An addendum to the last entry: when it comes to gift-giving, the day of the Three Kings apparently is the most important date in the Spanish holiday season. But it doesn't close down the city the way Christmas does. More places remain open the night before, with more people out and about. The Metro maintains normal hours. Next morning, more places of business are open, more people about. No newspapers are published on Christmas or New Year's Day, all news kiosks are closed. Not the case yesterday, though they closed earlier than normal.
But the gift-giving thing is a major deal. I called a Spanish friend around midday, he'd been knee-deep in the family hilarity. I could hear and feel the smile in his voice. Got me smiling myself.
Felt kind of strange to be in the middle of, essentially, round 3 of Christmas while receiving email from friends in the States and the U.K. already deep into the post-holiday-season 9 to 5 thing. As if operating in a different universe. I have to say, though, the local version of the holidays feels just fine to me. I like the way the season doesn't get underway until a few days into December, then stretches out into the beginning of January. Two weeks of build-up, then two weeks of moving from holiday to holiday, cresting several different times. Not a bad way to spend a month.
It helps, I know, that I haven't been plugged into the whole gotta-buy-gifts thing. I sent out ten hard-copy cards, sent out about ten more e-cards. Gave a big charity donation in the name of my brother's family. That was about it. Relaxed. Felt just fine.
But back to the final extravaganza. Monday evening: the arrival of los Reyes Magos, a big parade. I'd arranged to meet two friends at a point along the procession route, in front of the main post office building at la Plaza de la Cibeles. A grand, sprawling, turreted edifice, planted off the southeastern corner of a heavily-traveled, grossly-oversized traffic circle (featuring a major honkin' fountain in the middle). I make the ten minute walk from my writer's garret to la Calle de Atocha, the street along which the Wise Dudes will progress as they make the commute from el Retiro into Sol, the heart of Madrid. The street is closed off to traffic, many, many Madrileños have gathered along the parade route, awaiting the event. The route's single lane -- delineated by two seemingly endless lines of fence-like barriers -- takes up about one-third of the street, leaving the other two-thirds empty. Free of people (all of whom are clustered around the event lane), free of cars, trucks, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, skateboards and beasts of burden.
I find my way through the crowd down to Cibeles where I discover that there is no way to cross over. No provision has been made for people to get across the Event Lane. I'm nonplussed. I then remember the nearby Metro stop has a below-ground street-crossing option. I get plussed, run back to the station, cross over.
By the time I make it to the post office building I'm about five minutes late. A handful of souls stands in front of the building, none of them the two souls I seek. I wait, walking around in the big expanse of empty street in front of the building, casting an eye over the crowd by the parade route, thinking maybe Tracy and Teté might have wandered over there while keeping an eye out for my humble, frazzled self to show up in front of the p.o. No sign of them anywhere. I go for my cellphone, the situation's obvious solution, discover I'd left it back home. (Pause for several moments of deeply-felt cussing in both English and Spanish.)
I knew they'd been planning to head toward the parade's origination point -- after ten or so minutes of fruitless wandering in front of the post office, I wandered slowly in that direction. No sign of them anywhere. The crowds around the parade route were growing thicker by the minute, I decided to bail on the search for T&T, found myself a parade-viewing spot on a bit of high ground around la Puerta de Alcalá, a major arch on a rise in the middle of yet another traffic circle. Other people get the same idea, I quickly find myself in a hemmed in by numerous hyperexcited families, being subjected to a great deal of pre-event yelling, pushing, etc. I bail out of that spot, find another patch of grass with a better view, fewer people. More folks eventually show up there, but sans the slightly psycho energy I experienced in the folks at my previous spot. Sedate, almost.
I'd made a choice not to bring my camera, a bad decision. The evening, bathed in the intense golden light of a long, languorous sunset, would have resulted in some great images. Poop.
The sun disappeared, the temperature dipped to less user-friendly levels. More people showed. More waiting, with two or three false starts -- one, a handful of people passing by out in the parade route pulling some wonderful kites that veered back and forth above the lane, most in the forms of large eagles. A white hot air balloon had been hanging in the air above us for the sunset, a guy in vaguely Three Dudes style dress suspended beneath it. Once the sun slipped out of view, the balloon slowly descended, providing some distraction. As darkness fell, and I realized I'd been waiting in this spot for an hour, the balloon went back up -- a sign, apparently that the do was about to begin.
And so it did, the crowd around me suddenly exhibiting some of that unnerving too-much-caffeine/too-many-amphetamines brand of energy I'd encountered earlier. A phalanx of police cars passed slowly by, then two or three emergency vehicles. Followed by the first float, a big truck done up in winterish, Christmassy fashion, representing the post office. Postal employees on small postal scooters weaved in and out around it, stopping now and then to toss handfuls of candy into the crowd, producing a progressively wilder response. And that set the tone for the next 45 minutes. Floats from various government organizations (Radio Nacional de España, Radio-Televisión Española, the city government, the city transport dept., etc.) or commercial outfits (i.e., McDonalds, an insurance company, and three floats for Shrek 2! not one, not two -- three!!), most done up in winterish ways. With music, colored lights. People on the floats hurled candy our way, others walked alongside the vehicles doing the same, the spectator response getting ever wilder.
Finally, at the end, a flurry of vaguely Middle-Eastern/African details -- a sad-looking elephant, apparently part of a circus that's been in town during the last few weeks; three sad-looking camels, weighted down by mock crates of gifts brought by the Three Guys (doing the Santa Claus thing). And then the big final float with los Reyes Magos themselves. A final hailstorm of candy came flying into the crowd. As soon as the Three Kings went by, a final phalanx of police and emergency vehicles came into view, the crowd began immediately melting away (kids combing the ground for wrapped candies as they went), everyone heading off to other events or home for big dinners.
Once the multitude thinned out, I started back here. Glad I'd done the event so that I don't have to do it again in a future year.
At home, Tracy calls. They were there waiting for me, who knows why we didn't see each other. She invites me to a champagne/hot chocolate/roscón thing set for later in the evening at a friend's place.