by Alexandra Atiya

Some things don’t translate. I laughed a little when I saw that enormous poster up in La Latina – “LA MEJOR COMEDIA DE OSCAR WILDE – LA IMPORTANCIA DE LLAMARSE ERNESTO” – which, unless I’m missing something, means The Importance of Being Named Ernesto. 

I was waiting in the Carnet Joven office, holding my slightly too large picture of myself, and I was flipping through an issue of Teatro Madrid. I saw a photograph of a man and a woman on stage, each holding a masque. She had wild curly hair and a long brown robe. He had a black robe and he held his arms wide.  Los Cantos de Canterbury: Un Musical del Siglo XIII , it said. The Canterbury Tales? The 13^th-century musical? In a production, that, as the article advertised, contains “a dose, let’s say, of pagan religiosity”?  This sounds like a Middle-Spanglish disaster waiting to happen.

No, not Middle-Spanglish at all. A very fortuitous event. The show only goes up on Mondays in the Teatro de Bellas Artes. (Note:  Teatro de Bellas Artes is not the same as the Circulo de Bellas Artes, although it is right next door.) I got there last Monday at around 8:15 and a woman—a complete stranger—simply gave me a ticket. She said that she had too many. I tried to offer her some money in return, but she said, “No, no, te lo regalo.”

Quite happily I bounced down the steps and into the theater. A good seat too! The show started – a woman came onstage pretending to talk on her cell phone. She was dressed in black, and she was sitting on a large, sloping piece of wood. She said that she was excited to read the new book she had been given as birthday present – the book of The Canterbury Tales, with the Ellesmere miniatures as illustrations.

That’s how it started. Then, of course, it went directly into the Middle Ages and never returned to the present day.  Six men came onstage. They were all musicians, as was the sole woman.  They recounted part of the General Prologue and four tales in song. Between songs they narrated the stories in Spanish. The large, sloping piece of wood that the woman had been sitting on in the introduction turned out to be an enormous illuminated manuscript, and one man turned the pages as the stories progressed. 

I particularly enjoyed the retelling of The Manciple’s Tale. The Manciple tells a story about the gossiping crow. The crow, once a white bird, became black after he offended Apollo with gossip about his lover (gossip which was all true) and angry Apollo tore all his feathers out. A long white glove, with long pointed fingers, served as the bird. When the crow turned black, the narrator pulled off the glove and turned it inside out. Inside it was black. In a moment of violence, long red ribbons came loose from the eyes of the masques. The instruments included a lute, a small harp, a flute, a few different drums, and of course, the singers’ voices. The actor, as the story required, repeated again and again “cuervo” – and for reasons unknown to me, the word is more dramatic than its English equivalent.

So, go if you can (and if you like medieval music) – next three Mondays, at 8:30, in the Teatro de Bellas Artes. 

by Isaure Cointreau

A multifaceted place would be my choice as to define Madrid in a few words. Why so? I guess I would be referring to the impossibility of putting my finger on one specific madrileño side of the city that would not exclude the others. As if villages from different times and different ambiances were merged together as one, this is how Madrid feels to me.

When flipping a guide of the Spanish capital what caught my eye was how they would cut the city into zones easing the visitor’s understanding of the city. There is the cosmopolitan and the literary boroughs, the medieval and the royal areas, and last but not least the art walk. Reading about the latter, I started to wonder. Other than the Prado area, that is surrounded by the largest pinacothecas and most important galleries of Madrid, is that it? I couldn’t help disagree as I felt art was part of the essence of the city.

Art is a word that embodies a concept more that just a reference to what could be hung on a wall, and by that I include whatever creativity initiates. In that sense, wherever you go in Madrid you can feel its vibe. Such as a call from within, the European city that never sleeps, except for the siesta, has the Movida’s past days engraved in the life and spirit of its inhabitants. Flyers are present in every bar or boutique, suggesting you should have a peek at some short film festival, kitsch art gallery, underground concert or experimental exhibit. Why not check it out? Curiosity doesn’t have to be a flaw, on the contrary. Though it its true that when you start to indulge it, you’ll see yourself on the lookout for something new as “every fulfilled desire arouses the desire for more”.

Depending on what catches your eye, advertising is everywhere. Never have I seen such a place, on the one hand so accessible to art and on the other, people so connected to it. As there is always something going on and almost always affordable to all, it allows ones curiosity to grow into interest. In a nutshell, although in the world we are living in it is rarely the case, the luxury of an artistic education is here as it should be: accessible to all.

I’m not saying that madrileños, or Spaniards for that matter are more cultivated than others. I just feel that as Museums and the various exhibitions are for the most part free and on the run, it allows people to indulge their curiosity, nourish their imagination, and free their spirit. Having grown up with this access to creativity, the post-Franco generations feels more apt to express and share it. However, linking this fact with the relaxed culture of Spain and the relative openness of their ideas, I guess it should not feel as a surprise.

To conclude Spain wants to share an experience with you, don’t be shy and go for it. If you are curious enough, you’ll see that at some point it will become part of you and your vision of the Iberian culture. Set free the bohemian spirit within you.

by Isaure Cointreau

One night while I was walking down the street I was surprised by the number of people hanging out in front of the supermarket. From where I stood they looked pretty busy as if they had lost something. The closer I got to them I realized they were actually looking for something very specific: food.

Looking into the trash bags for edible fruit, meat and bread; they organized their finds in little piles carefully guarded by their partners. They didn’t look as hoboes or anything; they were just smart enough to take advantage of the situation. However I was pretty shocked of the amount of goodies they would later on take back home. The street then appeared to me as the illustration of the waste Capitalism makes us all contribute to. Though it made me realize the tragic fate of consumerism, I was still a bit skeptical upon Freeganism. Because I had so many questions upon this movement, I decided to join in as a tryout.

Apparently when the supermarkets close they take out all the products they cannot sell anymore so that an hour later they would be picked up by the garbage collectors. Since I saw the Freegans at 10h30 and the Carrefour closes at 10h, it made sense.

At 9 O’clock one night, a friend and I met up in Malasana to have a drink. Although the police was present the botellon on plaza 2 de Mayo was on. Dogs running around, their owner happily enjoying their friend’s company with beer or sangria, summer was in the air. In between conversations, I brought up the subject of dumpster diving. Explaining to Abby the movement and what I saw the other night, she agreed to join me. When our glasses were emptied we then moved to the supermarket for our little experience.

Just as expected, a bunch of people were checking out the belly of the bins at the exact same time. Stopping their activity for a few seconds, they all looked at us as if we were intruding. They seemed to all know each other, and it felt as if they were related, as one could feel somewhat of a family vibe going on. They were all Latin American looking women of different ages; some could be around 20 others maybe 60. It seemed pretty obvious that they had been there for a while as their bags were already full. I counted 5 of them.

Starting to put our hands to work, we found baguettes, steaks and salad. All were wrapped up in cellophane so the question of sanity needn’t to be asked. Seeing that we were actually going for it, the Freegan’s attitude changed completely. We started talking and they gave us bags to put our finds in. The wall between us had been destroyed as for a few minutes we would share a same motivation in the lookout for interesting products.

When we parted we could not believe the amount of stuff we had found, and the fact that all of this was considered waste felt incredibly wrong. Having a wild guess, the food we found altogether would have been able to feed at least 20 people. Considering this process takes place everyday, why not make a donation? I’m sure many shelters would be delighted by this contribution. Multiplying the number of supermarkets in Madrid to the amount of edible food that goes on the street, one gets a heartbreaking picture of perfectly avoidable waste. Although some people find it profitable to them, it still feels outrageous.

However I can’t help it wonder, does Starbucks‘s people by any chance carefully wrap up their muffins when they throw them out? 

by Stuart Yochem and Mary Doman

Two young American girls were about to take off for a summer in Madrid, neither of them knowing what the future would hold. In their first blog, readers will see that Madrid welcomed them, confused them, robbed them, got them lost… but somehow always led them back to a nice home and a soft bed.

Stuart: Only a week ago, I was sitting in my bedroom in Charlotte, North Carolina anticipating (or more accurately worrying myself sick) over what the next six weeks would bring. I was headed to Madrid solo, where I would take up a new lifestyle, job, and have to make friends all over again. It seemed that my adventurous nature escaped into a vast forest and was not planning on returning. Upon arrival, however, my fears and insecurities magically disappeared. In a matter of minutes, I became entranced with what I saw outside the taxi window en route to my new casa. Within three days, I began adapting the Madrileño life style, eating meals later and taking life slower. In no time, I realized that venturing to España may have been one of my best decisions yet.

Mary: Only a week ago, I was enjoying some drinks and conversation at my friend´s wedding. Between sips of Bud Light and bites of chicken fingers, I strained my ear to hear the jokes and high school stories of my lifelong friends over the loud classic rock band. I smiled and nodded. And they smiled and nodded back. A very American understanding, I´d say. After a while, we headed to the dance floor to join the traditional dance train and obnoxious sing-along to ¨Sweet Home Alabama.¨ The next day, I´d be leaving my sweet home in Tennessee for a casa in Madrid. Like Stuart, I was seeking after a new lifestyle, a new job, and new friends.

Day 1, Stuart: In my twenty-one years of life on this earth, I have yet to sleep on any moving object. As I stepped onto the US Airways jumbo jet in Philadelphia, though I had sleeping pills in tow, I anticipated the next eight hours would be filled with reading my new book, watching TV, and perusing the cabin while other travelers remained in deep slumber. Over the years, I have learned that instead of getting angry at all those people who can fall asleep on the spot, I must accept that motion insomnia is a part of who I am.

Upon arriving in the Barajas International airport, the color under my eyes turning darker by the minute, it took little time to collect my bags and make my way to the Instituto Internacional. As the taxi driver moved into Madrid, I suddenly forgot about my sleep deprivation and began marveling at my new surroundings. Other students in the program arrived within ten minutes, and most, looking and feeling as tired as I, were friendly from the start. After a two hour briefing on our new homes, school, and careers in Spain, I walked with my monster of a suitcase to my home stay, conveniently located two blocks from school.

After meeting all of my housemates, including my senora Juana, her two daughters, a family friend, a French exchange student, and a Spanish student from Alicante, all of whom were as nice as can be, I settled into my new room and lay down. The next thing I knew it was dark out, and time for my first homemade cena! It seemed, surprisingly, that I was settling in pretty nicely and warming up to the idea of a new home a new people.

Day 1, Mary: Unlike Stuart, I slept quite a bit on my first day (Or, depending on what time zone you´re in, my first and second day). A late night of packing, plus general excitement and anxiety, gave me a large sleep debt that I was happy to pay off on my way to Spain.
The napping began in Nashville, and continued to Chicago. I was nodding off towards Philadelphia when something actually startled me awake. No, not flight attendants with free pretzels, but rather, the pilot´s voice on the intercom, saying he had to turn the plane around. Something about a small technical problem, something else, something something something, but we weren´t in danger of crashing, so that was a good thing. The bad thing was that I would definitely miss my flight from Philadelphia to Madrid.

Back in Chicago, a US Airlines employee handed me a meal voucher and a ticket to Frankfurt, departing at 10 p.m. After that, I slept for 6 more hours in Chicago´s Terminal 2, taking a 2 hour break for a turkey sandwich and beer at a Chili´s bar. Then more sleep, more planes, yada yada yada.
I made the most of my short journey to Germany, though, by purchasing an overpriced soft pretzel in the airport! While I sat in the terminal eating it, I met a girl named Jacklyn, also heading to Madrid for the summer.

When our journey ended, finally, in the Barajas airport, Jacklyn and I rubbed our eyes and began a 2 hour quest to find our luggage, tucked away in one of the four baggage claim arenas. After we found it, my new friend Jacklyn informed me that she needed to call a friend to arrange a ride. She didn´t have any euros, and after the information desk didn´t understand/help us with the situation, we put our trust in the Spanish people. I asked a man in a coffee shop if I could borrow his phone, and handed his blackberry to Jacklyn, who stopped crying and called her friend. Jacklyn and I parted ways after that.

Instead of giving the taxi driver the address to my school, where I was supposed to go when I landed, I gave him the address of my homestay instead. It was 9 pm by this time, and I´m pretty sure I missed that group meet and greet/orientation that you enjoyed so much, Stuart! I didn´t know if my senora knew I was coming, but I didn´t have a phone, or her phone number, or any phone numbers, for that matter, to call.

Of course I had written the address down wrong in my diary, and my driver and I spent an additional 45 minutes driving in the wrong direction before we found my casa. We had good talks, though, about Obama and paella. He dropped me off, and I knocked at my senora´s door, where, luckily, she answered.

Despite my unique journey, my day one ended up just like yours, Stuart- a welcoming Senora, a nice dinner, and a good night´s sleep.

Day 2, Mary: Day two was going well! I managed to get in touch with the school, catch up on orientation, and meet with my internship advisor. Then I met some kids and we enjoyed a nice afternoon in El Parque Del Buen Retiro and our first Spanish beers. In part due to my academic and vocational progress, and also in part due to the beer, I was feeling very Spanish and very worldly when I stepped onto the metro for my first ride.

When I stepped off of the metro, I was feeling very touristy and very stupid. My purse was feeling very light, now that it was mostly vacant and my wallet (complete with an ATM withdrawal, credit cards, and a driver´s license!) was in the sneaky hands of a thief, long gone. I had been robbed.
My second night in Spain was similar to the first, but this time topped with tears and poverty. I managed to cancel my credit cards over Skype, and discovered that my laptop´s touchpad is surprisingly waterproof. My senora delivered a nice bocadillo right to my room, with a coke and a chocolate bar. Her act of kindness, I told myself as I lay in bed, could maybe cancel out the act of injustice I´d encountered for day 2…

Day 2, Stuart: It sounds like you had quite an eventful couple of days, Mary! First, missing your connecting flight and airport hopping through Europe, and second, when you finally get here, someone robs you! I think this means that things can only look up from here. Plus, your story gives both readers and myself reason to ferociously grasp onto our belongings, so in a way you were helping out mankind by being robbed on the metro. So thank you, thank you, Mary.

Mary: No problem.

Stuart: So, as a new day dawned, I made my way over to Fernando el Catolico for my first day on the job at EV. The morning turned out great and after meeting a lovely staff with whom I´d be working for the next weeks, I was off to the metro. En route to the Moncloa stop, I took a detour to check out what shopping in Madrid had to offer. All I can say is bravo. Lots of boutiques with lots of good prices. After my half hour detour, I came upon my first metro station in Madrid. Feeling accomplished after I purchased my first metro pass, changing trains without error, and making it to Ruben Dario, I was beginning to feel like a native! (or at least a native who looks and acts utterly American).

I exited the metro station and began walking up the hills towards what I thought was my calle. Wrong. Somehow, I made my way at least two miles away from Calle Miguel Angel. As an hour passed, I, stubborn as ever, refused to ask for directions. With time, however, the frustration settled in and I began asking passerbys to point me in the right direction. Funnily enough, no one seemed to know the street, or know which direction to point me in. Plus, it was quite difficult trying to re-hone my Spanish speaking skills. I began to encounter some pretty bewildering looks.

After two hours, I began to ignore the fact that I was completely lost and started admiring all the different neighborhoods and natives. I´ve had a bad sense of direction for quite some time now, so instead of going into panic mode, I´ve learned to just deal with my inadequate map reading skills. The street just takes me where it wants to, what can I say?

Throughout my time wandering about the city, I stopped in at a phone store, where I purchased my first Spanish cell phone! Proudly walking out of the store with pre-paid cell phone and mobile plan, which I later learned was a complete rip off, I went from bank to bank in an effort to change my dollars into euros. I must have forgotten that most banks close mid-afternoon for siesta, so my effort was doomed from the start. Exhausted from walking, I grabbed a coca cola light and sat at the park as young children dressed in full uniform greeted their parents after school. Oh to be young.
As I sat in the park, fully realizing that I was already an hour late for the lunch my Señora had prepared for me, I began a people-watching marathon and began to get what was so great about the carefree nature of the Madrileños. (For those who are interested, I did finally make it home where I was heartily fed and after a long day, I turned in early).

Day 3, Stuart and Mary: On our third day in Madrid, we met and became instant friends. After sharing stories of our first two days, we decided that we both needed a coffee break. Stuart paid, of course. We sat in a Spanish bar for quite some time. Speaking English was a relief for both of us, and we bonded over senora stories and ideas for the summer. We began brainstorming our first blog entry. This is it.