I've found myself in recent days going through some strange, unpleasant passages, a couple of which have left enough of an imprint to get me thinking, me at times feeling a little off balance, feeling more alone than I'm comfortable with. The good news: I take care of myself fairly well, treat myself fairly well. Which today meant getting my adorable butt out for the distraction of an early evening movie -- a film the Spanish critics have been fawning all over. And found myself watching a story that became progressively miserable, progressively melodramatic, the main characters going through hell because of their own decisions and an insistance on getting deeper into a situation that promised no good for anyone involved.
At some point, I noticed I'd stopped enjoying it, found myself looking around the theater instead of at the screen, realized I genuinely did not want to watch any more. Grabbed my coat, left the theater. And when I stepped out into the cool November air -- darkness falling, Madrid still busy with the evening rush hour -- it felt so good to be free of that story.
Grabbed a bus heading up Gran Vía, planted myself in a window seat. Noticed dark forms overhead stretching across the avenue as the bus headed uphill toward Callao, remembered that the city had begun hanging Christmas lights last week. Not cranking them up yet, just getting ready. On the other hand, I stopped into El Corté Inglés Saturday morning (early, before the shopping hordes grew to their full Saturday massiveness), encountered Christmas decorations, neat displays of Christmas cards, substantial floor space already devoted to gift baskets of all sizes, table after table stacked with boxes and tins of seasonal sweets. Yuletide tunes were not yet doing their cheery thing on the in-store sound system, for which I gave sincere thanks. But we're clearly sliding into the season, the local version of the season appearing slicker, more professional than in the past. It's just a matter of time before lights get plugged in, sidewalk bell-ringers get going, seasonal music wafts unnervingly through the city air.
Not sure why, but it's taken me by surprise. Could be the contrast with the local near-total absence of Halloween hooha. Might be 'cause I don't remember Christmas frufru appearing here this early in past years. Don't know. But there it is: Madrid getting ready to have itself a merry little Christmas. In early november.
A kind of early that's normal in the States. Apparently becoming normal here.
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The call of the neckties -- evening along la Calle de Fuencarral, Madrid:
Madrid, te quiero.
rws 1:46 PM [+]
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