Somehow during the course of this morning -- for the life of me I cannot explain why -- an ancient tune by Paul Revere and the Raiders found its way into my teeny brain, and it will not go away. (The good part: it's not a bad tune. The bad part: it's by Paul Revere and the Raiders. And it doesn't want to go away.)
Adding insult to injury (extremely minor injury, I admit, but still), the long weekend continues here, and though it's Saturday morning most stores are closed. Clothing shops along local chic main drags are open, but useful places -- banks, food markets, hardware stores -- are dark. (The good part: streets full of life, people streaming in and out of the places that are open for business. The bad part: open places are mobbed, making getting in, getting out and everything in between a real process.)
Enough places are open, however, to satisfy basic needs: caffeine, something to eat, newspaper, good people-watching.
Was out early (early for here: 9:30) for a fast cuppa and a nosh, intending to go to the gym after (silly me -- gym not open). The only available morning joint: a clean, bright, comfy spot, recently open for business, this morning with two sweet young women behind the counter trying to deal with a shiny, high-end, but cranky espresso machine that produced slow droplets instead of a healthy, happy stream of miracle juice. More customers appeared, orders piled up, the two sweeties continued trying to convince truculent machine to cooperate, growing desperate as customers continued streaming in. One finally made a phone call for help, talking via cellphone as she wrestled with the espresso monster; the other dealt with customers, doing what she could to pacify. They finally got one spigot working, began producing one cup at a time. I'd arrived before the crowd, was working on a warm cup of joe that some folks gazed at with expressions of ill-humored envy (me reading paper, pretending to to be oblivious).
When I'd paid up and re-emerged into cold morning air, the two women were still valiantly dealing with less-than-ideal circumstances.
A long, lazy day stretches ahead. Madrid is heaving with people, folks from around the country (and from out of country) have poured in to enjoy a long weekend of Christmas lights, Christmas shopping. Traffic is a mess, sidewalks are crowded, stores seem to be enjoying a happy start to the yuletide season. (The good part: cold air, bright lights, festive shop windows, excellent people-watching. The bad part: hordes of slow-moving humans clogging sidewalks. The good part: lots to see, lots to listen to. The bad part: the hours that Christmas lights are illuminated has been cut back from power conservation concerns. The good part: public transport is everywhere, movie theaters are open, city nightlife is jumping.)
Saw 'Michael Clayton' yesterday evening (the first straight-up Hollywood film in a long time that took hold of me and kept me absorbed from beginning to end; not perfect, but good, with Clooney's superb, low-key performance giving it more heft than it might otherwise have had). Stopped in at a beer-joint in the barrio later on -- packed with people, techno blasting, the air thick with talk and Friday evening energy. Two cañas, a complimentary plate of good nosh, then back out into the cold. Fun.
And now: afternoon. Me at home, voices from the street rising into cold air, gray skies occasionally glowing with thin sunlight. Warm food awaits.
Later.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas lights along Preciados, Madrid
España, te quiero.
rws 8:07 AM [+]
Comments:
Paul Revere and The Raiders were one of the best bands ever out of Seattle. Without them, there'd never have been the grunge movement.
The Sonics and Paul Revere beat Pearl Jam all hollow.
The Sonics and Paul Revere beat Pearl Jam all hollow.
# posted
by 
: 1:13 PM
: 1:13 PM
Did they have two or three very catchy singles? Yes. Apart from that, I'm not with you. The Raiders are a footnote in r&r history -- a fun footnote. I still don't want one of their tunes on an endless loop in my teeny brain
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