Book Night in Madrid

Yesterday was the feast of St. George. While he's better known in England and Ethiopia for slaying a dragon, in Spain he's honored as the patron saint of books. So last night Madrid celebrated La Noche de los Libros.

In the evening the family and I went to hear friend and fellow writer Lawrence Schimel read his bilingual children's books in the park near our house. He's written a bunch of them and had the crowd of kids, including my son, paying attention as well as you can expect. I later asked my son which book he liked best and he replied, "All of them." I guess he's not going to grow up to be a critic. I'm relieved.

Later that night I went to hear some more readings. The streets were filled with bearded men. Black sweaters were everywhere, even more so than usual in Madrid. Pipe smoke wafted through the air. Bookshops had set out stalls in the streets. Why can't every night be like this?

First stop was Entrelíneas Librebar, a cozy little café in my barrio that sells used foreign books and small press Spanish titles. As I arrived couple was singing and playing a guitar, and while that had nothing to do with books they were pretty good. Next up was writer Escandar Algeet reading from his Alas de Mar y Prosa. Some nice turns of phrase; pity his audience was so small. I was the only one there who wasn't a friend of his! This happens when you're a struggling writer. Trust me, I know.

Then I headed to Bukowski Club, currently my favorite bar in Madrid. As you can imagine from the name, it's home to a lot of literary readings for hard-drinking writers. The rum and coke I had there was twice as strong as the one I got at Entrelíneas. I arrived in time to hear the last poem of Roberto Menéndez's Campo de amapolas and didn't really get a chance to size up his work. The crowd gave him loud applause as he finished, though, so I guess he did well. Next up was David Panadero reading from Terror en pildoras, a study of episodic horror films. He had some interesting insights and I wished he had stayed on stage longer. I'll probably buy his book eventually.

I did buy one book at Entrelíneas--Jack Black's You Can't Win, in a Spanish translation titled Nadie Gana. This is a Beat memoir written in 1926, a generation before the Beat movement. It was highly influential on William S. Burroughs, among others. It's published in Spain by Escalera, a small press that specializes in translating Beat Generation literature, and publishing books by Spanish writers with a similar style. I've been looking for this book for some time. It's one of those titles I've mean reading to read for years but was waiting to stumble across at just the right time. That always makes for an important reading experience. Those who believe in coincidence won't know what I'm talking about.

By this time I was tired and more than a little buzzed so I didn't make it to another of my favorite literary cafes in Madrid, Café Comercial. I write there a lot during the day and once got photographed by tourists because I fit in so well with the cafe's reputation!

So all in all I had a great time. I wasn't sure whether to put this post in my writing blog or here, but decided it had to do more with settling in Madrid than writing, since I was strictly a member of the audience. It doesn't hurt to have a bit of crossover on your blogs!

Next Time: two adventurous ways to cross Africa! Yes, I know I said that last post, but how could I skip La Noche de los Libros?

"The Bookworm" by Carl Spitzweg (1850) courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Snowy Madrid

Am I still living in Madrid? I woke up this morning and snow was coming down fast and thick. It's been snowing all day, and though it's tapered off a bit it doesn't look like it's going to stop. I've never seen this much snow in Madrid, so I went out and took some photos of my barrio.

Lots of other people were out snapping pics too, so I probably won't be the only Madrid blog posting on this!

This snowy Jesus stands in front of an old restored hospital, now a geriatric center. My wife's great uncle used to work here. I posted about this beautiful building earlier.

This is Quevedo, a famous poet from Spain's seventeenth century Golden Age. I think the snow perfectly accentuates his hose, flouncy coat, and powdered wig to create a classic yet stylish winter ensemble. I respectfully call him La Reinona Gorda, "the fat drag queen".

Moving The Homeless

Every city has homeless people, and my barrio has a few regulars who you see every day. They aways seem to sleep in the same place, unless the weather gets really cold and they go to a shelter. After a while they become as much a part of the barrio as the shops and the neighbors who actually have homes. As long as I've lived here there have been three guys living on some benches around the corner from me, in front of a beautiful old age home that I wrote about in a previous post. They each had a big shopping cart full of stuff packed into worn-out old suitcases and piles of plastic bags. One even had a car battery he hooked up to a radio so they could listen to football games. I'd see them every day, sitting on the benches drinking cheap booze and keeping each other company. They never bothered anyone and some of the residents of the old age home used to stop and chat with them.

Suddenly last week I noticed they were gone. It took a moment to figure out why--the city had removed their benches. Two of them moved across the street and are camping beneath the overhang of a bank building, and another moved next to a bench next to a nearby movie theater.

Why did the city evict these guys? They weren't bothering anyone, and it's not like they're going to disappear. They're still in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, now they don't get to enjoy the shelter of all the trees in front of the old age home, or get regular visits from the home's cats and elderly residents.

Why didn't the city just leave them alone?

The Muslim Community in Spain

Police in Barcelona arrested nine people this week in connection with the March 11, 2004, terrorist attacks in Madrid. I'm glad they're hunting down these guys, but knowing Spain's wimpy sentencing laws I'm sure they won't spend the rest of their lives in jail like they deserve.

It's sad these idiots have become the face of the Muslim community in Europe, because all of my interactions with European Muslims have been positive ones. Just this week in Julián's favorite park he got to play with a little Moroccan girl. She had a big purple plastic hammer he liked (he's big into tools) and so she filled up a bucket with sand while he pounded the sand flat so she could fit more in. Meanwhile I shared a bench with the kid's mother, who dressed traditionally but spoke excellent Spanish.

A lot of pundits whine about Muslim immigrants not "becoming European". Well, I'm not becoming European either, and I bet these same pundits have never shared a bench with a Muslim immigrant and watched their children play together. I bet they won't report on it either.

Gay McPride

This weekend in Madrid we had the annual gay pride day, with thousands of people pouring into the city to pack the nightclubs and have loud parties. Being a married straight guy, I celebrated by going for a walk with the family and spending the evening with an action movie and a bottle of wine.

While we were out for a walk I saw some revelers carrying rainbow fans. Nothing unusual, of course, because people were decked out in rainbow capes, rainbow shirts, rainbow sunglasses, etc., etc., etc., but what caught my attention about the fans was that they had a big McDonalds logo.

When did Ronald McDonald come out of the closet? While it's nice that McDonalds is supporting tolerance, I have to wonder about their sincerity. I never saw McDonalds supporting Gay Pride back in the United States. They're probably afraid the Born-Again Christians would go get fat in Burger King instead.

Gay activists often say they want to be treated like everyone else. Careful what you wish for. Do you really want to be sponsored by McDonalds?

Spain is Getting Automated, Pt. 2

I was back at my local supermercado yesterday to do some more shopping, and very few people are using the automatic checkout machines I mentioned a couple of posts ago. I guess they'll take a while to catch on. I used one, but when I scanned a bottle of wine, it beeped for a human cashier and informed me in a pleasant recorded voice that I'd need to show proof of age.

Well, this Grizzled Old Traveler is obviously over 18, so the cashier didn't bother asking for ID; she merely swiped a card to let me through. The funny thing, though, was that she had to come from one of the live checkout lines to help me. So not only are these automatic checkouts not reducing the work force, which is what higher management surely intended, but they're actually making the workforce less efficient! This is Spain, and pretty much everyone is buying some wine or beer with their shopping, so this is a bug they're going to have to fix.

Becoming Part Of The Scenery

I was sitting in my favorite local café today, Café Comercial, when some German tourists came in. The café is in most of the guidebooks, because it has a long literary history. It's a big, bustling place with marble tables and lots of sun, so it's a great place to write or have tertulias, which are similar to the French-style salons. So I was scribbling away at my novel when one of the Germans takes a picture of me! I guess he wanted an image of the "Madrid literary scene" his guidebook told him about or something.

Since when did I become part of the scenery? I felt a little better when he started taking pictures of all the cute madrileñas walking past the window.

Spain Is Getting Automated

I went to the local supermercado today and they've just installed automated checkout counters. You can choose to have it speak to you in Spanish, English, German, or French (the ATMs give a dozen more choices) and the whole operation works very smoothly. The live checkout people didn't look too happy, though. Looks like some of them will soon be testing Spain's social safety net.

It probably won't kill too many jobs. They'll need a security guard to make sure people scan everything, and a customer service rep to help when things go wrong, or perhaps they'll skip the customer service rep and just let people struggle.

What it will help kill is the personal interaction you get in Spain. Granted, supermarkets are soulless places already, but one of the nice things about Spain is that the local shop owners get to know you. The guy who sells me coffee knows my favorites are Ethiopian and Ugandan. The guy who sells me frutos secos ("dried fruit" ie.: munchies of all types) asks me how to say things in English so he can repeat them to Julián. These things will fade with time. We've already lost the best cafe in the barrio, replaced by a Spanish chain, and the guy who owns the frutos secos is retiring and selling the business.

Almudena says Europe is ten years behind the U.S. when it comes to culture. I think it's more like twenty, but the bell is already tolling for business done the old way.

Keeping the Old Barrio Alive

This is the Instituto Homeopatico y Hospital de San José, in my barrio in Madrid. I wish I had taken a picture of it a year ago before they restored it, because it looked like the set from a horror movie. The statue of Jesus had turned green from age, and the wooden facade was all brown and splintering. It's currently being used as an old age home, but it used to be a hospital. Before the restoration, one wall had the names and office hours of the doctors who used to work there.

Doctor Mariano Garcia Herrero is my wife's great uncle. When the restoration started I knew they would get rid of this wall so I took a photo. Then to my surprise, this week they started repainting it.
While Doctor Herrero hasn't been available for surgical or gynecological consultation on Wednesdays and Fridays from 5 to 6 for a good three decades now, the hospital decided to keep the old sign.

I think that's great. Now when my son is old enough to read I can take him here and he can see for himself that his great great uncle worked here. These little details are what keep the fabric of a neighborhood alive. The old familiar landmarks are important, they give people a sense of place, something that most "developers" forget in their rush for profit.