Last Friday, the day after the bombings here in Madrid: Esperanza, the woman in the flat across from mine, runs a small youth residencia. On stepping out my door at one point during the day, I saw that a pile of suitcases had been dragged from the flat into the hall. A guy I'd never seen before grabbed four, started down the stairs with them, Esperanza hefted most of the others. One enormous duffel remained, I asked if I could help, she nodded yes. I picked it up, we headed down to the street level. Along the way, I asked if she were heading out of town, she said no, three young French women who'd been staying with her had decided to head back home, from nerves and fear.
They weren't alone. Friday and Saturday, I noticed a sudden upsurge of people with luggage heading into various Metro stations. Most seemed to speak other languages, travelers who'd decided Madrid might not be the vacation destination they'd had in mind after all.
Yesterday marked a week gone by since 11-M, the news broadcasts were on that anniversary like a cheap suit. In the days since the attack, a staple of both print and television news has been profiles of those who died, and interviews with family and friends of the dead or wounded, with the wounded themselves, with witnesses and rescue personnel. The scene at Atocha Station has steadily grown in the days since last weekend, news crews from all over the map arriving to cover it. The crowds of visiting citizens/travelers have grown steadily, as have the size of the impromptu shrines. Within the last couple of days, politicians began showing up, laying wreaths.
I experience a strange double vision in the middle of it all -- out in the street here in the city center, life has largely resumed its normal feel, the arrival of springtime bringing people outdoors in pleased, relaxed fashion. Picking up a paper, though, or turning on the TV is to step into the forced march back into the intense events of a week ago.
Yesterday, a crowd of people stood by one of the in memoriam sites in Atocha, holding signs reading NO! Nothing more than that. I understand what they're getting at, that they're saying ¡Nunca más! (Never again!), but I think I'm reaching the point where I'd prefer to see the word 'yes' -- to the living of life, to the respectful, loving remembrance of those passed on while moving forward. To releasing the political wrangling of the last few days, the positioning to have the upper hand, to have the appearance of greater reason or higher moral ground. To appreciating what we have, which is, frankly, an astonishing number of wonderful things, admirable people, moments of beauty -- an amazing degree of abundance (in more than just the material), something we seem to lose track of amid the noise and commotion of western life.
Luckily for us all, I'm not in charge -- I don't get to dictate how others live, think, eat, walk, dress, work, report the news, treat their fellow humans, worship/not worship, pass their free time, drive, spend money, manage personal hygiene or tap dance. I just get to think, feel, and write about that here in my ongoing vanity project.
So. Abundance. On Thursday, March 11, as word of the events here reached England and the U.S., I began receiving email from friends in both those countries. My phone began, er, tootling, familiar voices saying hello in English when I answered. A long wave of friends checking up on me that stretched through the weekend -- from individuals I'm in regular contact with to people I haven't heard from in a long, long time, to my sainted landlords here in Madrid's outskirts -- finally tapering off this last Monday to a steady trickle of one or two notes or calls a day, a trickle that's continued throughout the week. I can't tell you how that has anchored me in the middle of the goings-on here, and I am grateful beyond my ability to put it into words for everyone who took a moment to say hello.
Today's a holiday in Madrid (el Día de San José), the beginning of a long weekend. A week ago, foreigners were taking off. Last night and today, the locals are bolting, jamming the highways on the way to the coast, the mountains, wherever. Spring's arrival has brought extremely friendly weather -- mild, brilliantly sunny, easy on the body. The plaza down the street is nicely busy, the distant murmur of many voices drifts in and out of hearing with the breeze.
Normal life, spring settling in, weather that feels just fine. A lot to be grateful for. Which is exactly how I'm feeling: glad to be alive, carrying on my little existence in the midst of the unpredictable, poignant mixture of events the days bring.
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This afternoon, la Plaza de Chueca, Madrid:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 6:04 AM [+]