I've been a coughing, sneezing, congested fury of mucus for over a week and I know the culprit who plagued me. It was the moving underground tin den of disease that carries the denizens of Madrid. The Metro. It's full of sweaty, stinky bodies who see fit to sneeze, wheeze and cough spittle on their cringing fellow commuters. As English Teachers rushing about town from company to company, we spend a average of 2 to 4 hours daily riding these incubators of maladies. And some diseased travellers like to leave fresh deposits for the unsuspecting masses. M told me the other day of a large bloodied hork someone left on a seat on the dark blue line. In a show of camaraderie, M notified those who bee-lined for the free seat and in turn, those who were warned about the tri-coloured phlegm warned others. But not everyone was willing to listen. One young man shrugged off all warnings of no and mira and sat down heavily in the bloodied mucus. How he will later make the discovery and rue his dismissal of the kindly warnings, I can only speculate. But I'll bet the experience will stay with him..
On another Metro related note.. I'm getting really tired of being the target of Romanian gypsies on the take in the crowded Metro. Yesterday was incident number 3. The first time, two women followed me down the hill into Atocha station pretending to be lost but really unzipping my bag. Fortunately they got nothing from me. Second time, a little gypsy girl got her nimble fingers into my jacket pocket on a sardine packed Metro and made off with my wallet. Yesterday, a couple of guys tried their luck on yet another crowded carriage. I got on with my backpack in front of me. I noticed the dudes getting cozy with me. One of them had his jacket draped over his arm - a sure sign of a thief. Although there was hardly room to move, I immediately put my bag between my legs. They tried talking to me, pointing at my book (a Homage to Catalonia by Orwell) and asking me if I was from India. I pointed at my book and told him this is English and I am Canadian. They got off at the next stop. When I got off at Lavapiés, I noticed that the front zipper of my bag had been unzipped. I don't put anything in the front but pens and pads so they got nothing but I was still very annoyed. I was sharp enough to move my bag but not fast enough to avoid an unzipping. Damn those thieving scumbags. Damn them!
Nov 14, 2008
Nov 2, 2008
and the best costume goes to..
..this Spanish woman whose name I can't remember because I had a little too many brandy alexanders before and during the Halloween party. But I do remember that her greenness mesmerized me. I recently read Wicked by Gregory Maguire, which tells the story of the life and times of Elphaba, the wicked witch of the west. Her story haunted me and this lady's costume brought the spirit of Elphaba to life.
Wicked makeup and costume!
On a disappointing note, two thirds of the party goers didn't get dressed up. Why attend a Halloween dress up party and not dress up? Booo! Boo especially to those lazy Americans who should've known better and ought to have shown a little spooky spirit!
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