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Thursday, May 15, 2003 I mentioned in the last entry that today is the feast of San Isidro. There are activities happening all over the city -- music, dance, events including lots of folks in traditional garb. This morning: got myself out early, intending to take another swing through an exhibit of Spanish paintings from the 19th and early 20th centuries, one I took a look at last Sunday which had a handful of canvases worth a second pass. At a foundation (a division of a major corporation, in this case a bank, that sponsors cultural events and traveling exhibits) about a ten minute walk from here. The kind of thing that's usually open from 10-2 on holidays. A classically beautiful Madrid morning -- slanting sun and shadows, air soft, golden, with just a hint of mist. Two or three blocks down the street, I pass a doorway to an apartment building, I see a woman in her mid-20s, a kerchief over her hair. A kerchief of a kind of traditional design. On second glance, I see she's dressed in a traditional outfit, including a long skirt, all of the clothes suggesting the Spain of a century ago, redolent of the Mediterranean, of Andalucia. Behind her, in the shadow of the vestibule stands a mid-20s male, maybe her husband, also dressed in clothing from decades and decades ago. Neither meet my eyes, they're both looking up the street, as if waiting for a ride. The exhibit was closed. (#&^%*!!!!!!) I decided to head over la Plaza Mayor and check out the Festival Folclórico de los Pueblos de España that was taking place there today. Went to the Metro, hopped a noisy, crowded train. Conversations going on all around, someone playing music down the car, guitar and accordion (couldn't see them 'cause of the crowd). At the first stop, two young couples squeezed in by me, one of the males sporting loads of big, multicolored tattoos on his arms. The two I could see clearly: (a) a big satanic face with the legend " DEVIL EMPIRE," (b) a cloud with a face, mouth pursed, blowing a strong wind that curled down below the image; the breeze spelling out the words ARE YOU READY? Got off the train at la estación Opera (nearly empty of people). Made my way up the five (count 'em: five!) flights of stairs that lead to the street and made my way down la calle de Arenal for a couple of blocks. Lots of families out, lots of old folks walking along at a snail's pace, many with canes. Turned a corner to cut over to la Calle Mayor, caught a strong whiff (there's that word again!) of vomit (none visible, the pong maybe all that remained from a recent night's downtown decadence), which thankfully faded quickly. Most stores were closed, but many restaurants and taverns were open, plenty of people inside eating, drinking café or hoisting a caña. The sun shone intensely in a mostly clear sky, hot enough that I and most other folks I could see kept to the shadows. At la Calle Mayor, I crossed the street and headed up one of the lanes that lead into the Plaza, thick with people, many dressed in traditional garb, mostly women, generally either very young or much older. Many wearing long skirts, fringed shawls, hair beneath a kerchief with a red flower -- a rose or a carnation -- up over their foreheads, stem tucked in under the kerchief. A huge stage had been erected up against the plaza's north side, a group of kids in some region's traditional dress performed a dance number that included heavy rhythmic stomping and the chatter of castanets as music blared from the sound system. It's an enormous space, la Plaza Mayor, and a major portion of it was occupied by the crowd packed in front of the stage, extending out in all directions. Mostly Spaniards, a heavy percentage of them on in years, though I saw folks from all over the age spectrum. Well out across the plaza, the crowd thinned out and people moved about, tourists mixed in with the natives taking in the show. Back beyond that, in the shadow of the building, stood a thick band of still more spectators seeking relief from the sunlight/high temperatures, crammed in around the artists who produce caricatures, portraits and local images for the tourist trade. The group that had been dancing when I arrived finished and filed off, replaced almost immediately by another group from out near Segovia or Salamanca, northwest of Madrid. Another musical number started up, a line of younger folk standing along the rear of the stage, a few older couples standing in front doing a complicated dance routine to music with a strong keltic flavor. I could only take so much of this before needing refueling. My feet needed no urging, taking me back out into the streets almost before I realized what was happening, back down to la Calle de Arenal. Passed more older folks in traditional dress, the women in much more complicated get-ups than I'd seen in the plaza, the men wearing black pants, white shirts and vest (black to the rear, the front done in small, fine black and white checks). They walked along in pairs (by gender), making the sign of the cross, seemingly unconsciously, as they passed a church. Passed a bar, peered inside as I went by. Looked okay, my feet once more needed no urging, turning immediately around and taking me into the place where I found a spot at the counter and ordered a pincho of tortilla de bonita and a caña. The caña arrived, accompanied by a small plate of excellent chicken paella, one of the best paellas I've eaten here. The tortilla arrived a moment later, a pretty fine plateful of food. Twice as expensive as the tortilla I'm served in the joints I usually go to, but we're still not talking much money here. I'll have to investigate this place another time. At one point, as I ate, one of the countermen brought out a dinner plate containing an octopus, big and pink, neatly arranged in a mound, the tentacles extending neatly down and around, suction cups facing out. The whole thing vivid, glistening. I stared, thinking, What, is someone gonna eat that or is it decoration or what? A moment later another appeared, the counterman placed it on the display case directly in front of me. I think the poor bugger had been alive very recently. It quivered briefly after he set it down, looking like a lurid plate of pink jello with suction cups. Finished up, got out of there. Warm weather clouds have moved in, the sun drifting in and out, lazily. Kind of how I'm feeling -- lazy. Will be meeting a friend in a bit for conversation and some liquid refreshment. One more holiday in a city that has a lot of them. At certain times of the year, they seem to arrive one after another, three and four day weekends flashing past in rapid succession. Not a bad way to live. Later. rws 12:35 PM [+]
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