Madrid, Spain
On the morning of July 4, Madrid was not awash in red, white and blue, nor singing anything resembling “Proud to be an American”. In fact, if I wouldn’t have set out a red and white shirt and jean shorts the night before, I might have forgotten myself – that’s how non-4th-of-July-ish it seemed. As it was, I looked kind of country (sort of Daisy Duke meets Fraggle Rock) but American, without actually wearing anything flag-ish.
After some bread and OJ in the cafeteria, I headed outside to pile into the bus for a Madrid city tour. Madrid proper is home to 3 million people, and “greater” Madrid tacks on another two million. (So Dad – you were right.)
Spain is the second country in number of movie theatres and tickets sold in ratio with population – that’s right, second only to the U.S. Gran Via is just such a street, lined with theaters. Spanish movies were dubbed for the first time when Franco’s regime first came into power, since he censored any movies/books/etc that portrayed any ideas/statements/concepts he didn’t agree with or want the general public to be aware of. And after so many years of Franco’s dictatorship, the Spanish are simply used to hearing movies in their own language, and it wouldn’t make much sense for them to switch to subtitles at this point, since they’ve already got a working system in place. Actors and acresses with compelling performances and voices who match the original artist always portray that part. In other words, the person who speaks Kevin Bacon’s lines is the person whose voice most resembles his, and this person is the only person who ever speaks his parts, so that the voice always matches the person and never varies from movie to movie. It’s actually a prety neat system, and what was borne out of censorship has now evolved into tradition, and a kind of quasi-Hollywood of Spanish voice actors.
The tour took us by much of Madrid, including the Cibeles statue (the greek goddess of fertility), which is the symbol for the city and which was so loved that in the civil war (which, if you didn’t know, just ended in 1939) the townspeople covered the monument under a gigantic pile of trash. This way, it didn’t look like anything much, and the pilots overhead wouldn’t see it and bomb it.
There used to be five walls around the city of Madrid. Bits still remain, and the Alcalá Gate still stands in its entirety. Only the king could enter through the center, largest door, the nobility through the medium-sized middle doors, and the pedestrians through the smallest, furthest two. (Nowadays, we all enter via rail, tarmac, or superhighway. The times, how they change.)
The San Manuela / San Bonita church is extremely beautiful and free to marry in (for Catholics only, though.) For this reason, it is booked solid for at least two years in advance at all times. In fact, Madrileñas are known to book a date in the church first, and find a husband second!
The Salamanca Quarter is outside the city walls. The rich lived here because in the old days, the city proper was overcrowded, noisy, and smelly. This was partly because in early times, the shout of “Agua va!” preceded slop from a chamber pot being chucked out an open window into the street. (Thank heavens for modern plumbing!) Since the Salamanca Quarter was outside the city, it was new, and actually built using wide avenues and city planning.
Madrid’s Plaza de Toros is the most famous bullring in the world. (Not the oldest bullring – that’s the one I visited in Ronda.) It’s called “Las Ventas” and its fame is because this is where novilleros (uncertified bullfighters) try to pass examinations in order to become Toreros. (Officially, the highest level of bullfighter.)
While a person is a novillero, (”person” because women are bullfighters, too,) they only fight bulls who are less than four years old. Once they become a torero, however, the bulls are always more than four years old. Even novilleros in South America have to come here to Las Ventas in order to certify. It is *the* place and the only place, which is what makes it so famous. In front there’s a statue of Antonio Bienvenida, a famous torero who was (ironically) gored to death by an ordinary milk cow one day when he was walking down the street. (He was thrown and the fall snapped his neck.) Another statue is of a young fighter who was pinned when a bull stepped on his foot and gored him in the heart. That took place here, at Las Ventas.
In case you’re wondering, “matador” is another word for Torero – one you’ve probably heard more often, although in Spain, “Torero” is the real term – for “real” fighters, anyway. “Espada” is another slang term sometimes used. Espada means “sword” or “blade” and refers to the sticks the bulls get pricked with at the beginning of each fight. If the fight is a good fight, the Toreros proudly exit through the front door, to the paparazzi and a crowd of adoring fans. If the fight is a bad fight (meaning that the Torero took too long, causing the bull unnecessary suffering, OR that the bull did not fight back and basically tried to avoid the situation) the Torero slinks out the back door and goes home.
Bullfights have been around since Roman times. And, in case you’re wondering, the Romans did occupy Spain. In fact, that’s why Spaniards speak Spanish instead of Iberian or Arabic or German (all of whom previously occupied Spain). The Romans came and implemented their law structure, architecture, and language, all of which stayed in place until the infamous Ferdinand and Isabella got together, uniting Spain, making Spanish (technically ‘castellano” – to them, Spanish is a nationality, not a language) the official language. They also financed Columbus, expelled all the Jews because they decided Catholicism was they way to go and religious tolerance was overrated, oh, and started the Inquisition. (They were very busy people, as you can see.)
Back to the regularly programmed show. Slow clapping at a bullfight means that the bull is a bad bull (ie deformed, sick, not fighting back, etc) and when this happens, sometimes the bull is sent back and a replacement bull brought out. Toreros do kill the bulls, and they are supposed to take care of it as quickly as possible so that the bull does not suffer. The consider the toro (bull) to be extremely noble, and dying with honor. In fact, the bull can win the fight if he injures (or kills) the Torero. (Unfortunately for the bull, this just buys him about a week, until he’s called upon to fight another Torero.) Dead toros are sent to butcher shops because they are eaten. Lucky us, “Raba de Toros” and “Criadillas” are at their height at the moment, since bullfighting is in season. I won’t tell you what this means unless you ask – and may I say, if you are the queasy sort, you might not want to ask.
The picador (peek a door) is a guy atop a heavily padded horse and armed with a lance. His job is to pierce the bull’s skin with his lance if he needs the bull to a) become angry or b) lose blood to become weaker (which I think is cheating). Sunday nights are the “real” fights with the real Toreros and adult bulls. Other nights have fights with novilleros called novilladas (novice fights) which the tour guide recommended skipping, since they are some much bloodier because the fighters are still learning.
Although bullfighting is considered to be an “art form” in Spain, only 52% of the people love it and the other 48% hate it. It’s a huge culture/tradition versus Animal Rights controversy, even between the Spanish themselves. The stadium seats 23,000 people, and no longer sells out the crowds.
One particularly morbid tradition has to do with scoring the fights. If the fight is a good fight, the Torero “gets” to keep one of the bull’s ears. (Yes, the actual ear.) If it is a great fight, he gets both. If the fight is truly exceptional, he gets both ears *and* the tail. At the end of the season, the Toreros count up their prizes in order to see who won the most, and is therefore the best Torero in the world.
Recently, a torero was riding in an elevator, and when the doors opened, he was rushed by so many women screaming for autographs that the elevator cord snapped and they all fell several stories, and he broke both his legs. The headline in the newspaper the next day was “Women More Dangerous Than Bulls.”
A different kind of stadium is the soccer stadium where the Real Madrid play. (BTW, in Spanish, “real” means “royal”.) They have won the championship league nine times and fill the 100,000-seater stadium to capacity. Madrid actually has three different soccer teams, each with its own stadium. (Talk about your crosstown rivalry!) The Real Madrid stadium is an open air stadium with central heating, if you can believe that. In the winter, warm air circulates under the seats and a series of underground pipes pump hot water under the field to melt the snow. These people are *serious* about their soccer.
Castellana Avenue seperates the city from North to South, and near here is where you’ll find the leaning towers of Madrid. Yes, plural. These are the KIO towers and mark the northernmost point of the city. They were begun by a Kuwaiti firm that went bankrupt and were recently completed by three companies who picked up the ball (and the bill) and who are subsequently arguing over what the buildings show now be called.
Madrid is 2100 feet over sea level, which makes it the highest capital in Europe. (Not the highest city, but the highest capital.)
Architecture-wise, Spain is known for the mudéjar style (pron. moo DAY har). It is only found in Spain, and is due to the Arabic influence. Mudéjar is very pretty, and characterized by ceramics, bricks, and the horseshoe arch.
Back in the day (ie, before motorcars and assembly lines) Madrid was famous for having the purest air. European princesses from all over would journey here to give birth, just for this reason. In France, the saying was that Madrid’s air is “pure as champagne”.
Madrid is also the second greenest city in the world, runner up to (bizarrely enough) Tokyo. There are trees everywhere and a plethora of parks and gardens. Many of the trees are sycamores and chestnut rees, but the funniest is the madroño tree, whose fruit ferments into alcohol extremely quickly, and you can get drunk just by eating it. In fact, bears and other animals eat the madroño fruit that has fallen to the ground and then start stumbling and fall over when they try to walk away. (The fruit looks similar to a strawberry but tastes more sugary.) There’s a statue in the Puerta del Sol of a bear reaching for the fruit on a madroño tree. You’ll see this image all over, actually: on taxis, on manhole covers, etc. The madrileños don’t eat the fruit as is, typically, but instead use it as a liquer.
The Picasso tower is the highest building in Madrid, measuring in at 45 stories. For this reason, Madrid technically doesn’t have any sky scrapers, since all the buildings are less than 50 stories high. (You were right, Rob. I was wrong.)
One of the tall-but-not-a-skyscrapers recently burned down because a woman was working late at night, left her lit cigarette on her desk when she got up to get something from another room, and the next thing you know, the whole place is on fire. (Hardly anyone was there and no one got hurt, bt the entire thing is totalled, and there’s huge cranes knocking down the wreckage and cleaning the area.)
When Franco was still in power, he built Nuevos Ministerios and renamed all the streets in Madrid after himself and his cronies. He also commissioned 30 statues of himself and erected them all around the city. Although 10% of the population still supports Franco’s dictatorial ideas, all the statues have been removed since his death.
I also learned that the lake I discovered in Retiro Park the other day is sometimes used to recreate battles, and that the amphitheatre can be rented out for private bullfights. Retiro Park is over 220 acres, and used to be private property used only by royalty.
Madrid is also home to the Atocha train station, where on March 11 of last year, terrorists bombed and killed civilians. The station was immediately visited by so many people bringing flowers and candles that it quickly became impossible to get into the station (even on foot) for two months, until the government erected El Bosque de los Ausentes in Retiro Park as a monument to the victims.
Trivia: Madrid has all major US fast food chains except for one. Can you guess what it is? (Answer at bottom.)
Madrid has tons of great museums. Most famous, El Prado has 15,000 paintings and stands on what used to be a meadow with cows and donkeys in Retiro Park. The Thyssen museum was the second largest private art collection in the world until the owner died seven years ago and the government bought it.
Random Fact: Shakespeare, arguably the most important English writer, and Cervantes, the most important Spanish writer, both died the same day – April 23, 1616.
Madrid has an average of 1.1 children per family and a 10% unemployment rate. It ranks 59 out of the top 200 best places to live worldwide. (Bern, Switzerland was #1 and Moscow was #200.)
Stranger than fiction: In Madrid, pickpocketing is not a crime, because there is no weopan or force involved. At worst, you face one night in the comisería.
Economics: The average salary in Spain is 2000E per month, and you get double pay in December and July. Medicine is socialized and college only costs the 300E application fee. Condos, on the other hand, require a 24000E down payment. For this reason, most Spaniards don’t leave home until they get married.
One of the many highlights of the Madrid city tour was coming across a sangria fountain in a gift shop. What is a sangria fountain, you ask? Picture a water dispenser – filled with sangria! If the US has problems with employees hanging around the water cooler too much as is, imagine if it were filled with sangria! (Well, not so filled by the time *we* left there…)
Since it is the fourth of July (you forgot, didn’t you), the crew wanted to do something American, so we headed out for the Hard Rock Cafe. (You have to admit – that’s very American.) On the way to the metro, I came across a couple promo passes to War of the Worlds for the following night. The metro ride was entertaining, as there was a guy who kept coming over, playing his violin in our faces. (I guess that’s supposed to generate tips.)
The Hard Rock Cafe had a long queue, so we put our names in and walked down the street to an outdoor cafe. We drank sangria and listened to the live piano music for a little while before heading back to the Hard Rock, where I ordered the very un-spanish Vegetable Pesto Pasta. There was a (male) waiter dressed up in a skirt with fake breasts and a blond wig, prancing around saying, “I’m an American girl, vale? I no speak English, vale?” Hilarious. (And lovely to know that’s the impression we give.)
After this, the others went home but Alison and I dropped into the Campus bar across from the dorm, since they were having a 4th of July party (free shots for Americans, but good luck getting to the bar) where we ran into Bryan K, Paula, Lindsay, Isabel, et al. I only stayed long enough to say hi and happy fourth, then walked across the street to the dorm to hit the hay.
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Trivia Answer: Spain has no Taco Bell. (go figure)
