Corrida

"Que asco de granadería" "Hoy Toros Light"

Anodino comienzo del Aniversario
31 de mayo de 2010.
Corrida de toros.
Diego Urdiales: Silencio, Silencio con un aviso
Rubén Pinar: Silencio, Silencio
Miguel Tendero: Pitos con un aviso, Silencio
Seis toros de Valdefresno.
Con Brad, Lori, Ian, Allie, Brynna, y Alex.

Ángel Caído

There is a statue in the Retiro Park of the Ángel Caído, the Fallen Angel. We made of special trip to find it on a sunny weekend morning. And it has me thinking. Not about Lucifer, or redemption, or the hopelessness thereof for fallen angels or people guilty of deadly sins. It has me thinking about art and how we respond to it.

This beautiful sculpture stands on top of a tall pillar, making it very difficult to really experience. I’d read about how spectacular the Ángel Caído was, but I was a little disappointed. I was much more engaged by the gargoyle-like fountains around its base. If there was a story told, I heard it through these scary creatures at eye level. I walked around and around examining the details: who was eating what and why?



Art surrounds us, both religious and secular. Images of Mary and Jesus and the saints. Kings and queens. Conquerors. Explorers. Events both real and mythological. Art is important so we don’t forget our stories, our history.

I'm wondering about how we respond to art. And the fact that how it is displayed impacts our experience of it greatly. Lucifer at the top of the pillar does not move me. Later I saw a replica of the same statue, its pedestal raised it only inches, meaning that this Lucifer was at eye level. I circled him, enchanted by the figure’s beauty, the anguish on his face, the serpent pulling him to the pits of hell.
In Catholic Spain, when you visit a church, you are more likely than not to see people kneeling, praying, crying, at an image of Mary. Is it the art that moves them, or simply that it is Mary? Or that the person moved to tears is in a holy place that has set the stage?

In the Prado, I get to thinking about all those altarpiece paintings of Mary with bared breast. I can’t help but think that they were a distraction to the altar boys. There is one painting in particular that baffles me. Murillo’s The Virgin Appears to St. Bernard. In it, Mary squirts milk from her bare, engorged breast straight at St. Bernard’s lips. Maybe I’m just a non-religious cynic, but I’m having a hard time believing that all the altar boys and celibate monks were thinking about St. Bernard’s holiness when they saw this painting hanging over the altar when their attention wandered during mass. But who knows, maybe when it's up behind the altar, it's different.

But in the Prado, I'm somewhat irritated about seeing Mary’s breasts everywhere. I’m not offended by her breasts, or images of her nursing her baby. I’m irritated that the church flaunts Mary’s holy breasts everywhere, while, apparently every other female breast throughout history has been sinful. What would St. Bernard have said to a young nursing mother with equally bared chest in the town square? And thus my mind wanders.

In the museum, it's too much. Too many images in one place, out of place. It's too easy to take them out of context and end up in a feminist rant. They weren't really meant to be seen this way. They were meant to be displayed in a holy place, where people go to worship. It's too easy to end up back at the base of the pillar laughing at the coarse creatures, entirely missing the story going on above.

Laguna de los Párjaros

On Sunday, we went to the Sierra. The Sierra de Guadarrama. With all the differentness of living in Madrid, I'm struck by how much I feel at home when we are in the Sierra, even if they are not our Sierra. We have longed for the mountains this year. I feel a little sad that we didn't make an effort to spend more time in the hills earlier. But at the end of the day, being in the mountains here is very much like being in the mountains anywhere. Maybe it was okay to stay out of that comfort zone for the year. We'll have plenty of mountain time back in our home range.

Corrida

24 de mayo de 2010. Novillada con picadores.
Arturo Saldívar: Silencio, Palmas
Luis Miguel Casares: Silencio, Silencio
Cristian Escribano: Palmas con un aviso,Silencio
Seis novillos de Guadaira.
Con Alex.

Grilled

Fresh whole fish on the grill. It was too much to resist. We were at a friend’s house last weekend, enjoying grilled fish and veggies, and the countryside, the fresh air. I was in heaven. And feeling a bit homesick for the grill. I love our grill. It’s Jack’s grill, a 50th birthday present. But to tell the truth, he doesn’t use it as much as I do, though he reaps its rewards. I'm daydream about cooking back home…but back to grilling in Spain.

After the barbeque at Migel and Sonya’s house, I was aching for a grill. We have a lovely tiled terrace on the top floor of our building -- perfect to house a new grill. I remembered by aunt saying that grills had been banned from their apartment building in DC because they were a fire hazard. So I checked with Benito, the porter, who knows a lot about the rules. To my surprise, he didn’t think it was a problem.

So, I procured a portable grill and some coals, and headed to the market. I bought fresh fish, zucchini and pineapple to cook over the fire. They were tasty. Everyone enjoyed them. And the mom was happy.


The next day I bought BBQ sauce and chicken.

It was a little tricky starting the fire without adequate supplies. So much so that it started chipping away at the little thrill I was getting out of having a grill on the teraza. And I kept thinking about my aunt’s comment. And the fact that there is no fire escape in the building. Can you believe it? Apartment buildings here do not have fire escapes. If you can’t make it down the interior stairwell you are done in. I was having a hard time cooking my chicken with my pathetic little fire. And the joy was dwindling by the minute.

The next day Jack was telling his officemate about the new grill. “Are you crazy?! You can’t light a grill in an apartment building! Of course they aren’t allowed!”


I’m back to fantasizing about the beautiful, big grill on the deck at home. We’re close enough to our return date that I’m allowing myself these little indulgences.

Backtracking

Spring has sprung. The warmth and sunshine have brought optimism. And I'm backtracking, catching up on notes to myself, as it were.

It was a long, hard winter. And I couldn't find the gumption to write notes about what we were up to, when it seemed that all we were up to was holding everyone together.

The sun is out, the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight for those who needed it the most during the cold, scary winter.

I'm back dating entries so the stories fall into the right places. And I'm having a delightful time processing the memories now while they are still fresh. Now that it feels safe to be happy and laugh again.

Daily torture

The sign says "Your euros = our daily torture by music"

Plaza Santa Ana is famous for being one of Hemmingway's favorite place to hang out in Madrid. Tourist flock there to enjoy the sunny terazas. And therefore, so flock the street musicians and various other entrepreneurs trying to make a buck, or rather, a Euro, off the tourists. But the neighbors have had enough. That same old accordion song from dawn until dusk is setting them off. One woman went on TV to plead to the authorities to make them stop. Her baby can't sleep. They can't hear their own TV or radio. So, please, they beg, take your damn music someplace else.

Corrida

17 de mayo de 2010. Novillada con picadores
Paco Chaves: Pios con tres avisos, Bronca
Miguel Hidalgo: Silencio, Pitos tras tres avisos
Antonio Rosales: Silencio, Saludos
Seis novillos de José Joaquín Moreno Silva
Con Alex.

Happy Birthday Gran Via

Gran Via is Madrid’s Broadway. It runs through the heart of old Madrid. On a normal Friday night, people are packed shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks once the sun goes down. But this week was special. Gran Via turned 100 years old. So, it was time for a party. The city wrapped the big birthday bash into May 15th San Isidro celebrations, the festival day for the city’s patron saint. And what a party it was.


The street was carpeted from end to end for the evening of the big party, which was supposed to start at 6:00 pm. The bright blue carpet was cordoned off from all traffic or pedestrians. At about 5:00 pm it started to become too difficult to resist and Madrileños started sneaking out into the Gran Via vast blue sea for a quick photo op. Then around the edges, people started dipping their feet in, and leaving them there. By 5:30, a serious leak had occurred in one section of the street, where people were openly wading in and enjoying the waters. Eventually, all pretense of waiting for the official opening was lost, and the crowd delighted in taking Gran Via in completely.






The best part was watching everyone posing to capture their moment on the carpet. Until at last, the crowd was so dense that you simply had to be pulled along by the current, from one music stage to next.

Rite of passage

Big day for Anna. With friend Ida in tow, she traversed the fear of the ear piercing gun and arrived adorned on the other side.

Corrida de Rejones

If you are upset about bullfighting, stop here. It seems impossible to tell about going to see the bulls and not end up in a confrontation with some people. In fact, this is how our evening began. Alex and I were rushing to catch the Metro to Las Ventas - Madrid's bullfighting arena. On the way, we ran into my Spanish teacher. After a quick conversation, I explained that we were pressed for time and had to run. “We’re going to Las Ventas!” Alex told her. She pushed me away and yelled, “I hate you people!” Wow. Okay. Last time we make that mistake. We did embrace before saying goodbye, but her sentiment was clear. We pressed on nevertheless.

We were going to see a corrida de rejones. Instead of matadors working on foot, the toreros are mounted on horses. We made it to our seats just in time for the paseillo – the parade of all the participants into the ring.

The two Spanish rejoneadores were dressed much more subduedly than their matador counterparts, in dark jackets rather than the brightly colored, sparkling trajes de luz (suits of light). However, the Portuguese of the trio was in his country’s traditional attire for the event – looking like a prince from the 18th century. His horse was equally adorned. Lovely. This chap, Rui Fernandes, had a long flowing mane of his own, and inspired shouts of “Guapo!”(Hottie!) from a woman near us each time he approached our side of the arena.

The paseillo ended by unnerving everyone when Guapo’s horse reared and threw him. What did this foretell of the evening? we worried. As the newspaper reported the next morning, the crowd didn’t know if it should gasp or laugh.

The first two bulls were lethargic and a great disappointment to all. Alex, who has learned much colorful language from his compañeros at school, giggled and squirmed and translated for me the curses being hurled at the lame toros. Though we had been concerned about Guapo, he proved quite capable, and though he got a dud of a bull to fight, we enjoyed watching his horsemanship nonetheless. The second rejoneador, Andy Cortagena, as equally unlucky.

But with the third bull, the energy increased and Leonardo Hernández had a worthy antagonist. He displayed awe inspiring equestrian skills and for the first time I had a flash of comprehension of what dressage was really all about. I never understood before why one would dance with a horse, but watching the horse and rider interact with the bull gave the art of dressage new meaning to me.

For his fine performance he was awarded one of the bull's ears. While taking his victory lap around the ring, he was honored with many tokens of appreciation thrown at his feet, including a live chicken.

From here on out, the evening became more and more electrifying. The Portuguese entered the ring for his second bull. His number one fan in our section continued shouting “Guapo! Guapo!”at each opportunity. Soon a man to our right heralded the call to the princely rejonador. Then more and more men and women were yelling "Guapo", until we were all in. His performance was brilliant, and he also was awarded an ear.

The quality of the bulls and the enthusiasm of the crowd inspired even greater performance by Andy Cartagena with his second bull. He performed an intimate dance with the horse and the bull, as if the universe were just the three of them. With his horse he made gestures both grand and subtle. Gestures as grand as humbling himself and his horse on their knees to honor the bull, as well as gestures as subtle as a feint to left to prompt the bull to charge, then redirecting the mass of the man and the horse at once to the right to outwit the bull.

A blood chilling moment came when one of the auxiliadores (the rejonedor’s assistants on foot) was working passes with the bull while Cartagena was out of the ring changing horses. The crowd yelled at the man on the ground that he was a fool, that he was too close. At once his body was riding the bull’s horns and flying through the air. The bull charged again before the other auxiliadores could coax him away with their capes. Three times the bull made contact with the man, and for the last the man clung to the horns with his bare hands. At last the bull released him to chase other swinging capes. A veritable miracle occurred when the charged man jumped to his feet unscathed, and continued his roll as auxiliador for the remainder of the corrida. The beauty of the dance was rewarded with an ear from the official, and another chicken from the crowd, in addition to the various other objects that were thrown to the victor as he paraded around the ring.


The coup de grace was Hernández’s second performance of the evening, for which he earned two ears and was carried out of the arena on his mens’ shoulders. Again, man and horse and bull seemed locked in their own world for those brief moments in the ring. Ultimately, the magnificence of the horses reign in my mind.

The evening was spectacular. Five ears, two chickens, one man thrown from his horse, another man thrown repeated by a bull. A guapo prince, and three dozen noble horses, as well as a puerta grande.

And likewise a spectacle. It is impossible to not think of the Colleseum and gladiators. I have chosen not to examine too closely the uncomfortable feelings I have about the bullfights. I have suspended my natural inclination to analyze. Quite frankly, I’d decided not to tell others about the experience of going to the bullfights. But the experience of this night was one not to forget. So, I write about it now for myself and for Alex, as part of our record of our year.

Video hightlights of 12 May 2010 Las Ventas web site

Leonardo Hernández con tres orejas por la Puerta Grande
12 de mayo de 2010. Corrida de rejoneo
Rui Fernandes: Saludos, Oreja
Andy Cartagena: Silencio, Oreja
Leonardo Hernández: Oreja, Dos orejas - Puerta grande
Seis toros de Luis Terrón
Con Alex.