Last night: coming out of the Metro close to 9:30. The avenue -- a broad, four-lane city thoroughfare -- more tranquil than during the daylight hours. Dark. Except for the twirling blue lights of a police van. Three Madrid cops carrying out a traffic stop -- one standing by the driver's window of a car that had been pulled over, dealing with the detained individual; the second standing by the side of the van; and the third pacing around, arms cradling a submachine gun. A big black, submachine gun. Reminded me of someone's description of visiting Madrid during Franco's last years -- they said there were cops with machine guns on every corner. Not the kind of display that screams 'welcome to Madrid' to me.
I debated pulling out camera and taking a couple of pix as unobtrusively as possible. Then decided that might not turn out to be the smartest move I'd ever made, turned and headed away from there.
Three or four blocks along, at the big traffic roundabout that channels traffic in five different directions, the trailer that houses the folks who make and sell churros three or four days a week was open for business, all lit up, handsome piles of golden churros strewn across the conter, along with one platter of big, chocolate-covered ones. Couldn't help myself, had to stop and pick up half a dozen, eyeing the chocolate numbers lustfully but limiting the purchase to the lovely, less-orgasmic ones. Crossed lanes of traffic with green walk lights, headlights gleaming along the long stretches of city roads that extended off in different directions.
An evening at the end of a long day. In a whole different kind of barrio from the last one I called home.
España, te amo
rws 4:29 PM [+]
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