|
Saturday, December 16, 2006 A Saturday morning in December, Madrid. I think this is the first time I have ever found myself so deeply into the holiday season without having heard a single Christmas carol. Not one. If I'd been stateside these last few weeks, I'd have been beaten around the face and neck with Christmas music like everyone else is. It's impossible to escape unless you remain locked up at home with the radio and TV stashed away in a closet. Here it's not so pervasive. And I haven't been out trawling through stores for Christmas gifts, I tend not to listen to commercial radio, I haven't had the TV on much. The result: a slow gathering of the Christmas season with a minimum of noise. However, this morning: woke up with 'Oh, Christmas Tree' playing in my head. The Vince Guaraldi version. A tune I like, so I let it cycle away for a while, content. Last night I went to bed at eleven -- an early hour, especially for a Friday evening. Drifted in and out of sleep during the early hours, the murmur of voices down in the street providing soft background for times of wakefulness. Had the best stretch of sleep I've experienced in a while, a couple of weeks at least. This last week, the annual local outbreak of holiday fireworks got underway, neighborhood knuckleheads setting off the Spanish equivalents of cherrybombs and ashcans. Who knows why they choose this season to make a lot of noise (their version of holiday music?), but it's been that way as long as I've been around Madrid. Last night I heard them now and them during times spent drifting in and out of sleep, concussive explosions off in the distance. Far enough away to be background noise, occasional reminders that the Christmas season is here in full flower. And now, hours later, the streets are clear and quiet, winter sunlight slowly extending along sidewalks and pavement. I sometimes find that after a night of good sleep I feel a bit blearier than I would after a night of not-so-good sleep. A trip to a local caffeine pusher for a cup of high-test and a croissant might be in order, me slowly waking up as the local world comes to life, and the streets gradually fill with Spaniards moving in and out of shops, filling cafes and watering holes, the air alive with the sounds of city life. (Those who show up at local joints on Saturday mornings are a different crowd from the weekend mob -- not workers making the slog to full consciousness or taking a morning break, but a mixture of regular folk coming to and souls who have been out all night partying, clubbing, hanging about, looking and sounding morning-after ragged. Good people watching, but different from the Monday-through-Friday experience.) Anyway. Madrid, on a Saturday morning in December. España, te quiero. rws 5:00 AM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment
|