestites -- one black, one white. Possibly heading home after a long night out. I'm hoping that was the case. If they were freshly out in the morning air after a restful night's sleep, they need to consider professional assistance re: make-up and general presentation. (Not that it's any of my business.) Much of the weekend remained grey, at times rainy. To the point that yesterday (Sunday) in Sevilla, the city in the south of Spain which is the center of Easter week (Semana Santa) observances -- perhaps the major event of the year there for both locals and tourists, something that attracts huge crowds throughout the week -- torrential rainfall wiped out most of the day's processions. Wildly unusual weather for this time of year in these parts. Anyway. A weekend spent inflicting the city on an old friend. Lots of walking around, some sight-seeing, a bunch of food-fests in various high-level restaurants, bars, cafes. Early yesterday afternoon, I accompanied J. out to the airport, came back alone, spent the rest of the day without direction, drifting around the piso in an increasingly fuzzy mental state until I gave up and went horizontal. Woke up this morning, my body refused to get up and do some things I'd planned on doing. I've apparently gone on vacation, joining the crowds of tourists surging around the city between now and next Sunday. And what the hell -- up until last weekend a friend stayed here for nearly 2-1/2 weeks, during the process of relocating to Madrid. They left Sunday, I spent the week writing and doing schoolwork. Another friend showed up Thursday night. I've been on duty, between one thing and another for almost a month. I now have my space to myself for 7 or 8 days. This week is free of any commitments, I get to do whatever I want. Which may not be much. The coming weekend's a long one, Thursday and Friday being holidays, shutting Madrid down to a great extent (apart from the usual weekend partying and family Easter observances). A good time to relax, catch up on sleep, write some, maybe drink the occasional cup of café with a friend. Meanwhile, seen on today's back-to-back episodes of the Simpsons (dubbed into Spanish): Sign on a rickety barbed-wire enclosure outside the entrance gate to a Duff Beer carnival, in which a few depressed individuals sit on poorly-made wooden crates, bored, passing the time apathetically: Duff Designated Drivers Rockin' Fun Zone Legend on the entry door to medical offices: Cosmetic Surgery Group "We'll Cut You Good" The two choices on the function dial of an anesthesia machine in the Cosmetic's Surgery Group's operating room: New Car Smell/Anesthetic Bumpersticker handed to Lisa Simpson: A GAY PRESIDENT IN 2084 (She reads it aloud, her tone expressing surprise at the year -- the man who handed it to her shrugs, saying, "We're realistic.") rws 12:39 PM [+] |