Highly Unusual

On Thursday I met a most unusual man, which I’ve spent several days turning over in my mind. Looking for housing, I saw his profile on Craigslist Madrid. Well, of course there was a slight detour involved, from Apts/Housing to Men Seeking Women! This man is extremely worldly–multinational/multilingual–and all-around attractive. But this meeting in Retiro, drinking tintos de verano in a warm summer breeze and beautiful crepuscular light, led to a rather unexpected conclusion. He is grieving the very recent and untimely death of his little sister, which undoubtedly led him to post (like me he’s a new arrival in Madrid without much of a base).

So many of us have such sad stories. My friend K. lost her (non-smoker) sister to lung cancer in a heartbreakingly short time between Christmas and mid- February. She had two children of 8 and 10 years old. J.’s sister’s diagnosis, confounded by pregnancy was far too late in coming. She succumbed at age 34 to brain cancer, leaving behind a 3-month-old, a 3-year-old and a husband determined to find a way to go on for the children’s sake. My own life has given me more than I ever wanted to know about loss. But I always console myself that only those incapable of love have any possibility of escaping the pain of loss, and that’s not a deal I would ever want.

Listening and simply empathizing, if it is of any help at all, is something I can most definitely do. People who manage to honestly and openly share such things truly are unusual, though, I think, much healthier for it. Our societies seem more and more to want to negate or sanitize the hard reality of death. But it’s always seemed to me that the ancient rituals of bereavement are much more appropriate. A village full of people should accompany the bereaved, with much wailing, rending of hair, and throwing of bodies to the ground. It’s what I would have much preferred, after my father’s death so many years ago.

Still, I can’t help a bit of wry humor at this notable first. I can honestly say no one’s ever reached the point of tears before on a first date with me! Or that I found myself so affected that I too was wiping my eyes. Sadly for me, I haven’t heard from him again, which I do hope isn’t permanent, as I can honestly say I am both touched and intrigued.

Extrema y Dura

Extremadura most certainly lives up to its name, I can testify, after 9 hours on Saturday helping harvest plums at my housemate’s family’s farm in a tiny village outside of Plasencia. It reached 37°C that day. This is me at about 8:30 AM, an hour and a half after starting. You can well imagine that I wasn’t scampering up onto stone walls when the heat really got started around 11 AM! We lasted 6 hours, then headed back for home-made gazpacho and tortilla española, and a siesta: that sort of heat, I learned in Nicaragua, obliges one to lay as still as possible without moving! Back out at 7 PM for another 3 hours… after which the four of us had collected 600 kilos (about 2/3 of a ton). I got what I was after, which is so uncommon in my work: a tangible sense of accomplishment, something palpable I could hold in my hands. I sense plum pie in my near future…

The honeymoon is over

… in fact, I’m contemplating an annulment, as this relationship was never consummated. Yesterday the U.S. Senate gave the Bush administration and the complicit telecommunications industry full immunity for their criminal spying. 19 Democrats voted for the bill, including one B. Obama. To quote Sen. Russ Feingold, “Wow”. But wait, you may say, the U.S. has a system of checks and balances — surely the Supreme Court will overturn this ill-conceived march toward totalitarianism? Well, no, actually, because (depending on which view you subscribe to), his four or eight years of stolen power have allowed Bush to pack the Court with fellow travelers.

I’ve never deviated from my prediction last summer in a dark and smoky bar in Berlin, when an anonymous European asked me who would win the U.S presidential race. At that point McCain was at the nadir of his political fortunes, but he was the one I picked, and so far my prediction has been prescient. I now consider it a given that he will be the next U.S. president. And after this, no, I won’t be bothering to figure out how/where to vote in this Presidential election, for the first time in my adult life. Europe, words cannot describe my embarrassment. To the entire world, I extend my abject apologies.

Orgullo Gay (Pride)

For the 2nd time in less than a week, Madrid happily took to the streets. Honestly if I estimate the numbers, I almost have to think they weigh out in favor of gays over soccer, can you believe it? For thegay pride parade, where I hung out for three hours, the streets were simply packed from before I arrived to after I left, showing no signs of winding down. The trucks full of happy sexy young things just kept coming and coming.

Eurocup 2008

España vs. Deutschland… I really couldn’t lose because I feel a certain identification with both countries — a Berliner for one and a half years, but already sliding into the ease of Spanish living. I watched the second half of the game (absolutely nothing happened) in a local tapería with my housemate, who I’m liking very much. The poor unlucky thing had her civil service exam the very next day and needed distracting. I wore a bright red top, bright sunflower pants, and black sandals, which amused me very much as I could cover both countries’ colors in one fell swoop.

Given the extreme boredom that defines a game of soccer, I’m of the opinion that it’s necessary to talk and gossip the entire way through (my friends in Berlin put up with this during my visit there — silly them to invite me to a soccer game)! This time I had lots of gossip to contribute, as I’ve been hanging out with an Egyptian, who is absolutely beside himself over his feelings of sexual attraction, poor thing. As a Catholic I couldn’t be more sympathetic; I just have to get a little more clarity on all the rules that apply, the exact details. Because what is more fun for a fallen Catholic than breaking said rules?!? Sadly, he doesn’t seem to have quite my perspective on this.

After tucking my housemate into bed, I headed out to the gathering area, Paseo del Prado between Colón and Cibeles. I’m a total junkie for the energy that comes in large crowds; I rarely miss a worthy demonstration. By the time I arrived, only young people who didn’t have to work remained. I wandered around for about an hour, grooving on the major group happiness ,until everyone got too drunk.

[Aside to BiB: to me, by far the cutest on the team is a member of the defense, Sergio Ramos, who looks like he comes straight from Argentina. I was rather startled to see he's all of 22 years old, which definitely makes me feel like a lecheress supreme! But all that long hair flying around, and that face with that strong indigenous American nose, not to mention that perfectly cut body: irresistible! My housemate, however, is definitely with you on the goalie -- apparently he has an understated manner that she finds very appealing.]

Summer Sun

Happy Summer Solstice to all! It’s reached 35°C today in Madrid. I am happy as a clam to finally get my wish to be HOT HOT HOT, so hot that I forget about all the cold I suffered this year — snowy Berlin in December, freezing Delhi in January and miserably rainy Madrid in April and May.

Peregrinos de Chocolate

If this trip had been a pilgrimmage, it would have been a quest for chocolate. As the weather was quite chilly on Monday and Tuesday, R. and I focused on hearty winter fare. We sampled cordero (sheep) stew in Burgos, which definitely qualified as peasant fare (tasty but basic, and in my judgment, worth neither the hype nor the 18-20 euros). La Mejillonera, however, was simply fabulous and I felt like I had been transported to a waterfront tapas bar right in coastal San Sebastian. My favorite are steamed clams on the half shell which is filled with a spicy mixture of diced garlic, cilantro, and mild red pepper in olive oil.

Also in Burgos, we discovered a chocolatería with fabulous churros, almost like the home-made donuts my mother taught my sister to make when we were teenagers. We sat cozily indoors on Monday while it poured outside, and gorged on churros dipped in hot chocolate. We passed another branch of the same store in León, as well, late one night, but by then the weather had turned gorgeous and we were not as motivated to find it again. But Madrid has two branches, so I will sample it here and report back.

Our real pilgrimage was a day trip from León, westward, still following the Camino de Santiago, to Astorga’s Museo de Chocolate. Believe it or not, this tiny, hokey little place is written up in Lonely Planet as a destination. But the free samples at the end, arranged as in a wine tasting, from milk chocolate to the strongest 90% cacao, were quite nice. I’d never taste-tested chocolate this systematically. I found that 80% is really my limit, but I’m sure that C. would beat me on this!

One final note: Gaudi’s creations in both León and Astorga are nothing of note… But the Astorga Cathedral was a real shocker, for its museum. Normally I zoom past the typical musty piles of relics. But this place had treasures of real note, including church documents written in ancient script (Visigoth, I suppose) and a golden arc, both from the tenth century. This beat Burgos’ cathedral, which had a huge wooden coffin said to be El Cid’s, mounted so high on the wall that is was impossible to examine. The art in Astorga, virtually undocumented (at most one could hope for the name of the saint depicted and perhaps a rough idea of the age of the painting, but no artist) was some of the most twisted I’ve ever seen in a Catholic church. So check out San Antonio Abad, here, being tempted then tortured. Notice anything in particular, here on the left, something out of the ordinary, roughly in the genital region?? Man, I have to say my little Catholic mind has been turning this one over and over, and you all know how good Catholics are at being twisted…. I’ll tell you what, I may have to walk barefoot from León to Astorga as penitence for my wicked mind, just for having stepped foot in this museum, right in the middle of the pilgrim’s road.

Absolution

I’m on the Camino de Santiago; somewhat unintentionally I ended up here during R.’s visit. The plan was to go south (I adore Andalucía), but he tends to fall apart in the heat. So I thought, why not try the north? Burgos looked nice according the guide book, but one day was sufficient so we moved on to León. Although I’d never been to the namesake of my Nicaraguan home city, I came prepared to like it and I wasn’t disappointed. Its cathedral is clearly no longer in use, and thus it’s saved from the clutter that accrues to Catholicism — the multitude of gilded altars, stacked artifacts, baptismal fonts, tombs, confessionals, and religious art that ranges from schticky crap to priceless masterpieces. All visitors to Spain should check out the travesty the church has committed with its drafty, dank room full of priceless El Grecos in Toledo Cathedral; you’ll see what I mean. Burgos was no different; visits to these cathedrals, for me, conjure up visions of bishops robbing the poor blind, which I find impossible to blot out. But León’s cathedral is all sweeping spaces, soaring expanses, and the most fabulous stained glass I’ve ever seen in my life.

Both Burgos and León are on the Camino de Santiago, the famous pilgrimage route that people follow from the French border to the Western coast of Spain, and we saw numerous pilgrims in various stages of pain and physical decay. Today at the Hostal Casco Antiguo (modest but pleasant accommodations one block from the cathedral), I had a very interesting conversation with the lady on the afternoon shift. I’d seen preferential pricing for pilgrims at religious venues and even certain restaurants and housing. She explained that pilgrims carry some sort of official card that they fill up with stamps. Upon reaching Santiago de Compostela, based on the distance they’ve traveled, they have earned the “right” to absolution of a certain number of sins. But don’t think it’s easy. There’s a minimum, it seems, the final possible point of entry to the pilgrimage trail being 100 km from the finish. The Church has never been in the habit of giving out free lunchs when it comes to absolution. And for us Catholics, well, that’s the way we like it.

Oh Happy Day

I don’t intend to do much political writing on this blog, but today, the wrap-up of the Democratic primary season, is a fine day for us Americans, and, depending on November’s outcome, potentially for the world. So I can’t let it go by without comment. This is an absolutely historic day for the U.S. — land of opportunity, it is true, but with much more opportunity for some than others. For the first time we have a nominee of color, and as an internationalista, I have to admit it gives me a thrill. As a woman, am I sad that Hillary Clinton didn’t get the nomination? Absolutely not. I am sad that a woman still hasn’t gotten the nomination, of course (it should have happened years ago). But I could never support someone who voted for the war in Iraq. Now my only problem is figuring out how to vote from abroad! For Clinton vs. McCain, I simply would not have bothered.

Aside from this, the sun is finally back in Madrid, and given that it is now June, I can dare to hope that summer has, at long last, begun. Today I am headed back to Berlin for a week, where sun and upper 20s (Celcius) is forecast. This seems really quite impossibly good luck, and I’m going to do my damnedest to enjoy to the utmost.

Assimilation Begins

What a strange week it’s been — just back from the U.S., sampling Brazilian film, then switching to the Indian film festival, all the while feeling strange about coming back to Madrid (Question: where exactly do I LIVE?), then suddenly NOT feeling so strange because it’s becoming pretty clear I won’t be returning to live in Berlin. I haven’t much mentioned my second LoQUo (Craigslist equivalent) ad for a gentlemanly companion, because I was so unmotivated by the responses that I only went out with one of them. He was in such a bad mood the whole time (a mercifully 50 short minutes) that after we parted, I was left simply shaking my head.

Having decided that Internet dating ads are difficult at best and really don’t seem to attract the sector I’m seeking in Spain, I launched my newest strategy. I need to go to cultural events such as literary readings and gallery openings. I began with the closing party of the Brazilian film festival, where I met the hunkiest Argentinian you could imagine, not at all stuck-up, with a sunny personality, the requisite degree of bandidismo and leftist politics to top it off. Of course he has a girlfriend (women my age have to resign ourselves to the fact that virtually every man we meet is partnered). But it’s a sad story; he talks as if he expects her any day now, when probing, it turns out she’s Dominican, and she’s been back in the Dominican Republic for over a year because of visa problems. It seems entirely uncertain when she will return, but he continues to wait for her (and it seems he can’t travel because he doesn’t have papers either). Men who are able to sustain this sort of love are so appealing, aren’t they?

The best part of all of this is that I’m just coming from meeting someone the Bandido told me I simply had to meet, preferably at the Feria de los Libros in Retiro this weekend. I had introduced myself posting to G.’s blog, and after amusing myself by conveying the requisite amount of mystery and ambiguity, we met in the park. He is working on his third novel, shopping around his second, loves film, Coetze, travel, and is all around a man of the world. He knows Roth, meaning I could launch into one of my favorite literary commentaries of late… And how much fun is it to do that in another language, over a bowl of gazpacho sitting under the trees to escape a sun that finally deigned to show itself?

I consider Roth very much a man’s novelist, but also certainly one of the most important writers in the U.S. today. Who couldn’t love his over-the-top style (particularly the Zuckerman series)?! However, he rose significantly in my estimation as, in my opinion, he showed himself finally able supersede his ultra-masculine persona for just a short moment, in Everyman. It contains a monologue from the female perspective that is nearly spot-on, about lying and sex and love. Although most of the book just didn’t come across for me, Roth’s juxtaposition of the male and female perspective on this subject remains crystal clear for me, nearly a year after having read the book. It is impossibly rare to find a writer that can get the opposite sex right; most don’t really try, of course. But when I see it in a male writer, even just in flashes, I am awed. At any rate, meeting my sort of people from my own hemisphere, I feel like I’m just starting to turn a difficult corner, that first stage of integration into a new country. And maybe I am feeling just a little bit at home in Madrid!