Madrid, Spain
What is this, terrorist season? Today the ETA had apparently attempted – and failed – to bomb the Italian Embassy in Barcelona for some reason. I know they want their independence from Spain, but what does Italy have to do with it? The world is getting a little too bomb-happy. Since when is mass murder and civilian deaths the only answer to disagreements?
In the morning I had class and in the afternoon I worked, but in the evening I managed to break away for a spot of fun. A whole mess of us (Ashley, Danielle, Kristin, Alison, Isabel and I) went to the vegetarian restaurant for dinner, then prowled Plaza Mayor in search of good deals. The cops must have been by earlier, however, because there weren’t too many vendors out, but there were all manner of clowns, gypsies, actors, mimes, and even a pickpocket. How do I know? Because she tried to pick-pocket me. I was walking along, following my friends, when I got the eerie feeling someone was following right behind me. I turned to my right and caught her just as she was slipping her hand in my purse. (which, I’ll admit, was not the securest sort, as it was more of an open bag type purse, with no zipper or latch.) Nonetheless, I was so shocked that I couldn’t even make a sound. She was shocked too – that I caught her in the act – and she snatched back her hand and took off. It was crazy. The freakiest part was that she looked like just anybody – maybe late twenties, early thirties, stylish blond hair, preppy outfit.
I have not since taken that particular non-latching purse anywhere. (Get me once, shame on you. Get me twice, shame on me.)
Also, I want to give a big up to the metro system and their campaign “Ni un día sin poesía” when means, “Not even a day without poetry” (and, in Spanish, it rhymes.) There is at least one poem with accompanying color illustration on the wall in every metro car. I rarely saw the same poem twice, and that was only on the 6 Circular, which I take practically four times a day. Although subway windows are typically scratched up with graffiti (strange stuff, too – “Jamón”, “Agua” and “Leche” were popular, as if Madrid runs amok with food gangs, or grocery store wars) but the poems were always in pristine condition. I never once saw one marked up or torn in any way.
