A while back I mentioned that my initial plan was to move to
Barcelona “until I discovered Madrid”. Well, here is why that is.
I was very lucky on my first trip to Madrid – it coincided
with “La Paloma” (The Dove). La Paloma is a magical time in Madrid,
when the streets of the central barrio
(neighbourhood) of La Latina cram full of families, young people, old people, Chulapas and Chulapos (see below), bewildered but delighted tourists – everyone.
Its roots are religious, La Paloma is a sort of patron saint of the city, but
as so often happens in Madrid and Spain, the religious and the social swirl
together into a whirlwind of colour, dancing, food, drink and general fun.
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| Chulapas & Chulapos |
There is a procession: the portrait of La Virgen (the Madonna) of La Paloma is carried on high from the
church where she hangs during the rest of the year, through the streets of the
barrio, accompanied by the woodwind and percussion bands that mark most religious
processions and led by Madrid’s bomberos
(firemen) of whom she is the (unofficial) patron. But this procession is just a couple of hours bookended by a
couple of days of other festivities.
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| La Paloma's portrait being carried through La Latina |
La Paloma represents so much of what Madrid is, and why it
enchanted (and still enchants) me. Everything is full to over-flowing: the
narrow streets, the typically tiny bars, the tables and chairs crammed into the
squares. The noise is thunderous: patrons yelling orders at the barmen, punters
in bars or in the street singing along at the top of their voices to traditional songs or trashy Spanish pop, DJs blaring tunes out into the street from the
younger (or gayer) watering holes.
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| La Latina's streets crammed with La Paloma revellers |
Madrileños are most comfortable when outdoors and in
throngs. Even the solemn and haunting processions of Semana Santa (Holy Week) are massive, although strangely - eerily - quiet,
affairs. Madrileños attend these processions in their thousands, year after
year, to catch a glimpse of their favourite Virgen
or Jesús (Jesus) pass by them, held
high on staggeringly elaborate alters.
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| One of Madrid's many Virgens in procession during Samana Santa |
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| The rather creepy-looking Nazarenos during Semana Santa |
Being smack-bang in the middle of the country, there’s no
seaside to congregate along, like in Barcelona, so in Madrid it is all about
the street (or local square). And especially at night.
There is a wonderful scene at the end of Almodóvar’s film “Carne Trémula” (“Live Flesh”), where Victor,
stuck in traffic and trying to get his girlfriend to hospital to dar a luz (give birth – literally “give light to”), attempts to distract his son-to-be from arriving in the taxi, by telling him about the
Madrid of his birth, also on the way to hospital, at night, back in the days of
the dictatorship:
“Look at the footpath full of people. When I was born, there
wasn’t a soul in the street. The people were shut up in their houses, scared
shitless. Fortunately for you my son, in Spain, we stopped being scared a long
time ago.”
Maybe this has something to do with Madrid’s liveliness; maybe
the Madrileños are making up for the 40 years they lost whilst being forced to deny
their nature. Whatever the reason, these teeming nighttime streets fascinated
and thrilled me from the start.
Different urban “tribes” do favour particular barrios over others, but the segregation
never feels as complete as in some other places. Perhaps it’s because the
barrios are pretty close to each other, so people tend to spill from one into the other.
Also, all are still home to their vecinos
de toda la vida (residents who have lived there all their lives) who share
their streets, squares and even bars with their new(ish) neighbours.
But if I had to generalise, the barrio demographics go like this: Chueca for your gays, Malasaña your Hipsters
(or as we call them in Spain, “Modernos”), around Sol and in Las Letras your
tourists and Lavapies, an amazing mix of many: your grungier, arty/designer-types,
Muslim immigrants (it was here, in the locotorios (internet and long distance phone-call
shops), cafes and curry houses that the 11-M bombings were planned), Chinese
fashion wholesalers and your young gays, who have begun moving here as Chueca
has got too expensive. Some friends of mine visiting from Australia a while
back got themselves “lost” in Lavapies, emerging some time later in possession
of some of Morocco’s rather prized export…
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| Chueca during Orgullo (Gay Pride) |
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| Vecinas de toda la vida in Malasaña |
And then back to La Latina. This is one of Madrid’s oldest
areas - the buildings lining the narrow Cava Baja street are built on the foundations of Madrid’s ancient Moorish city wall. It rocks
during Madrid’s most important festivals (like La Paloma) but the rest of the
time, it’s the place to be on a Sunday afternoon, when it’s myriad tapas
bars fill to overflowing with all manner of Madrileños, looking to soak up the
last hours of the weekend.
Here we are again at the Madrileños love of sharing experiences. There's a timetable to living in Madrid: Saturday afternoon is un paseo (a walk) through Sol and the central shopping district,
Saturday night Chueca, Malasaña or Lavapies, Sunday morning “El Rastro”, a
massive flea market that has been going on forever, and Sunday afternoon, the tapas bars of La
Latina. These traditions feel rather small-town-in-the-big-city (more than 4 million people live in Madrid). And it's nice. You always know where you can find the crowds, if you're in the mood.
There’s so much more to tell about life in Madrid, but it’ll
have to wait for another time. For now, I hope I’ve given you a little taste of
why Madrid me enganchó (hooked me)
and has never has let go, even though I’ve left there… for now.
