Introducing Thanksgiving (II)

A slightly delayed Thanksgiving dinner for friends has an unexpected complication...and an unexpectedly lovely gift.

As the "Semana de Black Friday" does not involve any actual non-work days, and as my (generally free) Friday was slightly occupied with the Colegio Estados Unidos de America this week, I invited my oldest Madrid friends (the grandparents of the second-grader I know at the Colegio EEUU) to come and have modified traditional Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday.  All in all, and in spite of one unexpected bump in the road (I think now smoothed out), it was a huge success, and a great joy.

Introducing Thanksgiving (I)

In which I make a brief attempt to be a "cultural ambassador" and learn about the "Colegio Estados Unidos de América."
 

Friday morning I headed to a new neighborhood in Madrid (I keep discovering new ones), tucked away "between the river and the M-30" as the friend who invited me put it, to visit the impressively named (and adorable) Colegio Estados Unidos de América, the public school where my friend's son is in second grade, on a mission to show the students a genuine denizen of the mysterious place for which their school is named, and to explain the origins of the Semana de Black Friday.  (Not something the children - or for that matter Spanish adults - were terribly interested in, but which I felt obligated to do.)

Where to buy a menorah in Madrid (Part II)

Mission accomplished!  Menorah in situ and ready to go!

I realized I promised to let people know about my trip to Los Olivos Librería y Distribuidora Solidaria, so while this is a few days old, I should let people know that I have successfully purchased a (somewhat whimsical) menorah (see above) which I feel is a nice nod to the oil in the story without the full of dealing with oil and wicks and so on.  (It also believe it or not was one of the less expensive ones in the store.)  Here it is, with candles, all ready to go, except for the tiny problem (which occurred to me forcibly when doing yoga last week, probably because there are lit candles in the studio) that I don't have any matches.  At home I rely on the gas flame of my stove to light candles in an emergency, but as I have an electric stovetop here that's not an option.  So I have to remember to buy matches sometime over the next couple of weeks.  (I was thinking about this while doing yoga and was upside down in a shoulder stand thinking "tengo que comprar...mechas?  No, una mecha is a wick...cerillas!  Tengo que comprar cerillas."  It's amazing what comes up when your mind is relaxed at yoga.)

On (not) celebrating Thanksgiving and parallel neighborhoods

I was expecting to make a big thing of Thanksgiving, but I find that I'm ok finding analogies, rather than exact equivalents.

[UPDATED 11/26/17 with pictures]
 
First off, apologies for not blogging for several days.  I've had my usual interesting and happy routine, and while various things are going on, none of them seemed blog-worthy, though now looking at the posts I see that I have to do a few follow up entries since I left my faithful readers hanging about a couple of details.  I promise those are forthcoming, but this is a special (not quite) Thanksgiving blog.

All this week has been "Semana de Black Friday" and according to the TV ads it will remain "Semana de Black Friday" until November 27.  This reminds me of nothing so much as a line in El Intermedio when in response to a headline "Corruption trials dog the leadership of the PP" the host El Gran Wyoming remarked, "¿En serio?  Esto será Día de la Marmota.  O más bien de la Gaviota."  (There's an untranslatable rhyme there, since the Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day is "Día de la Marmota" in Spanish, and the logo of the PP is a stylized blue seagull -- una gaviota.)  Black Friday ten days in a row does seem a bit groundhog day.  It also rather annoys me because Thanksgiving is one of the few holidays I actually celebrate with family, and I've always found the idea that somehow the focus is not supposed to be on being grateful for having enough to eat and wanting to share good fortune with others but really shopping slightly offensive.  Taking away Thanksgiving and leaving only the offensive part seems like a real shame.

Adventures in reprografía

"Oh, my gosh, how are you going to read that?"

exclaimed the Complutense lecturer whose class I guest taught on Monday when I ran into him by the coffee machines on my way out of the BNE today, and showed him the fruits of my labors, namely the paper pictured below:

Page from Rafael Alberti's notebooks. Go ahead, enlarge it and try to read it. I dare you.

Yes, this is the page I found yesterday at the end of my day, that gave rise to yesterday's long entry, and yes, I have succeeded in printing relatively decent copies from the microfilm (with the help of the nice white-coated microfilm attendant who kindly shook the toner and switched me from one machine to the other so I could make copies that did not have streaks).

As to the answer to "how am I going to read it?" the answer is "with difficulty."

I have yet to go to the "servicio de bibliografía y búsqueda" where you can consult a librarian, but that is on the schedule.  I may take the copy and throw myself on the librarian's mercy and ask to look at the original instead of the microfilm.  (The staff in the Sala Cervantes greet me by name now when I show up, so perhaps they'll put in a good word.)

In the meantime, I have made a little progress today, in that I think I at least know what I'm looking at besides sketches of giant heads that Rafael Alberti should have used a clean page for.  (I bet in elementary school he got very bad marks for penmanship.  I did not properly appreciate Dorothy Peterson and Langston Hughes, never mind real copper-plate writers like Bunny Rucker properly until trying to decipher him.)

I'm sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting ti -- A NIBBLE! A NIBBLE!

It's probably nothing, and may slip off the line, but today's fishing expedition had a sudden tug at the fly....

Aside from fishing metaphors, I have to say that it is difficult to convey the feel of the detective work of doing research.  I can think of two works of fiction that have done it, the German film The Nasty Girl (Das schreckliche Madchen) and Javier Cercas' novel Soldados de Salamina.  (The film version of the latter fails signally at this.)  The moment when the main character in the film finally sees an opportunity to see papers in "the poison cabinet" is more exciting than all the firebombing and emotional turmoil that comes before and after.  And the moment when the main character in the novel says grimly "in alphabetical order" when he decides to call information about every nursing home in Lyons in among the laughter and groans there's a little quickened heartbeat.  But mostly it's hard to capture what it's like to look for something for a long time, and what it's like when you (maybe) find something which (maybe) is (close to) what you're looking for.

I have to say that most of the time when I'm going through archives I'm happily interested in all kinds of stuff that I know is completely irrelevant, and simply tell myself that it's all "background information" or that I'm "getting to know" the character of the person I'm researching.  But I've been getting a little bored and discouraged (my happy teaching day yesterday was also not a day at the BNE), and today I'll be honest and admit I was bored.  I decided to walk part of the way between the university and the BNE this afternoon after lunch, and ended up miscalculating the distance of the walk and walking for longer than I planned, so I arrived at the BNE late (around 5:00 in the evening, and I wanted to get to yoga by 7:30, or 7:45 at the latest).  I was tired, and not feeling particularly inspired, but determined to get back into the routine of research, because routine is what keeps you going through tough spots.  I was a little cheered by being greeted with smiles and nods of recognition by the security people and the librarians at the BNE, who all know me by now, since I come regularly (again, routine helps).  I requested the roll of microfilm I had been working my way through, threaded it into the machine like the expert I have become, and scrolled along to the place I had left off according to my notes.

If I could turn back time...

I had a long and productive day today which was a strange mirror image of a past life.

I woke up fairly early this morning (for me) and headed merrily off on a Monday to an informational session at the Complutense for students in the "estudios ingleses" program about their study abroad options.  I had been invited by my Complutense mentor to speak about opportunities to study in the US in general, and the Fulbright program in particular, because the students who study English mostly focus on the UK and "no se dan cuenta de que el Brexit va en serio."  The beginning of the session was marked by the sad uncertainty that has hung over many things swamped by the politics of stupidity lately, as the professors urged the students to apply now for an Erasmus year in the UK, and if doing less than a full academic year to do the first semester or trimester abroad next year, before March 29, 2019 at 11:00 PM ("hora de Londres, naturalmente" as my mentor put it) when in the words of Yes, Minister "the curtains come down, the lights go out, and the balloon goes up."

Where to buy a menorah in Madrid (Part I)

 

A tale of syncretism, cultural generosity, and general weirdness

As I may have mentioned, friends of mine here in Madrid have invited me for 24 December ("nochebuena" in local parlance) so that I'm not lonely over the holiday.  I said that of course I would be glad to come if I was around, and mentioned that I normally spend the Christmas break in Puerto Rico with my parents, and the tradition of the midnight swim on December 31.  (I don't know if now with no beach the midnight swim will happen again, but let's hope that it does soon, and that the water isn't too polluted for the "underwater fireworks" of phosphorescence.)  "So do you not celebrate Christmas because you're Jewish?" asked the kind friend who had just extended the invitation.  When I confirmed that this was the case she said, "Oh, that's why you talked about New Year's instead."

To be clear, my friend knows that I am Jewish, she just wasn't sure if that was why I didn't celebrate Christmas.  I didn't have the heart to tell her that if I was a practicing Jew the "New Year" would be in September.  Spaniards really mean it when they naively claim that lots of Christian celebrations are cultural and not religious, mostly because they can't quite imagine life without them.  (Nor did I explain that most Americans over the age of ten wouldn't be particularly bothered about Christmas Eve since the celebration even for American Christians is on Christmas Day.  No point in making things too complicated.)  Since I felt I ought to reciprocate for the kind Christmas invite, I said that my friends should come and bring their kids for one night of Hanukkah, which is a nice kid-friendly celebration, and which they would enjoy as exposure to a new culture.  They were quite pleased with the idea and agreed to come if possible ("porque las tradiciones así son bonitas" as my friend explained, when adding that although they were not religious they put a "Belén" or creche scene for their kids at Christmas).  I am most happy to invite them, and will even try for traditional food, although latkes without a food processor may be a challenge.  (Perhaps I can borrow a food processor from someone?  Or buy pre-shredded potatoes?)  I have also decided (in the interests of cultural ambassadorship, and being a good host to people who have been super-nice to me) that I will try to get ahold of a dreidel and look up the half-remembered rules to the game so they can enjoy playing it.  (Chocolate coins for gambling are at least no problem.  Along with its acres of Christmas turrones in all possible flavors and several that are probably impossible my local Mercadona has started selling little baggies of chocolate euros in appropriate gold and silver foil.  As with "El Halloween," candy makers don't miss a trick, or a holiday.)  But this leaves the important problem of buying a menorah.

Heat vs. Hot Water

Why you should turn (or leave) the thermostat down (or off) before taking a shower.

This is an entry for my house-owning and home-repair minded readers.

Madrid's temperature differentials continue to confuse me.  According to the internet, the lows in Madrid and New York are about the same this week (around 2-4 C, or mid-thirties F), but the highs are vastly different.  New York today has a low of 3 and a high of 9 (Celsius) and Madrid has a low of 4 and a high of 18.  (Or between about 37 F and about 48 F vs. between about 39 F and about 65 F.)  Aside from the fact that this makes it difficult to dress properly (except "like an onion" as one Spaniard picturesquely put it), it also makes turning on the heat an interesting conundrum.  At night, I'm snuggled under lots of quilts, and quite warm even with the thermostat turned down to about 10 C.  In the late afternoon, I hardly need the heat on at all.  Unfortunately, the coldest part of the day is the morning, generally between 7:00 and 10:00 AM which makes getting up at a reasonable hour even harder than normal for me.  I thought I had worked out a system, but in a new apartment with a new heating system you learn something new every day.

Mastodons in the Metro

As the late Terry Pratchett wisely said of his city, "mostly what Ankh-Morpork was built on was Ankh-Morpork."  But sometimes you find -- as it were -- the Fifth Elephant.

(Yes, that was a joke for my fellow Pratchett friki fans.)

There are "museums" all over the Madrid metro of things found while digging it.  Opera has the "Caños del Peral," the remains of the sixteenth century water system.  Chamberí has the "ghost station," a fully restored image of what the metro looked like one hundred years ago, when it first opened.  But I am out in what was countryside until the 20th C, and was a separate village as late as the 1940s.  So when the metro got here there was no urban archeology.  On the other hand, there were mammoths.  Seriously, mastodons.  Also a bunch of other creatures who seem to have liked the Carabanchel area when it was a grassy savannah in the Miocene Period about fifteen million years ago.

So naturally, Carpetana has a mammoth museum.

Entrance to the Carpetana Metro station.  See picture of mammoths at left, by ticket machines.

What's in your wallet?

With all due respect to Capital One, not too many American credit cards anymore.

I've been comfortably settled in for a while now, but yesterday (Friday) I finally completed the long process of getting a tarjeta de identidad de extranjero (or TIE), and am now the official possessor of a Spanish identity card, complete with color photo on the front and (smudgy) fingerprint on the back.  This makes me a completely legal and registered and fichada resident of Spain, at least until the end of June, and also means that my número de identidad de extranjera has now been recorded in so many places that it will follow me for the rest of my life if I ever decide to live here for the long term.  So that's a relief.

It also means that my wallet is filled with little plastic id cards that identify me as a madrileña.  I now have my TIE (which I have placed in the clear plastic folder where I keep my driver's license, in front of said driver's license), and also my Banco Sabadell cards (registered to my local branch), my red multi-tarjeta for the metro and bus (and bike share), by white and blue polideportivo membership card, and my blue and white Biblioteca Nacional "investigadora" card.  In honor of all these forms of photo id (and deference to my wallet not straining too much), I have ceremonially removed my NYC library card and my NYC ID, which I was carrying for sentimental reasons.  While I do still have my driver's license and insurance and student id cards (things which in an emergency it would be good to have), my wallet is starting to look more local.  This just goes to show (something that a lot of flag-wavers here have been trying to hide) that when people talk about patria and homeland, and also about "integration" and "assimilation" of immigrants, really what they're talking about is what's in your wallet (of which cash, which comes out of ATM machines generally, is usually the least important thing).  Respect to Capital One's advertising firm, for coming up with a slogan which captures the essence of modern identity.

Surprise! Not the holiday you're expecting!

La fiesta de la Almudena is an object lesson in fitting in by being yourself.

As fans of Luis Berlanga's Bienvenidos, Mr. Marshall will know, Spaniards were slightly aggrieved by being left out of the Marshall plan just because they technically were neutral during the Second World War.  The gleaming Cuatro Torres north of Chamartin and even the much humbler buildings around me are a testament to Spain's eventual ability to at least somewhat recover without outside help (though average inherited wealth here remains less than in other parts of Europe, because more people were starting with less).  Spain also managed to be neutral during World War I. At the time, that was actually clever, since I understand Vitoria/Gasteiz had the benefit of selling arms without worrying about using them, and Spain started the 1920s less devastated than its neighbors to the north.  However, this now means that everyone else in Europe gets a holiday on November 11.  Even the US gets a holiday on November 11.  And Spain has no day off.  This is a patent injustice, especially since I'm told by Belgian friends that November 1 is a holiday elsewhere in Europe too, so it's not as if last week's random day off is a fair substitute.

The rest of Spain just has to suffer the injustice.  But not Madrid.

Funny/Not Funny

 

The news by newspaper and the news by mail only occasionally converge...

I got a piece of mail from Banco Sabadell today.  For a moment I wondered whether it might be something retro like a paper account statement in spite of their spiffy smartphone app, and then I worried that it might be some kind of bill.  But when I got upstairs and opened it I discovered a form letter (in English, since my account was set up in that language - they do have good software) addressed to "Dear Sir/Madam" and informing me "personally" that the bank's Board of Directors has decided as of October 5 to relocate their registered offices to Alicante in order to "fulfill [the bank's] commitment to take the necessary measures to ensure at all times the proper legal security and protection of the interests of its customers."  No particular reason.  They just want me to know that I definitely should not panic and withdraw money, and that they've always thought Alicante was lovely at this time of year (which I'm sure it is).

Book hands vs. document hands

Paleography training comes in useful with the microfilms at the BNE

After sitting in on an exceptionally fun morning class about Ayala's story "El Inquisidor" (which I maintain is not really about the Inquisition at all, but rather about various unfortunate mid-twentieth century events that involved conversion and true believers), and hurrying to do a quick but happy yoga practice (I'm practicing going into headstands with one leg at a time straight instead of squeezing my knees into my chest first), I stopped for a quick salad for lunch, and then hit the BNE in the afternoon.  I was most shocked to find that there was an actual line to check in (only about four people, but still), and further startled to see that the statues of Isabel II and the statue on the right (who I can't remember but might Zorrilla or someone similarly modern) are under scaffolding at the moment.  Humph.

Although the BNE is usually pretty empty in the afternoons I was startled to find that the two "modern" microfilm machines were being used when my microfilm arrived (and not by the red bearded gentleman who had been using the other one all last week), so I was forced to use the "old" machines that don't print.  Not a problem.  What was a problem was that after fifteen minutes of plugging in machines and switching out parts the nice white-coated librarian (like a lab technician in her white coat) apologized and said none of the old machines were fully working, and I could either advanced the roll by hand, or go over to "revistas" and see if they had a free machine.  I elected to advance the machine by hand, and was rewarded after about two minutes by one of the new (e.g. working) machines becoming free.  I planted myself in front of it, and tried to not envy the guy next to me who was transcribing onto a laptop what looked to me like a ridiculously clear and easy to read text that looked like a drama of some sort.

A new season

Now that "El Halloween" is over, it's one long commercial slide until Three Kings Day, without Thanksgiving to break the Fall

Update (7 November): I have discovered that the heat in my apartment works perfectly...if you turn on the thermostat.  Good Things to Know.

Due to a misunderstanding with my US bank (eventually cleared up as a software error after half an hour of my free cell phone minutes on the phone with tech support), I had occasion to remember that today is actually the two month anniversary of my arrival in Spain.  In a way it feels like I arrived yesterday, and in a way New York seems vague and unreal.  (I know it's election day there tomorrow, and I even have opinions about the propositions on the ballot, but it all seems far away.)  The here and now is all about taking care of beginning-of-the-month stuff here in Madrid: paying bills, renewing memberships at yoga and the pool, trying to remember when I have to buy another monthly unlimited "multi-tarjeta" for the metro and bus.

Merluza and the Life of Brian - the BNE cafeteria

Research continues.  No breakthroughs.  But amusements.

I spent the better part of three hours transcribing María Teresa León's speech on the "Escuela Hispano-Americana" today, from its very light pencil in her very hurried handwriting.  (She wrote nicely for short stories she was planning to type.  These were more notes for a lecture, and were pretty scribbly.)  I did google it to make sure it wasn't completely wasted effort, and I think at least I've preserved the gist, although my paleography training came in handy in a few places, where I just left ... to signify words or letters I couldn't make out.

Unfortunately, it makes no direct reference to my authors, but it's interesting as a European's view of the Americas (or more specifically as a Spaniard's view of Argentina) in 1940.  It's an odd (but not at all unfamiliar to me) mix of arrogance and pleading.  The school, as far as I can tell from the speech, was designed to have European (Spanish exile) instructors for local children, and although the outline she scribbled for herself at the beginning is supposed to include an "elogio a America" it's mostly about how much the teachers have to offer, since they can explain not only books but also the lived experience of anti-fascist struggle.  What the children (and their families) have to offer is of course a living to the teachers.  All in all it's an odd sample of someone begging and hating to beg.  I also don't think I'm imagining it that the writing gets clearer in the sections where she's talking about the ways Europe has let her down and fallen apart than in the rather vague generalities about the promise of America.  When she writes "Cuando les dijimos del éxodo de Milagros y del martirio de Guernica nos apartaron con su desden enfadadas. Los franceses no quisieran oirnos." the words are nice and clear.  But most of the other sentences have words I can't make out.  It could be my faulty knowledge of Spanish or of her handwriting, but I like to imagine that she was pressing the pencil very hard when she got angry, and so her anger made her words last longer.

Surprise! Holiday!

Forget "El Halloween."  November 1 is a big holiday here.

As I've written, my Madrid friends complain that they're being "contaminated" by "El HAlloween" and that this is what comes of slavishly imitating everything Anglo-Saxon.  I admit I was amused last night by the number of people of all ages in costume, though I note that none of the children in costume were carrying plastic pumpkins for their loot.  Since every supermarket has been selling plastic pumpkins filled with candy for a month I can only assume that Spaniards haven't gotten the hang of trick-or-treating yet, and just give children large amounts of candy at parties.  (That was what seemed to be happening in a little square in the pueblo when I rode home last night, and several children in costume were gathered around one of the picnic tables reaching into a bag an adult was holding for them, while they had the traditional Spanish children's party, which involves children running around a plaza or playground while adults sit and hang out.)

Parking, pencil, and "fondos reservados." More Adventures at the BNE

Sometimes the lack of progress is discouraging, but the process of rummaging in archives is always fun.

Yesterday I experimented with using the bike for transportation all day instead of the metro.  On balance (when I don't get lost), it's faster point to point on the downhills, about the same on flat ground, and slower on uphills.  So, overall, about the same speed.  And the uphills are pretty brutal.  I may be forced to return to the metro on days when I move around a lot.  (Unfortunately, yoga sits on very high ground, so getting there is a challenge.)

In any case, yesterday I headed from the university over the BNE by bike (essentially a west to east trajectory).  I arrived, and searched for parking where I could have sworn I had seen bike racks.  No bike racks.  I circled the large gracious sweep in front of the big library steps.  No bike racks.  Finally, desperate and not completely happy about the option, I prepared to lock my bike to a metal U that marked the spot of a garbage can in front of a car parking space.  I was just maneuvering the lock into position when an older lady, somewhat formally dressed, hailed me and said "¿Te han dicho que puedes aparcar allí?"  I was prepared to be huffy and annoyed, but I started out by being humble, and said that there was no other available place.  ("Es que no hay otro sitio.")  "Sí, que lo hay," she said, to my utter surprise.  "Está allí a la izquierda, un poco escondida."  At first I thought she was just trying to be rid of me, but then we walked around the one side of the building I had not explored because I hadn't thought it was worthwhile, and there indeed was a long, low, completely empty bicycle rack.  I thanked her profusely, and she smiled and said she was glad to help, and that locking my bike unofficially in the front was bad because it was "más a la vista" (more visible, presumably to thieves), and also of course vulnerable to being bumped by cars.  Lesson learned: never pre-judge formally dressed older ladies who you think are going to be disapproving.