Showing the Flag

I paid my first visit to an embassy today.  (I've been to consulates in New York, but never an embassy.)  It was...interesting.

Some weeks ago a pair of polite "cultural affairs officers" at the US embassy emailed me, and said that they had been reviewing the projects of current Fulbrighters, and found my research topic "fascinating" and would love to get together and have coffee and hear about it.  I thought this was odd, but agreed (after checking with the Fulbright commission and LinkedIn that they indeed were who they said they were).  After some back and forth, and delays due to people having the flu and then being maybe possibly on furlough and then not again, we had our meeting today.  So I paid my first visit to the US embassy in Madrid, a compound of singular ugliness in this mostly gracious city, and had a (I must admit very nice) cafe con leche con hielo in the embassy cafeteria.  I would have much preferred to have both the coffee and the meeting in the Starbucks literally across the street from the embassy, but they seemed anxious to show me their offices, and introduce me to people, and explain what they do.  Within cultural affairs they have a "grants and education" division, and a social media division, and a few other things I can't remember, all set up in gray carpeted cubicles that look like something out of Dilbert, although the officers I met with each had their own office, with walls that went all the way to the ceiling and windows (they're on a high floor) that looked out over a courtyard that would have been prettier had it not been pouring rain, and also had it not been being used as a parking lot.

Long story short, after politely asking about my research and listening to me blither for a while, they said that they were looking for speakers to talk about various aspects of US-Spanish relations in history and culture, to various groups, including high school students, and also universities, adults, etc. and would I be interested in doing some speaking engagements to talk about my research.  Since blithering about research is pretty much what all PhD students do at the drop of a hat anyway, and since I certainly have no objection to talking about it, I said yes.  But I might have felt better about saying yes if I hadn't spent the morning before my appointment reading about how the CIA financed the Paris Review and the whole sordid history of the Congress for Cultural Freedom.  I don't particularly plan to censor what I'm going to say (and I doubt anything I say about stuff from between fifty and a hundred years ago is controversial), but I still feel like Edward Said and James Baldwin would disapprove.  Sorry, guys.

Spring-like evening, with cats

 

Having spent a few days feeling somewhat guilty about my lack of adventures, a quiet Sunday turned into a lovely confirmation of why I love this neighborhood.

I had nothing particular planned for this Sunday, which enabled me to have a long lazy breakfast, do some minor cleaning up, and then hang around and not do terribly much for most of the afternoon.  I had noted that the weather was an unseasonably warm 16 degrees (about 62) according to my phone, but couldn't quite believe it.

However, I had planned a minor quest today, to make sure that I got out of the house and stretched my legs.  As most things are mostly closed on Sundays (more on that later), I decided to head out to the Hipercor, where the Corte Inglés is open seven days a week, and where I had noted a while ago that they sold (a)Kikoman's soy sauce (I distrust the Heinz and other suspicious brands at the supermarket here which have added sugar) and (b)couscous.  Along with coconut water, I have been missing couscous.  (Also, it is the ultimate fast prepared food, and now that my yoga has shifted more toward the evenings I get home relatively late, and want dinner quickly.  Plus, I think couscous goes well with fish.)  However, couscous (along with chopped meat and coconut water) is one of the things which is mysteriously rare here.  I remembered seeing it at the Corte Inglés and found it, after a little searching, just separated from the main rice, pasta, and lentils aisle (legumbres) by a horizontal through aisle.  Also found the right kind of soy sauce opposite the couscous in the "salsa" section as opposed to the super-fancy and expensive soy sauce in the "comida internacional" section.  (There is an art to supermarket shopping.)

It was such lovely and unbelievably warm weather that even though the sun was already setting when I left the Corte Inglés I decided to take the long way home, and loop around past the pretty fountain and the little park and playground on the far side of the Hipercor, and then head along the Calle Laguna to the Via Carpetana, rather than just the boring Calle de la Oca.  For some reason most of the clothing stores (as well as the fruterias and restaurants) and also the video game trade-in place on the Calle Laguna were open, even though it was 7:00 PM on a Sunday.  I have no idea if this is a special Sunday, or if people were inspired by the spring-like temperatures, or if it's just that the Calle Laguna is awesome.  However, open it was, and there were people spilling along the sidewalks (and a fair number of children on scooters, even on the streets without open shops, because it was a nice evening, and children need to run around for exercise), and it was very low key and pleasant.

Subway poker face

On the way home today I faced the old New York dilemma...

When you hear people speaking Dutch on the metro do you correct their tranquil certainty that no one can understand them?

 The answer is no.  No, I do not.  On my way home this evening on a crowded train I found myself listening to two Dutch businessmen who got off at Callao.  (I was guessing they would get off at Gran Vía, and I was only one stop off, though then I thought maybe Opera.)  I think they had lived in Madrid for a while, as one of them mentioned his (presumably Spanish?) girlfriend taking Dutch classes just off the Gran Vía.  They were talking mostly about work I think (saying that someone was not very zelf-standige (self-motivated, or independent) and needed a lot of supervision but that it wasn't a situation that was going to go on for years and years so it was fine), and then reminiscing about getting drunk in Malasaña when they were young when we passed Chueca.  (The Chueca metro stop is painted in rainbows to celebrate gay pride, because it's a historically gay neighborhood.  They thought this was cute and probably nice for young gay people who arrived there and knew where to get off the train.)

The Chueca stop.  With rainbows.

Normally at home I feel it's a bit rude to not let people know when I can understand them (even if their conversation isn't deeply private and personal), and I probably would have made eye contact and smiled and given them some hint, but I had just had the metro stairs blocked (and therefore almost missed the train) by a trio of women speaking English to whom I took an instant dislike (because FFS, when it's nearly dinner time and people are trying to get home do NOT walk three abreast on a subway stair, and then turn to look behind you, notice someone is there and too polite to push past, and then resume your conversation and your stair blocking amble). One was a Spaniard, one an American, and one didn't speak. Given my instant antipathy, I had my local monolingual poker face firmly in place so I wouldn't be claimed as a compatriot by the obnoxious one, and it seemed a shame to waste it, especially since most Dutch speakers take me for Spanish anyway (though I think my sneakers are a dead giveaway here).

The light is coming back!

It's always cheerful when the days start to get longer...

Sorry for being temporarily in hibernation.  It was cold, and I was not doing much except working on my Peterson chapter.  But last week I happened to be by Príncipe Pío at around 6:00 PM, and noticed that the sky was dramatically orange with streaks of dark cloud and azure twilight, instead of being full dark as it's been at 6:00 PM for a while now here.  And today I had the opportunity to have a nice long walk home from the Gran Vía, and I took the "classic" route from the Plaza Mayor down the Calle de Toledo (so named because it was the road to Toledo, duh), through the Puerta de Toledo (or rather around it, because it's a traffic circle with a big impractical victory arch in the middle), down to the oft-photographed Puente de Toledo (source of the famous quote about the city having such a fine bridge that they should either sell it or rent a river), and then up the Calle General Ricardos and home (with a brief stop at the Mercadona for some groceries).  And at precisely 18:15 today, I took the following photo of the Puerta de Toledo:

Sunset at the Puerta de Toledo, today, looking out from Madrid toward Carabanchel and home....

#StopBlackface

 

We need to talk about race. (Part I)

Before I get started with what will probably be a long entry, here are two petitions that I've signed, and that I'd like to give some publicity to. I don't do social media, but all you faithful readers who are twitterati and facebook people, please feel free to signal boost:

First is Afroféminas campaign #StopBlackfaceinSpain about the Reyes Magos procession of Alcoy (in the Pais Valenciana), which has been declared a UNESCO "Patrimonio immaterial de la humanidad."  That's right, UNESCO says that having white people blacken their faces and dress up as slaves can't possibly be changed because it's of so much cultural value....to Europeans. FFS please help this get to the pathetic 5000 signatures they're asking. They should be asking for (and getting) 50,000.

Second is one of several petitions circulating to stop the "Nuit des Noirs" that forms part of the carnival in Dunkerque. Given the recent brouhaha about the French journalist Rokhaya Diallo being removed from a panel on the digital divide because she dared to use the words "racisme de l'Etat" it does seem worth noting that the city hall of Dunkerque sponsors this monstrosity.
 
If it's not obvious, this entry is going to be about blackface, about why many Europeans seem to think it's A-OK as long as it's not happening in the United States, and (most importantly) about the intelligent, articulate, and brave people who are fighting entrenched racism in Europe and who should be supported. I'm glad the New York Times and The Guardian have both picked up on the work of Rokhaya Diallo, but that's really just the tip of the iceberg. If you've already clicked the links above and signed the petitions it's too late, but just a warning that some of the images in the links below the jump may be disturbing.

Three Kings. Eight Reindeer. Twelve Days. Or What You Will.

Having ranted about the Christmas Fat Man, I thought I should fulfill my promise, and write about the Reyes Magos.

Christmas is over, and New Year's is passed, and in days of old I would be back at work today, as it's January 2.  But while today is kind of sort of technically not a holiday, anyone with children or teachers in the family still has this week off (ah, the tyranny of the school calendar), because nothing will happen or can happen until January 6, Three Kings Day.

The Reyes Magos (or "wise kings" as one Spaniard I know quaintly referred to them in English) have been appearing everywhere in Madrid on their long ride to bring gifts, possibly to el niño Jesus, but definitely (with the enthusiastic help of the Corte Inglés department store and many smaller merchants) to Spanish children (and preferably from the point of view of the merchants) adults as well.  Even with some exposure via Puerto Rico, the ongoing advertising frenzy here is really impressive.  There are already big bleachers set up all along the Paseo de la Castellana (like those set up for the Thanksgiving Day Parade on Central Park West in New York) in preparation for their grand arrival in Madrid this Friday (obviously they have to stop in Madrid Friday in order to get to Bethlehem by Saturday) in a Cabalgata (or more properly camel-gata), officially devoted to celebrating "the power of imagination and creativity."  I understand people are encouraged to arrive at least six hours early to see the parade from a good vantage point.  Fortunately, there are also local parades in other parts of Madrid.  I may check out the Carabanchel one, which parades down General Ricardos, which is conveniently within walking distance of my apartment, and which thanks to a relatively large contingent of non-Catholics in the neighborhood may be less well attended.  Will share photos if I end up going.

On religious expressions of culture and cultural expressions of religion

 

No, the Christmas Fat Man is not universal

Happy 2018, everybody! I have temporarily emerged from writing cave, and have time to do some reflections on the holiday season in Madrid. This is an entry I've been working at for a while, which is no longer completely contemporary, but still hopefully of interest. I kept meaning to revise it and then it kept getting longer. Sorry in advance.

The dreidels have arrived! (Note picture.) Sadly, I was not able to pick them up in time for nochebuena, so a couple of them still have to be delivered to their new owners, which they will be with a small delay, and a print out of instructions on how to play dreidel. And possibly also another delivery of chocolate coins, since the coins were super successful with my new young friends, who presented me with drawings and “a folder to keep secrets in” when they came over for nochebuena, and who had nearly as much fun spinning the chocolate coins (in the absence of dreidels) and timing how long they could make them spin as eating them. In general, I had a lovely and successful nochebuena with new friends this year, and managed to make latkes and let the kids play with the menorah, and generally have a nice conversation about various cultural traditions as well as the all important conversations about food. (The fact that I forgot to get matches and have an electric stove here meant that I had two candles left from the first night of Hanukkah, so the kids got to light them. They loved striking the matches, and lighting the candles, and also blowing them out. Playing with fire is fun.)