This morning: pulled myself out of bed as grey light filtered into the flat. Stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom. Turned on the light. First thing my eyes fastened on: my adorable face in the mirror. Normally not so horrifying. This morning, however it featured a prominent addition: a red blotch on the very end of my nose, appearing so large and nasty to my barely-awake self that I just about screamed out loud. Not much one can do about that kind of development except douse it with whatever appropriate skin-care stuff happens to be lying around and begin making burnt offerings to the skin-care gods.
Dragged myself to the gym for a fast bout of sweat ‘n' suffering. Returned home. Saw that the... thing.... that has taken up residence on my nose, while it isn't very pretty, it isn't as huge and hideous as I first thought. Big sigh of relief.
Changed clothes, went out for the morning espresso & croissant. When I finished at the caffeine pusher's and stepped back out in the chilly morning air, I saw a crowd gathering across the narrow street, far more people than normal for that location at that time of the day. All in office clothes, everyone talking happily as if on a field trip, several individuals in official wear mixing among the growing multitude, wearing day-glo vests, some labeled Policia Munipal, some labeled equipo de alarmas y evacuación. (Equipo = team.) Those in the second group carried walkie-talkies and worked at managing the growing crowd.
Hard to know what to make of any given street gathering here right now, the way things have been in Madrid during recent weeks. The country's largest right-wing political party -- the party in power a few years back, that dragged the country into the invasion of Iraq four years ago against the will of the overwhelming majority of the population, that was voted out of power a year later because of the resulting Madrid bombings (and has so far been incapable of admitting its massive blunder, opting instead for outright denial -- against all the clear, obvious facts -- that the bombings had anything to do with Iraq, coupled with a strategy of attack/smear toward the political opposition) has been latching onto anything it can find or fabricate to assail the socialist government, calling for street protests that have featured increasingly bold participation by groups of the far-right, including La Falange, the party of Franco. It's easy to see how a civil war could have erupted 70 years ago -- there is a division of perspective in the population at large that seems to go impressively deep, and little visible show of will re: reaching across the divide to find common ground, especially from the right.
This gathering seemed too benign for any of that, however, everyone enjoying fresh air and conversation. More people arrived, all streaming in from one direction. I walked down that way, passed a doorway left standing open, an alarm inside going at high volume. Continued on my way, screaming alarm gradually giving way to more normal barrio soundtrack, that of a sunny weekday morning, life going on all around. Normal life, carrying on in pleasing fashion, with all the small, pleasing details we tend to take for granted. Shops open, people chatting, sunlight and slanting shadows painting walls and sidewalk.
Friday morning in the barrio. Madrid.
España, te quiero.
rws 6:10 AM [+]
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