A Sunny Sunday...

It's been rainy and drizzly and grey and dreary for the last few days, and until we get that brilliant sunshine that's predicted for later this week (I'll believe it when I see it--the LaBameter has been pointing to rain for nearly a week), I thought I'd pull myself up by my bootstraps, turn that frown upside down, and destroy a coupla other clichés by posting something I wrote in early October, about a perfectly sunny Sunday.

It's 5pm on Sunday and after wandering around for ages to grab me a copy of the International Herald Tribune, I walked a bit through El Rastro (the Sunday flea market near my house), grabbing a couple of tubos (tall, skinny beers) and sharing a table with two older Norwegian men, I now find myself at La Latina metro, in an “occupied” space: El Campo de Cebada. Sort of like a squat, but nobody (to my knowledge) lives here. It makes me think a bit of McCarren park in Brooklyn--it was something, once, but now it's just a lot of cement and graffiti.


Anyway, a group of individuals have "taken over" this unused space and every Sunday, starting today and continuing until they either get shut down or stop caring, they have impromptu concerts. So I'm sitting here amongst about 50 other people and about three times as many chairs, drinking my 1.50 euro beer from the "bar" while my 5.50 worth of newspapers (IHT + El País) flutter in the breeze next to me, listening to various artists play songs based solely on guitar, voice, good intentions, and good humor.


There are young families on the side, letting their kids run around; older couples sitting further back but joining in with every song they know, and then a huge range of people in their 20s and 30s, myself included.

I'm pretty sure this is what Sundays are all about.

Laundry Barometer

Since my initial move back to France after my senior year of undergraduate studies, I have adapted a rather European approach to laundry, which was initially out of necessity and later by choice: I almost never use a dryer. Many European homes have washing machines but few contain dryers as well, partially due to space limitations, high energy costs, and other more personal or ecological considerations. Though plenty of Americans would gasp in horror at the prospect of having to wait a whole day--maybe more!--for their clothes to get cleaned and dried, I actually consider clothes racks and clothes lines to be the lazy person's route. You don't have to stick around for hours while the clothes dry in the cycle to ensure that you're there to get them out and folded as soon as they're done--just stick 'em on the rack and leave 'em. Come back the next day, or the following, or a week later--they're not any worse for wear! Also, I'm cheap.


So what a delight it is to live in Spain, where the majority of households have clotheslines strung from window to window or porch to porch (above is a shot of my own building's colorful communal laundromat). In the summer they're dry before nightfall if you've done your washing in the AM. How fabulous! How convenient!

Ah, but we live in Madrid, where it rains plenty in the fall and winter. What to do, what to do? Your timing must be impeccable, for clothes that are nearly dry after a day might be jeopardized by a brief shower, delaying the completion of your chores list for an additional day or more!

And so, inspired by my fifth grade class at my colegio, which is currently studying weather and climate, I have developed my own barometer to augment the online weather forecasts. Indeed, I call it the Laundry Barometer, or the LaBameter, for short.

Thinking of doing laundry? Checked the forecasts? Seems like you'll have a good 24-36 rain-free hours? Stick your head out the window and try to keep up with the Joneses. Do at least three apartments have laundry hanging from their lines? (Don't count that one lazy family that leaves the dry clothes out for days on end--how embarrassing [I refer you to my initial paragraph and the clothes line's leniency towards laziness]!) No? Just one or two? Better save the laundry for later--pressure's dropping and signs point to rain! Yes? Four, five, or six full lines? Signs point to fair, stable weather--get to washing!

My clothes joined the ranks last night, making a total of five optimistic apartments. It drizzled on me in the suburbs today but when I made it home my clothes were dry and waiting to be folded. That is, whenever I can get around to them...

I told you, I'm back in Europe...

...and thus I clearly have no time to blog!

No, I've been a tad lazy on the blog front because I've been so busy on the life front. Since we last spoke, dearest relatively silent readers, I've nearly gotten my wisdom teeth out, have turned another year older, completed a full month of work at school, successfully opened a Spanish bank account, and many other things. A quick photo review:

On October 14th I celebrated my birthday with a few friends--actually, a lot more than I realized I had here in Madrid after less than a month of residence!

Jorge, my roommate, began the friendly birthday embarrassment by baking me a delicious, alcohol- and chocolate-fueled cake:


We moved on after the cake-feasting to a bar nearby in La Latina, called Bodega Aguila, where I had previously shared many hours of drinks with French friends and the friendly owners and bartenders. It's a small, simple affair, but beautifully decorated and reasonably priced. Many friends joined and made me feel special (it's hard having your birthday early in the school year--you haven't had much time to build up your friend network, but it seems I've had incredible luck so far!)--new and old alike! Here's me and Jorge of cake-making fame:


Speaking of Jorge, he wasn't quite done on the embarrassment front. A chino (the term used for just about everybody trying to sell you crap for a low-ish price, it literally means a Chinese person; in this case, it was a random guy who entered the bar selling novelty sunglasses and other assortedly worthless items) kindly dropped by so that Jorge could purchase me this gem:


All in all, quite a delightful birthday!

The following day it was still quite warm enough to consider going to a rugby game (who am I kidding? I'd go if it were snowing sideways!) with Fabrice, which was lots of fun though felt a bit more like going to the park and drinking beer than attending a sporting event. There were fewer than 100 spectators, I'd estimate, and neither the clock nor the scoreboard was turned on, making it relatively difficult to follow the game. Pints, however, were a low low 3.50 euros, the sun was shining, and the grass was inviting. How could one complain?

Following the game Fabrice had a RDV with some Republican friends [note: Republicans here are in favor of making Spain into a republic instead of a monarchy, it's current state. They are similar to certain individuals one might meet in the U.S. who never gave up their hippy-dom despite their greying locks and respectable jobs] near the protest, which mirrored protests occurring all over the world on October 15th. Except that it was HUGE. Running, in theory, from Plaza de Cibeles to Puerta del Sol along Calle de Alcalá, there were so many people in the streets that the only movement really consisted in slipping off to the side streets where, once you hit a street running parallel to Alcalá, you were again halted by another wave of protesters just as large as the one you left behind. It's hard to capture visuals of this sort of thing without some height to angle down from, but I gave it a shot:


Though of course the protest was full of different groups and factions of political ideas, there did not seem to be the same sort of incessant labeling and posturing as we often see in the U.S. (that is, those of us who go to protests). During this protest I never once saw (though it was hard to see much) a group with a big banner announcing them as socialist or communist or polygamist or whatever, thereby implying that all those marching behind them were also part of that ideology, as one is wont to see in LA or NY (one of my father's greatest fears is that I will be photographed behind one of those signs and the photo will come to haunt me later on in life--a legitimate albeit improbable concern). To be entirely truthful, now that I know what this means, I would rather not be photographed next to it:

Literally translated, this means "plant a pine tree with your neighbor", which is why I took a photo--how friendly, how open, yay! It has nothing to do with capitalism, really, but I like the idea! Get to know your neighbor while helping the planet. Cool beans, right?

Nope. More specifically, it means "take a sh*t with your neighbor". Friendly, I suppose, but not really my cup of tea.

I will leave you with that thought, my friends, as well as a promise to update more regularly!