My last night in Madrid I went out for drinks with a few colleagues and friends close to Puerta del Sol, which was a huge mistake by the way--anything in this area is about three times the normal cost. In any case, at some point a homeless (or crazy...or both) man began shouting at the owner of the bar where we were seated. He wandered back and forth echoing a lovely chorus of ‘‘hijo de puta” y “cabrone”, which will not be translated here. The waiters in the bar engaged him and the situation escalated to the point where said homeless man went...got a metal pole and returned--at this point my compañeros were vacating the premises. By the time the owner went and got a bat I was gone...gone...outta there and where were my compañeros….sitting there, watching. The homeless guy had backup, which we found out when his cousin came running toward the bar with another metal pole.
At this point I was completely flabbergasted--you like that word don’t you. Firstly, by the behavior of these clearly crazy spanish men and secondly by my friends lack of desire to get the hell outta dodge. By the time the police showed up, my friends interest in the situation had abated and the began to look around for me...outta sight, guys.
The first thing they say to me? “Why did you run away?” The first thing I say to them….”why didn’t you”.
Apparently, my reaction was a dead give for where I’m from. In my country, when events start to escalate (smart) people bounce, why? Because in the great US of A people carry things called guns...and you don’t want to be around for someones’ mental breakdown.
In Spain, people don’t own guns….period. Our ready access to them, despite the process, is something rather shocking for most Spaniards. In Spain, as long as you are out of reach of a knife or bat, there is no imminent threat. That being said, my reaction was the one that didn’t make any sense.
The same happened a few nights earlier. Walking down Gran Via with a friend, I can across a dwarf peeing on a trash can in plain sight, whilst cursing at it. When he was finished, he started kicking it and cursing louder. My response? Walk faster! Spaniards’ response...stop and watch. I had to physically move said individual along.
He was equally confused by my response. I honestly didn’t think much of it at the time. Maybe I should give him a call and explain my ‘paranoia’.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m not suggesting for an instant that I walk around (at home) with a constant fear of being shot. It is, however, nice to know that the chances are practically nil, walking around Madrid at 5 a.m. even in the parts that are super ghetto.
Conclusion: move to Spain. Vacation in the USA.
Currently: coming to you from Washington, D.C. Shall post pics and info from the Granada/Nerja trip soon. Huwa da, hasta pronto!
0 comments:
Post a Comment