Two weeks away, now, a new year starts. Last year I returned to the US on Christmas Day from Buenos Aires. This year, on New Year's Day. Is the flight cheaper, is that why the coincidence?
I wonder what is going on with the Swiss pianist. She seems to be going through a tough time, based on what she says in her latest poem. I am worried, but I guess this is a battle I can't help her in while I am still an "outsider".
Last night walking in Madrid I realized that despite having been here twice before, and that the first time I was here for actually a whole week, studying Spanish, despite all this, I didn't know the city so well, not even the touristy places. I had to ask people who currently live here where to go for the little narrow streets, an image not from my previous experience in Madrid, but more because I assume all old European cities had such a thing. Walking around last night I did remember many things, the Royal Palace whose picture with coffee tables in the foreground is found on one of my photographs in the New Haven kitchen, the Plaza Mayor that I always seemed drawn to, and other touristy places. But not only touristy places; I recall this entrance to an underground parking garage, for some reason, and the hotel next to it brazenly advertising "Do you want to sleep with me?" in English. It's not a weird hotel, but in fact a very chic looking one. I also recognized the movie theater where I met up with a Spanish woman to see one of the most disturbing movies in English, "Dogville". It was obviously not a date. I remember what she looks like, sort of, dark eyebrows, very beautiful smile. But I can't remember where I met her from. She and this sort-of boyfriend came to New York once and I remember showing them around before running for a train back to New Haven. Still, for the life of me, I can't remember how I got to know them or what her name was, even.
Funny how I remember little things, like the Spanish word "Empresa", meaning "company" or "firm", this word I learned from this Spaniard because she was explaining to me what she did. She and that same sort-of boyfriend invited me to some restaurant at the top of the ubiquitous department store, El Corte Inglés. I remember these things. I can't, however, remember her name.
I didn't recognize much of anything else in my late night walk in the quiet streets. Most streets were quiet because people were in their homes celebrating New Year's Eve with their families. It's more like Thanksgiving than the party mode North Americans are familiar with. Of course, after they do their countdown with the family they go out and party until the sun rises. But before that, the streets are empty. Empty except those in the touristy areas; there you hear a lot of Italian and Portuguese. Of course, I heard a lot of other languages too because the first place I "landed" was Lavapiés, the immigrant neighborhood. I walked down a street lined with Bangladeshi and Turkish shops, and the people on the street were mostly Africans. I hardly heard any Spanish walking there, or for the most part, walking that night.
I didn't know how I felt about Madrid. When I was in Buenos Aires, or in Paris, I felt in love. And it wasn't because Buenos Aires was new to me, or that Paris has its reputation. Sometimes you just bond with someone, or some place. I didn't feel very bonded to Madrid. I don't know why. The streets are cute, the buildings were beautiful and interesting. I can't remember if I felt more bonded in the past visits. If not, then perhaps that explains why I can't recall much.
However, I was impressed by the huge presence of immigrants. I remember visiting the old Atocha train station and chalked up a conversation in Spanish with this man. Was he from ex-Yugoslavia? Slovakia? I ended up giving him 10 euros and my address that he asked for so he would pay me back. I didn't expect he would pay me back, and I never did get it back. Still, I remember him and many others that were not from the country. That was my first time in Madrid; it was between Christmas and New Year's. That time I also spent New Year's in Madrid, doing the touristy thing of joining a crowd of thousands in Plaza del Sol for the New Year's countdown. I remember that. I remember the roasted chestnuts I got from one of the many stands found in just about every corner.
And I wonder what I will remember from this brief visit. I am afraid I will remember the circumstances surrounding my visit more than the visit itself. I left Tenerife with a heavy heart because of a poem the Swiss pianist sent me. I thought it meant she had decided and I believed her decision was to stay with her boyfriend. I couldn't focus on much after that poem. My farewell with my Spanish family was very much distracted by my preoccupation with the poem. I wanted to be alone and could hardly muster the attention for the farewell. I didn't even realize the little girl, Marifrancis' niece, wasn't there to say goodbye until I was already in the airport. Of course, my best friend tried to pay attention to me. But in the end, I wanted to be alone. Get on the plane to Madrid and be alone. Before I left for my night walk in Madrid I got a text from the Swiss pianist that she has still yet to make any decision and begged me for patience.
That was the context in which I visited Madrid. It was good to know she hadn't made a decision, so my old year didn't end with such a sour note, and neither did the new year start in this way. What I will remember for sure about my walk is how I celebrated the New Year's arrival. I walked to Chueca, the gay area. And yes there were plenty of male couples, hands held, walking around like any other couple, nothing eccentric, nothing to show off, as I often find in, say, Greenwich Village. I went there because people told me there's night life there, and I was advised to just go to a bar and celebrate New Year's there. So I walked around that neighborhood and settled for this tiny bar that seemed very traditional. It wasn't a party scene, which I saw in other places. There were plenty of restaurants and bars open for the New Year's Eve despite what I said earlier about the local customs regarding New Year's Eve. But I picked this little bar and I got myself a local beer and some fried calamari. There I chalked up a conversation with this American who lives in South Florida. He was a character. He was very secretous about what he did, or for that matter, what his son did. He said he was on a layover from Riga (Latvia) to Florida, but when I asked him what his son did, his answer was "He does very well what he does." Then later he would say he knew a lot of famous people, like Lady Gaga, Donald Trump, Madonna, and an actor whose film he didn't like but he wouldn't divulge his name because he works with him. He asked me if I was working for Donald or Gaga; I thought he was joking but apparently he had had spies follow him before, sent by the very people he worked with. Maybe it was still a joke, but his secretous air made it not so funny. I just thought he was crazy. And if he is really such an important person, I should stay out of his way, especially after he started talking about how there are more banks in Panama than in Switzerland and many of these banks were funded by money laundering from the drug cartels down south in Colombia.
I did my 12-grape eating countdown to the New Year, as it is customary in Spain. My grapes were in a ziplock bag provided by Marifrancis' family. It was not trivial to dig inside the bag to retrieve the grapes, more difficult than eating one per second for twelve seconds that mark the 12 months to come. Perhaps I will be lucky as a result. My first month is already quite lucky. (More of that in the next entry.)
I did not want to dolly much longer; the weird company was reaching the end of its interestingness and I wanted to catch the metro back to the hotel. So I walked through Chueca and soon found myself in the Madrid metro system again. It was a special night in that I made it. Since I left home I have spent most New Year's alone. This night I was in some ways alone because my friends were far away, but at the same time, I had this weird company. I also thought about the times I did have my friends with me. Two new year's eves with my Swiss girlfriend, first time in Vienna, then in Cairo. There was the New Year's Eve with Rose in China; I remember upsetting her by calling Marifrancis from China. I can't remember now if I spent other New Year's Eves with someone after my independence from my parents. I suppose in college, once? That seems too long ago. When I was alone, I remember before I started traveling over New Year's Eve (alone) I would spend the evening alone in my apartment, recalling the old times, reading through old letters. This New Year's Eve I didn't do that, but I did when I returned to the US, unintentionally, started to go through the old emails from the first few years of my life in New Haven. There were contacts I had nearly forgotten. I finally found that Spanish woman's name, but her email was no longer valid so I couldn't contact her. There were others. So many faces, so short of a time. I can only wonder who else will be in my future. I can only wonder where I will be the next New Year's, and with whom, if any.
