By Aaron
Lost in Translation: Language is confusing, but you know what else can be equally confounding? Technology. Specifically Google and it's ability to accurately map things. OK fine, Google is pretty dang amazing 99% of the time. But this week it let us down when we were looking for earrings. When Cody was visiting we ran into Gina, an old Spanish classmate of mine. Joni commented that she liked her earrings, and Gina noted that she found them in a store just outside of the Antón Martín metro. A quick search on Google Maps for jewelry in the vicinity marked a storefront that was almost certainly the location of the earrings in question (Let the record show the design was that of a cloud with little dangling raindrops. Let the record further reflect that these were adorable). Upon arriving at the specified location, we found: nothing. No store front, no sign, just a wall that did not appear to have freshly sealed off an entrance to a boutique. We circled the metro and entered every store that gave even a whiff of possibility in a three block radius, but no luck. Joni went on to find a very similar design on Etsy, and now has a project to look forward to once we return to the states. But the store does not exist. Thanks, Google.
Exploring the City: As alluded to in our previous post, this week we forwent traveling for the many wonders that lurk behind each corner in Madrid. Our Saturday started with a stop for coffee and a smoothie at Ojalá, a cozy restaurant café in the Malasaña neighborhood. The place was really busy, but the energy was part of what endeared it to us. Otherwise, it seemed like a pretty normal spot to grab a bite...until we went to the bathroom. The commodes are located downstairs, and upon descending a staircase we appeared to have journeyed to the seaside - as the entire floor of the basement was covered in sand! In addition to this atmospheric touch, the restrooms are Beach Boy themed and, if I read the sign correctly, were modeled after the toilet rooms in some studio where the famed Pet Sounds album was recorded.
After our mid-morning snack, we rounded the corner to check out the SusiSweetdress market. This is apparently a pop-up event that recurs a few times each year, and the main fare is vintage dresses and skirts. Once again, I felt transported in time as we browsed the retro clothes whilst listening to swing music blare out through the overhead speaker. Perhaps needless to say, Joni came away with a few souvenirs (and, to be fair, they were all pretty reasonably priced!)
Later in the afternoon our city exploring lead us to Cine Doré, which we later learned is the oldest cinema in Madrid. Cine Doré specializes in screening older movies (old being relative, ranging from 2016 back into the early part of the 20th century) and charging next to nothing for tickets. We saw Rise of the Planet of the Apes and paid €2.50 per ticket. Even if there wasn't a movie playing, the price of admission would be worth it for the chance to see the interior of the space - an absolutely gorgeous combination of classic architecture and tasteful repainting. Joni noted later that she was happy to see this particular movie AFTER our close encounters with primates in Gibraltar.
On Sunday we joined a cohort of friends from church on a journey to picnic in Casa de Campo. This massive nature preserve to the west of the city can be accessed on foot, in a car, and even the metro, but we opted to take the teleférico (cable car) for an aerial view of both the park and the city. Apart from a few brief glimpses of the park's edge, we hadn't spent any time inside the massive grounds. There are a lot of trails, a fair amount of dust, some expansive playground areas, a lake, and a small amusement park. We took a short walk on a trail, but mostly used our time to talk with friends and have a relaxing lunch under the somewhat-threatening-looking sky that ultimately spared us from rain.
Memorable Meal: Making good on a plan we thought would continue in perpetuity every Friday evening in spring, we finally returned to Parque del Oeste for a pre-choir picnic. This park near our rehearsal space meanders down a hill with various paths and pockets of sunbathers, dog walkers, and students enjoying the weather. This particular evening we unknowingly scored prime seats to some kind of avant-garde dance filming session. Just up the hill, a trio of guitarists plucked out earnest American songs that inadvertently scored the strange choreography weaving betwixt the shadows and the trees. Despite living really near to the massive Retiro park grounds and having a decent amount of free time, laid-back meals on the grass are a rarity in our lives. It was nice to be out in the city and witness humanity in all it's various iterations of creativity.
En la clase: This week Joni had to give an impromptu civil rights lesson when her precocious 8-year-old student absentmindedly uttered the n-word. He had picked it up from some song, but after Joni's brief historical lecturing it was clear that he had no idea what the word meant in any context. Clearly shocked by his misuse of the language he is acquiring and eager to prove his aversion to racism, the boy exclaimed "But some of the BEST fútbol players are black!"
On a less offensive tangent, one of my classes evolved into a conversation about animal rights after one student mentioned having gone to a bullfight. I was always under the impression that the bull was always killed at the end of this rather gruesome Spanish pastime, but my student informed me that if the bull defeats the torero (the matador) it is basically honorably discharged and left to lead a life of leisure. Another student contested that this was a) very rare and b) still not the ideal way to treat an animal. To which the other student responded (paraphrasing here): "Apart from some cats and dogs, bulls are treated better than any other animal in Spain. Would it be better for the bull to be slaughtered by a butcher instead of getting the chance to fight with dignity?" I admitted that while I don't have an interest in watching this blood-sport play out, my knowledge of the traditions and customs of the country were not sufficient enough for me to protest. We were talking about legal loopholes and the practice of claiming sanctuary throughout history, so it wasn't totally off-base!
Final Notes: Joni continues to commute on her unicycle every Monday and Wednesday, and she is used to receiving an array of looks and reactions. Most of the time she finds it difficult to decipher the fast, Spanish comments, but lately the responses seem to have been more decipherable and memorable.
Here are a few of them:
1. As she rode past a restaurant with tables on the sidewalk, she heard a small child yell, "Mommy, mommy!!!"
2. Her destination happens to be at the base a rather steep incline, so when she arrives she has to work rather hard to stop the unicycle from continuing to roll downhill. One day, a man witnessed this small struggle and said, "No hay frenas!?" (There are no brakes!?). The answer is no, unicycles do not have brakes.
3. One man raised a fist in the air and proclaimed, "Campeóna!" (Champion!).
4. One very impressed old man complimented, "Muy bien equilibrio!" (Very good balance!).
5. One of Joni's students, who knew she could ride a unicycle, must have forgotten about her surprising ability because he was in pure disbelief when he saw her walk into the building with a unicycle. He asked again and again, "You came to here, on that?....from the house?" Joni assured him repeatedly that yes, this was her typical form of transportation when traveling to work, but he just couldn't believe it and was totally in awe.
By Aaron
Exploring the City: Cody continued his stay in Spain, and proceeded to make the most of his time here. We kept the theme of sports alive as the three of us attended our first ever European basketball match. Real Madrid (yes, it's principally the same name as the soccer team) trounced fellow Spanish league competitor Joventut Badalona. It was so similar and yet so different than attending an NBA game. Overall there was much less spectacle, and the sport seemed to be more central. This may have been good in a game between evenly matched opponents, but given the lopsidedness of the competition we all found the experience to be lacking that critical fan engagement element so prevalent in US professional sports.
Since Joni and I don't work on Friday, we gave in to Cody's one requirement on the trip: a visit to the exclusive Teatro Kapital night club. Located about a 10 minute walk from our apartment, I had no idea this place existed before a student mentioned it a few weeks ago. If you know either Joni or myself even marginally, it should be pretty evident that we have extremely minimal contact with what the kids might call "the nightlifes." But Cody graciously offered to foot the cover charge (an astonishing €17/person!) and we were whisked away into what truly felt like an alternate reality. The building alone was worth the trip. Home to a movie theater in the middle of the 20th century, the space now spans across 7 stories - each boasting a different bar or lounge or dance floor or karaoke parlor or restaurant. It seems like a place that only exists in movies, and I can't fathom going here on any kind of regular basis. That said, it was a fun experience and I think it satiated Cody's curiosity for a bit of Spanish partying.
After a lazy morning on Friday, we ventured to the south of the city in search of Parque de las Siete Tetas. Yes, this does translate to something anatomic, as the geographical features of the park are seven buxom grass mounds atop a hill. In addition to having a funny name, this park furnished amazing views of the city from a new perspective. The various inclines instigated a bevy of jumping pictures. Here are some of the highlights:
Despite our general disinterest in the scene, we managed to go to another party-heavy environment the night after our club experience. This, however, was more in our wheelhouse as the main event was a concert. As part of the San Isidro holiday, celebrated only in Madrid, the city organized a variety of concerts and events throughout the weekend. This particular show was devoted to cumbia music, which is heavily dance-driven with current iterations of the genre revolving around the work of DJs. We met up with our friend Teresa and some of her friends who had staked out a spot right in front of the stage. At this performance, there was also a confusing tribal stage play element that I suppose paid homage to the music's roots as a courtship dance. Regardless of the deeper meaning, it was another thing well-worth experiencing.
This week our choir performed at a wedding in Ávila, about an hour and a half outside Madrid. The most highly anticipated choir-related event during our brief time as members of Coro Xenakis was the joining of two choir members, Silvia and Germán, in the beautiful confines of an 800-year-old monastery. I have never attended a wedding conducted entirely in another language, but the ceremony itself was structurally quite similar to the American weddings I've attended (notably, the rhythm of the Lord's Prayer in Spanish is quite similar to the familiar flow of words in English). Cody was a great sport, joining us for the pre-wedding rehearsal on through the lunch we had with the choir afterwards. It was a great and strange experience having these two worlds collide! Ávila is a world heritage site, and we probably didn't have quite enough time to fully enjoy all it's ancient wonder. We did, however, take advantage of the passageway atop the famous city wall, which afforded us a more or less comprehensive view of the city.
Our time in Ávila was cut short by the next leg of our weekend - an overnight bus to the south of Spain. Pressed for time but gluttonous for travel, we embarked on a route that delivered us to the port city of Algeciras - ahead of schedule at just about 6AM. You haven't lived until you've felt the curious thrill of waking up to a shadowy network of cranes and shipping containers, where the nearest building proffering tickets is a boat terminal with ships bound for Africa. We stumbled about before eventually working our way through the sleepy town to a cab that delivered us across the bay to La Línea de la Concepción. This Spanish city borders the impetus for our trip: the British territory of Gibraltar. Over the course of the next 24 hours, we would go on to do the following:
- Enter, then leave, then enter, then leave, then enter, then leave a foreign territory.
- Cross an active runway to access a semi-self-governed nation.
- Gaze ceaselessly in awe at the Rock of Gibraltar.
- Ride a cable car.
- Climb to the top of the remains of a Moorish castle.
- Watch monkeys steal food from somehow unsuspecting tourists and just be adorable.
- Walk across a suspension bridge.
- Stand atop a former military base from which we could see Morocco.
- Descend into a cave that was once a hospital but now serves as a concert venue.
- Skip rocks on/dip our toes in the Mediterranean.
- Eat an authentic English breakfast over 1,000 miles south of the British mainland.
- Spend leftover foreign currency on Cadbury bars prior to leaving the country.
Even with my current load of above-average free time, it would take me far too long to justly detail each aspect of our stint in Gibraltar. The pictures do a decent job of capturing the immense novel intrigue, but nothing can possibly stand-in for time spent on this tiny peninsula near the end of Iberia.
Upon returning to Madrid on Monday night, Cody told us that anything else we did before he left on Tuesday would be a cherry on top of an already excellent trip. He probably meant this as a way of saying "no pressure," but I took it as a challenge to find a cherry. This delivered itself in the form of a "piromusical" display in nearby Retiro park,
which turned out to be pretty much just as exciting as the title would indicate (click here to watch a recording). We then ended the night with some good ole churros and porras con chocolate.
Lost in Translation: Despite the inclination of Gibraltar residents and nearby Spaniards to speak Spanglish, this week's episode of lingual confusion is rooted solely in Spanish. After bandying about the British territory for a few hours, our bodies decided that it was time for nourishment after the overnight bus ride and continuous walking we had accomplished. We followed the hypnotic glow of yellow arches to McDonald's, where we were nearly the only customers (around 9AM!). Near the end of our meal, a man walked up to our table with a posture that indicated he wanted to talk. Normally I avoid most people who are trying to engage me in conversation in any language, but for some reason this morning I was primed and open to try my hand at deciphering whatever message this unsuspecting stranger had to offer. Here is a transcript of what followed:
Man: ¿Qué?
Aaron: ¿Qué?
Man: ¿Qué?
Aaron: Si. ¿Qué?
Man: ¿Qué? ¿QUÉ? que.
(Man exits stage right, leaving the restaurant without looking back, and proceeds to tear down the sidewalk until he is out of sight)
I will likely never know the intent behind this conversation, but I felt good about the fact that I understood EVERY SINGLE WORD and responded in a way that, at least to me, seemed perfectly coherent.
Memorable Meal: As I mentioned before, we joined our fellow choristers for a traditional menú del día at a cozy Spanish restaurant directly across from a portion of the Ávila wall. The meal featured dishes specific to the city - such as Judías del barco de Ávila and yemas - literally translated as “egg yolks” but in reality an incredibly rich pastry in the form of a small yellow ball. In addition to the cuisine, the company was excellent. We sat with Teresa, Eva and Eva’s husband who, initially, was described as being nervous to sit at a table half-full of people he’d never met. By the meal’s end, we had broken the ice enough for Alberto to declare “God bless America!” whilst raising a glass to our fortune. It was a good mix of Spanish and English since, of course, all of the Spaniards at our table could easily hold their own in either language.
En la clase: It was another strange partial-week with the holiday in the mix this past Monday, but that didn’t prevent a few lively discussions about politics - generated mostly by me mentioning our impending trip to Gibraltar. There’s a decent amount of tension about ownership of the territory, and my students were eager to share their thoughts on the matter. The real conflict arose when my smaller-than-average class consisted of one Real Madrid supporter and one Atlético supporter the day after Real defeated Atleti to advance to the Champion’s League final. A semi-contentious discussion centering on the political and class implications of each club’s supporters and various off-season acquisitions left me anxiously awaiting the end of class in a way I’ve not previously experienced. Here’s the board after this particular class:
Final Notes: After an even-busier-than-normal week, I’m somewhat relieved to say that this weekend will not bring any out-of-town traveling. Though the days are numbered and our proverbial travel stomachs are still rumbling in search of unearthing another beautiful corner of this country, I wager the capitol city holds an untold number of things to discover. And, I suppose, a slower paced weekend at home may do us some good. We will rest but will almost certainly also find joy in the low key. ¡Descansaremos!
