Answered prayers

AOG, Madrid

No, not Capote's unfinished novel. The other kind.

The kind that leave you numb with doubt surprise and which make you want to sit down and take it all in so that you may understand it.

Today, so soon after, I was offered a job interview.

And then I was offered a job.

I didn't think too hard about it.

I love my soon-to-be-ex-job but to them I am only a freelancer. I wanted, I need, a full-time job.

I said yes on the spot.

And now I will be a full-time journalist.

Finally.

Saint John's night

AOG, Madrid

I have just experienced a magical and pagan night, unexpected, but welcome.

Tonight was St. John's night- alias the Summer solstice- the shortest night of the year. In Spain, they like to celebrate this date by making bonfires and jumping over them. It has all sort of magical connotations to do so.

I have spent a couple of hours in Las Vistillas, a park behind the San Francisco el Grande Church, not too far from Madrid's royal Oriente Palace.

The church itself is famous because it is believed that St. Francis of Assisi once lived there inside a hut, back in the XIIth century on his way to Santiago de Compostela. It is a large building, neoclassical mostly, and it reminds me of a similar church in London's Knightsbridge- the Brompton Oratory.

Behind San Francisco's walls, perched as it is on the edge of a hill, there descends all the way down to the Manzanares river a park and garden called Las Vistillas.

It is there that the citizens of Madrid congregate to spend the shortest night of the year amidst a combination of Christian calendar date and profane ceremony.

So tonight was a special night. Pagan ritual aside- you must write a wish on a piece of paper, throw it in the fire, then jump over it- there was a great atmosphere.

People were playing drums, singing, laughing and drinking. Friends and strangers walked around from bonfire to bonfire, taking their turn to jump, or to throw something unto the fire, be it wishes or a piece of wood. Some where modest and some were a proper inferno! I suppose that if you are making a purifying bonfire, the bigger the better. One in particular, to my mind, was getting slightly out of hand, but it was a sight to behold. A large burning pyre with flames ever towering in size over people. Ritualistic and enthralling. Some people began to chant. At that point I had to smirk slightly. Here we were, almost all of us Western European, or at least, Western, and suddenly a dreadlocked girl, probably from Madrid, dressed in hippy garb which would not be out of place in Camden, starts to chant gibberish. Hala, ohelo, hala. Some of her friends did the same. I thought it was funny, but in the spirit of the evening, I moved on.

To top it all off, there was a thunderstorm in full swing. We arrived (my improv teacher, a classmate and I) just after it had stopped raining and the ground was very wet and sloshy.

The air was cool, and the breeze helped to blow away most of the smoke emanating from the bonfires which would have otherwise stayed with us. This is important since some of them were slightly toxic, given that you are also meant to symbolically and physically burn those things you no longer need. In many cases, plastic objects and old suitcases. Thus the toxicity of the affair and the need for a good wind.

Soon after we arrived, another group of friends of ours showed up. They too wanted to purify their soul.

After visiting and jumping over a few bonfires, it started to rain. Not a light rain. A rain of epic proportions reminiscent of the great flood. We went for cover under a tree but decided to leave. The rain only got worse. We decided to leave the bonfires and our friends.

When we got to the car we were soaked. We interpreted it all to be good omens. The fire purifies the soul and the rain cleanses it. All in all a good start to the year. I liked this alternative to the official calendar.

On the way home, for the first time in my life, I witnessed a blackout. I have lived through my fair share of these, but, for some reason, I've always been indoors. This time, however, I was driving through (or being driven through) a street when, suddenly, all lights went out. We drove through a dark avenue for a minute or so. It was very exciting. Something I've never experienced before. It happened again before I was dropped home.

I am feeling quite lucky to have experienced tonight. Next year I'm taking my camera with me. I missed it more than once tonight.

Rats!

No heroes weekend

AOG, Madrid

This week in Madrid a couple of movies are making the rounds: The Happening and The Mist. Both are apocalyptic and, in their own way, a reflection of the fears society makes for itself these post 9-11 days.

I saw the first one of them on Friday night because there were no tickets left for Sex and the City, the movie. So I compromised and went for what appeared like a thriller.

And I saw the second one on Saturday night because the movie projector broke down and no one got to see Sex and the City, the movie. It was 23:30 at night and I was in a movie mood, so I went to another film theater nearby and, at 00:40, went to see The Mist.

I won't give any plot away, but I do think that both movies share a common theme: neither has a hero- or at least not in the Hollywood sense. Events overtake the characters and the protagonists and there is little they can do to change them. Much like it would happen in real life.

In The Happening, directed by M. Night Shyamalan, the events which change the character's lives are too abstract to fully understand, even at the end of the film.

You are left wondering what happened, just as you are left wondering who cast Mark Wahlberg as the lead.

Much has been said about his heterosexuality, but in this film, unexplainable apocalypse aside, I kept thinking he was having an affair with John Leguizamo. Or with some other guy. And if that had been the case, it would have been ok. But it is not the case.

Instead, we are meant to believe he is a happy heterosexual who just happens to dress like a 22 year old disco bunny eventhough he is well in his 30s. The character is very well written, but Wahlberg just naively plods along, there is no intellectual depth. It was like drama 101. He wants you to like him, and you do like him, you just can't take him seriously as an actor. I wonder if he acted like that on purpose. Everyone in the audience, certainly the people next to me on isle 5, were laughing at his performance.

The other film, The Mist, is proper Old School apocalypse. Though with a twist. The acting is better than The Happening's, even if the events rock back and forth from the sublime to the ridiculous and back again. There are times when you stop suspending your disbelief, and others when you buy all that is on offer. The ending, however, has to be seen to be believed. The movie itself is a bit like Lord of the Flies. Society is what it is until things go slightly awry, then we all turn into barbarians. This movie certainly shows you how quickly we turn, and it does so semi-believably. Until the ending, which, is quite human, but also quite odd. I won't go into the acting but Thomas Jane does the best he can given the script.

The film is based on a short novella written by Stephen King back in 1980. This version, 27 years later, is perhaps quite in tune with concurrent global disaster thinking: that there is little we can do.

That no one is coming to save us because such things don't really happen. True or untrue, both films take a no-clear-hero approach. Things happen, and people survive, or not, through sheer chance. Both films reflect current fears in Western society.

I wonder if this is a new trend in movies? The human-all-too-human approach.

Open Mic Madrid

AOG, Madrid

I remember reading a few years ago about Americans living in Prague during the 1990s. There was a small community of college kids (thought not only) living there who found the city fascinating and had created a small literary community. The only drawback, however, was that they cared little for Czech and spoke only English. Or so the author told us.

Yesterday I witnessed the Spanish equivalent of Prague's literary expat community. It was called "The first Mad open Mic" and was organised by Margie Kanter, an American writer who's lived in Spain for more than just a few years.

I have to say that, on my way there, I bumped into a new friend of mine named David. He was moving out of his apartment in central Madrid and moving in with a friend in north-central Madrid. He was letting out his apartment for 1,200 Euros per month and moving into a large spacious place where "We can entertain" with a girl who is a friend of his and was driving the car he had just popped out of as I was walking past.
Needless to say I swiftly invited myself to he up-and-coming entertaining soirées chez David.

Back to poetry.

The event in question was held at the Café Concierto La Fídula on Huertas street. Nice venue but pricey. I had to pay 2.70 Euros for a small bottle of sparkling (fizzy) water. Yes, it was Vichy Catalan, but still.

Aptly enough it is located in Madrid's famous literary neighborhood of "Las Letras"- literally 'The Letters', almost across the street from the Prado museum.

So, what did I see? What did I hear?

I think the person who stood out the most for me was the first reader, Nicholas Thran. Canadian and living in Toronto where he works at a bookshop, he finds the time to write and, even, publish his work. Something I've never been able to do.
He said he liked Roberto Bolaño and dedicated one of his readings to him. Does he know Mr. Bolaño is dead? As it happens, he does know (see replies). I was also surprised to hear he has not visited his mother in five years until now although, as I've been informed, she goes back to Canada once a year. She, by the way, is the one living in Spain. I am very curious as to why. Does she work at the Canadian Embassy in Madrid? When I saw her I certainly thought so; she looks the type.

Then there was Sue Sinclair. Beautiful reading voice. She said how "everything in Spain is more beautiful than back home". She too is Canadian and Mr. Thran's girlfriend.
She read a poem called "Sunburst". Of hers, I liked this line the best: "Seeing objects in their endless sleep" and "A tear in the foil that reflects the God's to themselves".

Then Sue Burke read. Her contribution was a succinct but very well written witty tale about a Spanish man learning English with two different tutors. It made me laugh to hear the short story. I know Sue. I read her blog. Her husband was there too.

After her, a supermodel-type girl named Maria Schock from Ohio went up. More than read, she performed "The memory of a girl". Hers was a poem which blurred the lines between formal poetry and urban rap. I was amazed she could remember her work and not have to read it. I think we all were.

Then a woman named Laura Ferguson read. Margie was playing MC last night, and when it was Laura's turn, she asked after saying her name if the pronunciation was right. I immediately asked myself "in how many different ways can you pronounce 'Laura' in English?" I only know of one.

So Laura read a poem about immigration. A hot topic in Spain. A hot topic in the US too. I thought it was cute that Ms. Ferguson had a slight lisp. I thought it was very interesting that she regaled us with a some personal information through her poetry. It appears she leaves home for work with a book and a pencil. The Spanish seem to find this very odd. She likes to underline her books to ensure the words stay with her for the day. "For life if possible".

Then a lady of unknown origin but very posh-sounding English (with the odd Spanish inference here and there- mostly her consonants) read a short-story in progress: "African love". I unfortunately did not pay enough attention to it since her accent fascinated me. It was slightly like what I remember Lady Bienvenida Buck's faux posh English accent (in the photograph) to be, only one million times better. Susana Aikin's speech certainly enthralled me.

Then Margie's husband read after Marjorie herself read a selection of short poems. The only Spanish artist present to do so. His poem "Stereotypes" stayed with me all night long:

"Women like money
Men like Sex
That is why money and sex
go so well together"

I loved it. We all did.

Then the biggest surprise of the night for me was a girl named Nasima Akaloo. She apologised for using a lot of Spanish words in her work. "Your English gets displaced by Spanish to the point where you don't want to translate any more".

Of herself she said she was "Muslim and more" but didn't speak "Al Arabiya" as her poem told us. I don't know where she was from. Perhaps Pakistan? Her English certainly was at times choppy and foreign throughout- I think her second language, not her first. Amazingly she writes in it. And she writes very well.

Her poem spoke about having to wait in line to sort out her residency papers. About how the Spanish don't understand that she wants to live in Spain and yet she can't abide pork or its derivatives, and I had to be brought down to Earth rather quickly by the fact that not all immigrants are hard working people who are willing to do menial jobs for whatever pay. Here was an artist. I wonder if her employer knows or even cares about this?

I also find it interesting that, whilst all expats there are immigrants, Ms. Akaloo was the only one who felt she was. She certainly was the only one to say so. I think it is to do with that odd trans-ethnic thing where, if you are white and Western, anywhere you live in the Western world is part of your culture, and so, even if you are a midwest farmer living in Portugal, life, though different, is still at its core, somehow familiar to your own culture.

Whereas if you come from the non-Western part of the globe, you will always be an immigrant, unless you, somehow, blend in to the point of "passing for a local". Anglo-Indians in London do it all the time, though I wonder if it works both ways. Do they go to India and blend in? Probably not at first.

Two of the readers failed to show up, although one did but 30 minutes after the affair had died down. British, he was surprised that the flier mentioned it lasted until 22:30 and he arrived around 22:00 or so. Just in time to listen to the person previous to him, and the one just after him. I thought it was a bit rude to show up so late, but he was mostly just upset that he didn't get to read. Was there an excuse? Perhaps, but I didn't hear it. Mostly I saw a man with a pony tail and a black leather jacket sulk. I would like to hear his work at the next open mic, whenever this may be.

All in all, the evening was a success. I was quite happy to have been a part of it. I do hope to take part next time it takes place.

Striking Drivers in Spain

AOG, Madrid

For the last couple of days, a group of truck (lorry) drivers representing only about 20% of their sector have been striking because of the high price of Diesel in Spain. Scuffles have broken between protesting truckers and strike-breakers on the second day of a road transport strike and drivers have blocked deliveries across the country. This video from Reuters has some good images on the situation.



The Spanish media have been following the story rather closely. The fear of empty markets and supermarket shelves gathering dust is a reality only just now really beginning show on people's minds.

Shoppers and car drivers have been stockpiling fuel and food fearing shortages. On the news this morning it was the top story. Hidden camera footage showed customers walking past empty shelves at a major supermarket.

The Government has told Police to avoid clashing with protesters and yesterday it reached a deal with truck drivers, however it is not them who called the strike but rather their Union.

President Zapatero has not really been seen much on television and the opposition is asking why not. Public opinion is upset since during March's general election, the Socialists refuted all claims of the possibility of an economic crisis. They have a point.

Some journalists are asking why fuel is being delivered with armed escort but food isn't.

A 47 year old driver was killed when he was trying to stop a truck from breaking the picket line and making a delivery- he got caught on the undercarriage of the vehicle and was dragged for about 50-60 meters and his body laid on the road for two hours before it was taken away. "Now the strike really begins" strikers have declared after learning about Julio's death as they walked out of negotiations this morning.

There is a real fear that things will worsen. Pro-Government journalists, such as Joaquín Estefanía have defended the Government's reluctance to reach a long-term deal arguing that the price of oil can change from one day to the next and that it would be futile to agree on a minimum price.

Unfortunately, the same Minister whose management of the high-speed rail link between Madrid and Barcelona was highly criticised because of its problems and delays is in charge of negotiations. Magdalena Álvarez is well known for replying to criticism by alluding to her sex and the fact that she is from Malaga and taking everything personally and by not actually responding to them.

I hope she fares better at dealing with strikers.

In the meantime, the driver's go-slow strike has all but collapsed most of Spain's roads and highways for the third day running.

They have also tried to close Spain off from the rest of Europe by striking at border posts between Spain, Portugal and France. The image shows the border pass at Girona, in Northern Spain.

The strike is affecting not only prices, there is talk of inflation reaching its highest level for 12 years. It is also affecting Spain's agricultural production. Tons of spoiled fruit and milk has been thrown away since it cannot be picked up because of the pickets.

I went to my local "DÍA" lo-cost supermarket and saw only empty shelves where perishable produce should have been. No meats (except for salami, chorizo and other types of cold meats) no chicken, beef, pork or lamb. As for fish, only the forzen variety, and then not much- a testimony to the Spanish' distaste for frozen foods. I, having no such distaste, bought some frozen salmon and vegetables and had that for dinner.