All photos by me.
To find out how I found this apartment, read Adventures in Piso Hunting (revisited): 19 was the magic number. To find out why I had to move from my last place read, Escape to Atazar.
Sep 4, 2009
Sep 3, 2009
Adventures in Piso Hunting (revisited): 19 was the magic number
I arrive with the blazing sun high in the sky. I check the address then check it again. Yup, right place. The building I am standing in front of is so ancient, it doesn't have a buzzer outside. I have an appointment to see a room inside so I call the woman to tell her I'm here. A few minutes later a young dark haired man peeks out the front door and motions for me to follow him. His natural ebullient chatter fills the lobby but can't distract my eyes from seeing the building's disconcerting state of neglect and decay. There's a layer of asbestos and plaster dust all over the floor and the piles of construction detritus that is scattered in the foyer. The building looks abandoned. He tells me he's just a friend who's staying for the week.
As we ascend, my hopes DEscend. The young fair haired Spanish woman showing the flat greets us at the door of the 3rd floor apartment. Kisses are exchanged and I am led in. The apartment is big but it looks a lot like a squat. It has dirty walls and a general derelict feel. There are two rooms on offer. One is small with a bunk bed. The other is very large but shabby with obsolete computer towers and guts lining the wall. She tells me both rooms are available and that she and her reticent Moroccan boyfriend would be happy to move into the smaller room if I would like their room. Warning bells ding dong and I get really creeped out. Waves of distrust wash over me and so I try to politely beat a hasty retreat. I smile and say 'no thanks' to water and while I engage in a little small talk about the neighbourhood, I am SURE this ain't the place for me. I smile more and thank them for their time and leave.
2 hours later I receive an email from her telling me off. They have been stewing and they've decided that they don't like the way I treat people and that they want someone "good". "Good how?" I wonder, "good for what?" This confirms it. She's a fucking crazy paranoid. I mean, I didn't come for tea, biscuits and friendship, I came to see the room for rent. I do, however, write back a polite note saying that I'm sorry they feel this way and I wish them luck.
This was apartment # 4 in what turned out to be a relentless month long search and viewing of 19 apartments. Why so many? Was I just being fussy? Perhaps. In fact, I was asking myself this very question after seeing apartment # 10 (see nervous dancer below), when Bono's voice crooned " I still haven't found what I'm looking for," over the speakers in the bar I was resting at and I knew the search wasn't over. In my defense, I saw places that were dirty, dingy, depressing, dark, tiny, some had no living rooms, others had no windows in the room, one was a dorm for young girls on a street littered with junkies, another building was under such major construction, the construction dudes told me to enter with care, a few were on really dodgy dimly lit streets, some were too far away from Lavapies village - cross the Glorieta de Embajadores and it's a different world.
And then there's the potential roommates... one landlady was a repressed, strict, spinster cat lady, another potential roomie was a weirdo American dancing english teacher who laughed nervously and told me I probably wouldn't get raped on his street because there's always lots of people around, but perhaps the biggest problem was finding another non-smoker to live with. There were also a couple instances where I was shown the place by the vacating roommate but would have to wait until the last minute to meet the current roommate, who was, of course, the one making the decision. So I persevered and with a mere 6 days until the 1st, I finally found what I was looking for.
V meets me at the metro exit and we walk up the street I've walked hundreds of times in the last 2 1/2 years. It is my old street. The old one I moved away from when M moved back to Canada. When I get inside I see lovely old dark wood stairs and plants on every landing and I grow hopeful. The apartment is a weird space with an exposed bathroom facing the kitchen, but it's also big and beautiful, with antiques, old tiles and a balcony overlooking the street. So I go home and let the seed grow. V, a generous although somewhat reserved IT guy, is normal enough to live with but quirky enough to have chosen such a place to live. I sleep on it and in the morning I decide I've found home and so then the rest is moving boxes and unpacking history. With the help of V and his car, me and my 6 friends manage to get all my stuff up 4 floors, no elevator, without any problems. Afterwards we relax over beers and baklava in my new digs and I feel blessed.
When I wrote Piso Hunting Nightmares, I was fresh off the airplane with barely enough Spanish to buy a cup of coffee. Finding a place to live then was a different type of bad dream. This time, 3 years later, I did my own calls and saw places on my own and even engaged in a little small talk with prospective roomies all in Spanish. How proud am I? Very. One trick I used to augment my basic Spanish was using email to send a blurb in Spanish about me to all the ads that seemed interesting. Another trick was using sms to arrange appointments if at all possible. These tactics proved to be very useful in my piso hunt. This time it was more adventure than nightmare.
I'm now unpacked and mostly settled in. Still need to put up my postcards and posters and whatnots but that'll come. I'm nesting slowly. I find myself sitting and watching the street life from the balcony a lot. It's a strange sensation to be back on a street that holds so many memories for me and yet my view is now from a different angle. Literally. I'm now on the 4th floor. I see rooftops and heights I never saw before. I can see my old neighbours standing on their balconies and my old next door neighbour's little doggies on the sidewalk. Hola Lucy. Hola Chispa. I see the dudes from the kebap shop going about their business. I have vivid visions of M and me. We were once a part of the life on this street... So I'm facing the ghosts, swallowing the bittersweet changes, and watching the gentle passing of summer into autumn. It's grand what a change of perspective can give you. It's beautiful and peaceful up here and I can see the moon!
Tomorrow I'll post photos from my new place so stay tuned!
As we ascend, my hopes DEscend. The young fair haired Spanish woman showing the flat greets us at the door of the 3rd floor apartment. Kisses are exchanged and I am led in. The apartment is big but it looks a lot like a squat. It has dirty walls and a general derelict feel. There are two rooms on offer. One is small with a bunk bed. The other is very large but shabby with obsolete computer towers and guts lining the wall. She tells me both rooms are available and that she and her reticent Moroccan boyfriend would be happy to move into the smaller room if I would like their room. Warning bells ding dong and I get really creeped out. Waves of distrust wash over me and so I try to politely beat a hasty retreat. I smile and say 'no thanks' to water and while I engage in a little small talk about the neighbourhood, I am SURE this ain't the place for me. I smile more and thank them for their time and leave.
2 hours later I receive an email from her telling me off. They have been stewing and they've decided that they don't like the way I treat people and that they want someone "good". "Good how?" I wonder, "good for what?" This confirms it. She's a fucking crazy paranoid. I mean, I didn't come for tea, biscuits and friendship, I came to see the room for rent. I do, however, write back a polite note saying that I'm sorry they feel this way and I wish them luck.
This was apartment # 4 in what turned out to be a relentless month long search and viewing of 19 apartments. Why so many? Was I just being fussy? Perhaps. In fact, I was asking myself this very question after seeing apartment # 10 (see nervous dancer below), when Bono's voice crooned " I still haven't found what I'm looking for," over the speakers in the bar I was resting at and I knew the search wasn't over. In my defense, I saw places that were dirty, dingy, depressing, dark, tiny, some had no living rooms, others had no windows in the room, one was a dorm for young girls on a street littered with junkies, another building was under such major construction, the construction dudes told me to enter with care, a few were on really dodgy dimly lit streets, some were too far away from Lavapies village - cross the Glorieta de Embajadores and it's a different world.
And then there's the potential roommates... one landlady was a repressed, strict, spinster cat lady, another potential roomie was a weirdo American dancing english teacher who laughed nervously and told me I probably wouldn't get raped on his street because there's always lots of people around, but perhaps the biggest problem was finding another non-smoker to live with. There were also a couple instances where I was shown the place by the vacating roommate but would have to wait until the last minute to meet the current roommate, who was, of course, the one making the decision. So I persevered and with a mere 6 days until the 1st, I finally found what I was looking for.
V meets me at the metro exit and we walk up the street I've walked hundreds of times in the last 2 1/2 years. It is my old street. The old one I moved away from when M moved back to Canada. When I get inside I see lovely old dark wood stairs and plants on every landing and I grow hopeful. The apartment is a weird space with an exposed bathroom facing the kitchen, but it's also big and beautiful, with antiques, old tiles and a balcony overlooking the street. So I go home and let the seed grow. V, a generous although somewhat reserved IT guy, is normal enough to live with but quirky enough to have chosen such a place to live. I sleep on it and in the morning I decide I've found home and so then the rest is moving boxes and unpacking history. With the help of V and his car, me and my 6 friends manage to get all my stuff up 4 floors, no elevator, without any problems. Afterwards we relax over beers and baklava in my new digs and I feel blessed.
When I wrote Piso Hunting Nightmares, I was fresh off the airplane with barely enough Spanish to buy a cup of coffee. Finding a place to live then was a different type of bad dream. This time, 3 years later, I did my own calls and saw places on my own and even engaged in a little small talk with prospective roomies all in Spanish. How proud am I? Very. One trick I used to augment my basic Spanish was using email to send a blurb in Spanish about me to all the ads that seemed interesting. Another trick was using sms to arrange appointments if at all possible. These tactics proved to be very useful in my piso hunt. This time it was more adventure than nightmare.
I'm now unpacked and mostly settled in. Still need to put up my postcards and posters and whatnots but that'll come. I'm nesting slowly. I find myself sitting and watching the street life from the balcony a lot. It's a strange sensation to be back on a street that holds so many memories for me and yet my view is now from a different angle. Literally. I'm now on the 4th floor. I see rooftops and heights I never saw before. I can see my old neighbours standing on their balconies and my old next door neighbour's little doggies on the sidewalk. Hola Lucy. Hola Chispa. I see the dudes from the kebap shop going about their business. I have vivid visions of M and me. We were once a part of the life on this street... So I'm facing the ghosts, swallowing the bittersweet changes, and watching the gentle passing of summer into autumn. It's grand what a change of perspective can give you. It's beautiful and peaceful up here and I can see the moon!
Tomorrow I'll post photos from my new place so stay tuned!
Aug 29, 2009
Something i need to work on
Photo collage by me. i've been discovering patterns that hurt me and i've decided it's time to do something about it so i've taken the plunge into lectures and articles on breaking unhealthy behavior patterns. more on this topic later.
So this is what i've been spending my afternoon doing - making collages instead of packing up my stuff. "packing?" you say. yes, packing because i've finally found a home. pheeeew and woohoo! i'm moving back to the street i left 2 months ago. it's like the rental gods (after bountiful sacrifices and offerings) have decided in their infinite wisdom to allow me to return after a period of exile. i'll share more about my new place and the adventures i had in my relentless search once i've settled in and have more time to string together a narrative.
happy weekend!
Aug 23, 2009
LEAP!
Photo collage by me. Click on the image and the link will take you to flickr where you can click on the "all sizes" icon to see a bigger version.
So this is how I've been distracting myself from my unlucky house hunt... I've been fascinating and exhilarating my brain with TED videos and comic theorist, Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. I've been experimenting with ways of combining photos and text to create stories or capture moments/feelings. I'm still in the infancy/experimental phase but so far I'm really enjoying the ride. It reminds me of how important it is for creative people to fight for their creative space, even during the times when life crap looms large. Perhaps we especially need to create in stressful times. Creating for me is both my fuel and my salve and I'd be lost without it.
Aug 21, 2009
A Weekend Sojourn in the Huescan Pyrenees
We leave Madrid in the late afternoon, drive through the night, stopping in Jaca for a couple of beers before arriving at our lodgings in the dark. On Saturday morning, we wake up to this pleasant view of Escarrilla:
After breakfast, we drive, weaving along the mountain roads with the top down and the wind in our hair. Ahh... the fresh air is sweet and my lips curl into a smile
Saturday night, we drive to the touristy town of Jaca, half an hour away, and drink hard in a rock bar with a foosball table, iconic rock posters, framed fuzzy handcuffs and 'an altar' to the gods of rock 'n' roll (think Elvis dolls and skulls) behind the bar. Our indulgence in Jaca leads to resaca (a hangover) and so we are slow moving and sore in the cabeza on our return to Madrid on Sunday.
On our way back, we visit the mountain village of Piedrafita and despite my resaca, I am charmed by the pretty doors, stone buildings and streets.
All photos taken by me.
By the time we arrive back in Madrid, I am exhausted and my head still hurts. Although the trip was absolutely worth it, I think it's a bit far for only a weekend sojourn. I wish I could have stayed a week! Oh well. It was still a wonderful trip with wonderful companions, a lot of laughs and more Spanish spoken than I could possibly understand. That's right, this trip consisted of 3 Spanish people and me and so it was an intensivo immersion for me and my terrible Spanish! Apparently, there are no language barriers in the pursuit of fun. Fortunately, they could all speak English so my head didn't explode from Spanish overload and my inability to express myself in Castellano.
On a side note: one of the girls on the trip asked me how tall the Rockies were in comparison to the Pyrenees and I was ashamed to tell her that I didn't know the answer. Some Canadian eh?! Rest assured I googled it when I got home. As I suspected, the Canadian Rockies are taller (highest elevation: 3,954 m) than the Pyrenees (highest elevation: 3,404 m). The highest point in the whole Rocky Mountain range however is Mount Elbert in Colorado at 4,401 m.
Aug 14, 2009
Mid-week day trip to Chinchón
As we walked into the town we were greeted by a couple local big heads. The men attending the heads were disarmingly friendly and accommodating.
Chinchón's famed rounded and green balconied Plaza Mayor with a bullring installed centre stage in time for the fiesta.
Photos of matadores and bullfights lined the walls of the restaurant where we enjoyed a meal of chulettas de cordero - a rustic lamb stew.
An old door in the plaza.
Chinchón is a medieval town 50 km southeast of Madrid. Goya and Orson Welles both loved the place. Goya spent time painting here and Welles filmed scenes from Chimes at Midnight and The Immortal Story in the town. Word has it that Welles liked to have his anis shots in the morning with the locals, and enjoyed the food and the bullfights. Chinchón is well-known for its Anis (aniseed liqueur) which, unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to sample. Ahhh, next time. Chinchón is a popular excursion for Madrileños who want to spend the day strolling and having a traditional lunch and I can see why - it is a friendly and pleasant place with plenty of rustic charm.
All photos taken by me.
Chinchón is a medieval town 50 km southeast of Madrid. Goya and Orson Welles both loved the place. Goya spent time painting here and Welles filmed scenes from Chimes at Midnight and The Immortal Story in the town. Word has it that Welles liked to have his anis shots in the morning with the locals, and enjoyed the food and the bullfights. Chinchón is well-known for its Anis (aniseed liqueur) which, unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to sample. Ahhh, next time. Chinchón is a popular excursion for Madrileños who want to spend the day strolling and having a traditional lunch and I can see why - it is a friendly and pleasant place with plenty of rustic charm.
Aug 9, 2009
Escape to Atazar
Views of Embalse de Atazar, also known as "the sea of Madrid," near the town of El Berrueco, which is north of Madrid. Built in 1972 during the dictatorship of Franco, this is Madrid's largest reservoir.
I've had a crazy week looking for a new home. My male underwear model landlord has returned to the flat unexpectedly and despite our verbal agreement that I was going to rent the room for a year, he has decided to kick me out 3 weeks after I've moved in and use my room as an extra closet for his things! "I'm very sorry," he said, "but I have many things... I need the room for September..." Qué chungo! Qué mala leche! So since Monday, I've scoured rental ads on 3 websites 7x a day, I have posted want ads on 3 websites, I've let all my FB friends know I'm looking, I've sent and received 60+ emails, I've sent and received dozens of text messages, I've made and received many phone calls, I've seen 10 places... all have been unsuitable for one reason or another. Needless to say, I was exhausted and really needed to get out of the city. Very lucky for me, a new friend happened to be going on an excursion and invited me along so I got my much needed respite. Thanks Amaya, you're an angel!
Later, we head to the town of Atazar to enjoy the miradores and have a chat at a local bar. Below is a photo of the bell tower of the town's the old church.
All photos taken by me.
I've had a crazy week looking for a new home. My male underwear model landlord has returned to the flat unexpectedly and despite our verbal agreement that I was going to rent the room for a year, he has decided to kick me out 3 weeks after I've moved in and use my room as an extra closet for his things! "I'm very sorry," he said, "but I have many things... I need the room for September..." Qué chungo! Qué mala leche! So since Monday, I've scoured rental ads on 3 websites 7x a day, I have posted want ads on 3 websites, I've let all my FB friends know I'm looking, I've sent and received 60+ emails, I've sent and received dozens of text messages, I've made and received many phone calls, I've seen 10 places... all have been unsuitable for one reason or another. Needless to say, I was exhausted and really needed to get out of the city. Very lucky for me, a new friend happened to be going on an excursion and invited me along so I got my much needed respite. Thanks Amaya, you're an angel!
Once I have an ending for the story of my search for a new home, I'll write a post about my adventures.
Aug 5, 2009
Fiesta de Lavapies begins earlier than expected
Photo of the dragon sized bbq grill, a posh newcomer to bohemian Lavapies's San Lorenzo Fiesta, taken by me.
Celebration of the barrio's patron saint, San Lorenzo, usually begins the weekend before the 10th of August, the actual saint day. So I was quite surprised to see the trucks and stalls being set up as I walked down calle Argumosa on Saturday (Aug 1st).
The smell of cooking churros and meat flooded me with memories of 1 am jaunts for churros dipped in chocolate, skewers of bbq meat for dinner and drinking mojitos on the street with someone who is no longer available for such spontaneous outings and that filled me with sadness - sorrow once again climbed on my back and took me for a trot around town.
Fortunately on Sunday, a girl friend and I went to the fiesta together and we had a very lovely evening talking about men, art, life and spanish idiosyncrasies over sangria and skewered bbq meat. I formed new memories to layer over the the old ones and soften the sting. And I suppose that's one way to cope with living in a place that's haunted by people who have left. You make new friends and new memories so that a new collage of a place is created.
Scenes from last year's fiesta: An August night, Dancing in the streets of Lavapiés
Aug 2, 2009
after enough beers, someone inevitably ends up with flashing blinky glasses
Photo taken by me at the Gato Verde in Lavapies on one of many farewell drinking nights with my friends who left us for the land of kangaroos.
It common for wandering hawkers to bar hop with their wares in bundles. Some of them are quite pesky! Usually it's roses, sometimes jewelry but recently blinky neon glasses and blinky lights of all types have been making the rounds. Bruce, featured in the montage above, decided it would be very amusing indeed to sport a pair at 3 am. I thought it very amusing indeed to capture the moment. I think it highlights the spirit of lightness we enjoyed that night. ja ja.
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