A preface for the next blog: If by some fortunate fate of the gods you end up in Madrid and you like to read and want to meet cool people who
also like to read go to Desperate Literature. Just off of Plaza de Isabella II, it sits at the end of a narrow curved calle. Inside Fench,
English, and Spanish fiction and nonfiction line the shelves. In the back, a
small chessboard is adorned with a “Please Play!” sign. Certain books, when
purchased, come with a shot of whiskey; tea and biscuits at the appropriate
hour; but most importantly, Charlotte, who’s there to offer you cold water, or
her considerable literary ken. She recommended Leaving the Atocha Station by Ben Lerner, the inspiration for the following style of my blog posts and inspiration beyond the blog. Desperate
Literature is a jewel.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Leaving and it's Lead Up
Hey there reader, consumer of my words, thanks for doing so. I'm doing this for those curious about mi vida en España and for myself so I have something to look back on before this summer is over.
I'll be posting updates about Spain and Madrid, but also other creative writings, which may or may not have anything to do with Spain. Thanks for reading!
Yes, yes I
definitely was but I'm sorry to say I had begun to look past my time there. It had become easy
to sort of forget about going. I mean I always knew, but it was some off in the
distance thing like graduation when you’re a freshman.
But then I started to
pack.
Then I was dropped off at the airport and flew all night.
Then all the big bold print on
signs was in Spanish.
Then the cab
driver spoke no English (wait, that’s pretty much the same). I recited the
address I had been practicing over and over in my head, "Calle Nuria, Noventa y tres."
"Veinte?"
"No. Noventa, por favor." And we were off, the Spanish radio on low. We arrived and I clumsily asked "How much?"
"Treinte." Mouth shut I handed him the thirty euro (euros?). He said Gracias and I turned to gaze, squint, through the high sun, at my home for the next three months. A big brick building with rows of small balconies and a surrounding complex of lawns, trees, y una piscina.
At the door I heard a gurgle of Spanish behind me, and turned to see a face awaiting an answer. “Sorry, no
hablo Español.” I was buzzed in by who turned out to be Pablo. He greeted me at the door
and showed me my room, the bathroom,
and the kitchen. I unpacked and Pablo got back to watching Garfield so I zonked
out.
Cinco cosas:
La cuenta, por favor: The bill please
Que es esto?: What is this?
Puedo tomar...: Can I have...?
Un café solo: espresso
Una cerveza por favor: A beer please
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