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Thursday, May 22, 2003 The jaw-droppingly perfect weather here continues. I've been trying to scrape together the words to describe it, but it's beyond my skills, I think. Suffice it to say that pretty much every time I walk out the door, I am floored all over again. Days of brilliant sunlight and ideal temperatures, air that feels indescribably good. I can think of a few places that might have comparable, if not even more glorious, weather (Hawaii? Nice?), but the tapas in those locales probably wouldn't measure up. Yesterday: Got myself out early for the gym. As I've mentioned here a few times, municipal elections happen nationwide this coming Sunday -- M-25, they call it here. The campaign, into its final few days, is hot and heavy, political ads of all stripes have appeared seemingly everywhere. The ruling party, el Partido Popular, has been spending big time, their ads have become ubiquitous. A few days ago, a specially-installed illuminated display case showed up at the bottom of the escalators in the Metro station here in Chueca plaza, set against a wall where everyone going down to catch a train will see it. Featuring an ad for the two PP candidates for Madrid, one for the city’s Mayoral race, the other for the Presidency of the Community of Madrid. Both of them, one photo above the other. EL EQUIPO PARA MADRID, reads the ad's main line of text {THE TEAM FOR MADRID}. As I descended the escalator yesterday a.m., my eyes fastened on the display case, I saw that some prankster with a magic marker had scribbled some dialogue between the two candidates. "Nosotros apoyamos la Guerra!" says Esperanza Aguirre now. {We supported the war! -- not a good thing in a country where over 90% of the population vehemently opposed it.} "Callate," responds Alberto Ruiz-Gallardón, "que 'estos' después de un mes se olviden." {Shut up -- so that a month later they forget.} Caught a train, got off in the district of Salamanca, three stops away. A much wealthier barrio than Chueca. It would make sense that it might be a bastion of PP support. And indeed, on the way up the stairs from the train to the escalators, I passed graffiti proclaiming SOCIALISTAS LADRONES (SOCIALIST THIEVES, perhaps referring to the way the Socialists -- the largest opposition party, which some believe is on the verge of making some headway against the PP in these elections -- finished up their last tenure as ruling party, with a shameful degree of corruption that finally brought them down). Until recently, the Socialists had taken the high road in the face of the amazing campaign-trail stream of smears and brazenly obvious falsehoods from Aznar, the current president. (An ongoing political cartoon in El País depicts him as an armoured Godzilla, spewing examples of his recent talk, newsbites of outrageous invective.) Apparently, opinion polls began reflecting that his ceaseless rhetoric was having an effect, forcing the Socialists to counterattack by way of repeated mentions of the debacle of the oil spill off Galicia at the end of last year and the government’s involvement in the war. The recent suicide bombings in Saudi Arabia, Israel and Morroco have added some impact to the back and forth re: the war and its consequences, and groups of college-age folks have been disrupting PP campaign events, attempting to confront Aznar outside of other functions, providing great news fodder. It will be interesting to see how this all plays out on Sunday, election day. It seems, at this point, as if the outcome could easily tilt in any direction. Went to the gym, afterwards stopped in a small restaurant/cafeteria for the morning cup of espresso. Walked in, stepped up to the only available space at the counter, between a woman working on a sweet roll and a neatly-dressed, 30ish guy sitting with a glass of beer. At my appearance, he got off his stool, put out his hand, saying, "Hola," then telling me to take the stool. I shook his hand, politely declined his offer, happy standing where I was. He offered again. It became clear I was dealing with someone deeply into an early-day bender, to the point of being what they call here borracho perdido -- lost drunk. I politely declined increasingly insistent urgings to take the stool (including one brief foray into English -- "sit, please!"), turned my attention to the older guy behind the counter, who eyed the drinker with less than pleasure. I gave my order, my churros quickly arrived, followed by café. I started in on them, nearly making audible sounds of pleasure with my first bite into a churro. The 30ish guy tried attaching himself to other people, without success. He brandished his nearly-empty glass at the counterman, who responded with a negative headshake, suggesting it might be time for the guy to hit the road. Which he eventually did, attempting to shake hands with a few individuals as he worked his way slowly toward the door, finally disappearing outside into the mixture of sunlight and soft shadows from the overhanging neighborhood trees. The counterman seemed pleased to have relative tranquility restored, a group of people down the counter from me chattered happily away. Office workers came in on their 11 a.m. break, asking for café and eats. The place became pleasantly busy. Yesterday evening, after class: stopped in at el Paraíso del Jamón (the Ham Paradise! -- see entry of April 8) for a fast bocadillo accompanied by a caña. I’m working my way through some jamón Serrano with tomato on a small baguette, two or three other people along the counter eating and drinking their own versions of the same. Six or seven individuals stand in line at the deli counter, just across the small space, while the person behind the counter deals in relaxed fashion with an elderly woman ordering a bunch of stuff. The speakers for the music system are somewhere hidden above that counter, silent to that point. All of a sudden, they start up with a Nirvana cut, Curt Cobain howling away. Great song, not one of their better-known tunes. Not only do none of the predominantly older customers in the joint right then show any sign of minding the sudden thrashfest, one person actually whistles along with the melody line. Which gets me smiling like you wouldn't believe. Nirvana in Paradise. Afterward, I took a walk through the network of pedestrian avenues run between la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol and Callao, a stretch bookended by immense Corte Inglés department stores. The stores' current summer advertising campaign features Meg Ryan looming over the area's principal pedestrian way in enormous two-story high photos, pitching the summer line of clothes. Something about her appearance in these pictures has nagged at me, I've been unable to figure out what it is, apart from the fact that they're not what I would call flattering. Last night, post Nirvana/Paradise, I realized what it is -- these photos have her looking strongly, unnervingly resemblance to Courtney Love. A realization that left me staring at one humongo, extremely Courtneyish shot of her for a moment. After which I continued on my way, heading home through the Madrid twilight. rws 9:43 AM [+] |