Flat out like a lizard drinking....

Another birthday has come and past... Now we try to recollect what actually happened and possible find an explanation why our flat looks like it went thru a tornado with a B.A.C. of  .23....

El Palacio Real taken down the street from El Gran Salon...

To start the night Alex, Dave, and I head toward Madrid's center to take a walk, catch some great sites of our illustrious city, and grab some grub.  The autumn air was crisp and the people were out in full force.  Covered up and enjoying the increasing chill of the season.  I now realize how effing hot summer actually was here and how much I miss a nice cool breeze.  Walk by the Palace, stroll by the Arch at Principe Pio, and a tromp down Gran Via and we find ourselves in the city centre at Sol.  The city is bustling per usual on a Saturday night, each couple and group of friends with their own plans for an exciting fall evening.  At this point I realize how much I don't really know about the Spanish and their culture.

Principe Pio at night.

I've been here for six months now and still feel that around every corner I turn I see a completely different side of Spain and the mix of culture it provides.  From the ornery Spanish doorman who permits me entry into the apartment building he guards, against his better judgment, to the bright eyed South American toddler, probably Colombian maybe Venezuelan, who rides the metro fidgeting and leaning against his dad wondering how much longer this ride will be. Bright eyes and restless hands moving, flitting, without rest.

Walking thru the city, the sites call out to you and demand attention.  One must ignore their beauty and reverence if one wants to actually arrive to desired destination. We run a couple of errands, party prep, and grab a quick bday dinner and an overpriced and mediocre buffet.  What the restaurant lacks in quality, it makes up for in seconds, thirds, and fourths.  We leave the center, head back to the flat and await our birthday celebrants.

El Gran Salon fills quickly and liters empty even more so.  Approx. 25 friends from his school and around Madrid come to give him a Birthday shout out.  Italians make German jokes, Germans make American puns, and Aussies look like wombats...  Hours of palavering (read The Dark Tower) and the party wanes down.  We figured that Alex's absence a few hours into the party was caused by him receiving a special present from a lady friend.  We also realized that once everyone had left the party he was probably just passed the eff out.  We pounded on his door and received no reply.  Bird Law dictates that if one is busy with intimate agendas, one replies to a strong poundings on ones door.  (Watch "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia") With no reply, we decide to invade to find him more than soundly sleeping.  Dave and I make a non-verbal decision and launch ourselves on top of him giving him a rude awakening and administering more alcohol as medicine.  He quickly regains his bearings and we continue his celebration.

With only 6 or so of us remaining, we break out the birthday cake and give him a proper 'Happy Birthday' with matchstick birthday candles and all.

Alex ready to slice his cake as well as party goers...

A good birthday for all of us here at El Gran Salon and we look toward Thursday for our next gathering for Thanksgiving. (Which has already happened as I write this, currently digesting that triptophan laced meat)  Updates on Turkey day to come.  November has been a non-stop month, but Madrid isn't such a good place for sleep anyway, FYI for any of you planning on visiting.  We will see you next time, loyal reader, with full bellies and surrounded by friends and family.  Be Thankful.

-AAA

"Are you allowed to drink Absinthe with dinner?...."
"I didn't think there were rules here..."
-Lo & Wombat

Cause and Effect.

Autumn Art Graffiti captured by the Guss.

 As the temperature drops here in the center of the Iberian peninsula several changes take place, as in the rest of the Northern Hemisphere.  The autumn clothes make their debut and the scarfs seem to accent the spanish eyes quite perfectly.  Hazel-blues and Grey-greens stand out strongly against overcast sunsets. Botellons (large gathering of young drinking revelers) are harder to find and the crowds move indoors toward smoky dim lit bars and lounges.  Film festivals replace the outdoor music variety.

We here at  El Gran Salon have also shifted gears to find some more cultural related activities (besides eating chorizo and indulging in Mahou).

Jam Session at the lounge "El Plaza"

The latest: Jazz. Throw on your best M. Davis album and come inside, speak easy.  The Jazz scene here in Madrid is much like any other big international city I.E.: Chicago, New York...... but not the Utah variety.  A couple different Jazz fests have filled our auditory palettes with such jazz varieties as Lounge with accompanying Sax and Trumpet, Piano Jazz with added jazz flute (a la Ron Burgandy), and Latin Jazz infused with the rhythmic bongo drums (my favorite).

THE David Guss, El Ingeniero, Angeloco, and Wombat... taking in a night of Jazz.

It is peculiar and even refreshing to see the Spaniards, usually so entrenched in their own particular culture that one could only think of them as Spanish, take in something that is so unrelated and different.  The jazz singers melodic voice, although in English, traverses language and culture giving all listeners a sway that seems inherent in the human genome.  Smoke fills the small, intimate setting.  Whispers fills in the ambient noise, vibrato smooths and fades out mental chatter, and one can only sit back, slouch slightly in the lounge chair provided, and relax.  

Happy Birthday to Alex, tonight is another gathering of linked souls to celebrate the 23rd anniversary of the crazy German's birth.  Bring on the Green Fairy...
-Angelo A. Austin


"Don't play what's there, play whats not there"
-Miles Davis

H,B,S, & TOS.... part 2.

The south of Madrid at Sunset... Estadio Teresa Rivero

 Survival. The most primal of instincts.

Madrid. The most primal of foes.  Day in day out, it is awaiting you.  Menacing carniceros (butchers) offering you delicious meats. Angel faced Panaderas offering sweet nothings that make the eyes roll in enjoyment.  Jovial Meseros pouring amber goodness into copas grandes from behind their elegant oak barras.  And I am stuck here.  In the midst of the devils delights.  Donkey Island ain't got nothing on Madrid.  Now if I believed that such evils were out to get me in ill will, I would be flagellating myself more often than Ellen Degeneres dances in an ill-worn pant suit.  But I don't, so I just take it all in like Monstro the Whale.  One Jimminy Cricket at a time.

After the Russians took off back to Bulgaria (where they shake their head for 'yes', and nod for 'no') the flat headed right back into another week of crazy (like there is a different type of week).El Gran Salon went thru the normal week motions: learning English to kids and Adults (Dave and Angelo-->teachers), going to class to catch up on some sleep (Valerie--->Engineering Student), or just not going to class and learning more than usual (Alex---> Econ Student) The weekend speeds up on you with some big plans.  Number one, My first Spanish futbol match.  "Vamos Rayos!!"

Estadio Teresa Rivero sitting next to apartment buildings and tiendas.


 My friend Robin, previously from Camp Esgaravita... if you're keeping up... invited me to see a Rayos Vallecanos match in the south of Madrid.  We head up from the metro mouth which puts up about 10meters from the stadium entrance.  The stadium sits directly in the middle of a neighborhood, much like the famed Wrigley Field in Wrigley-ville.  Robin tells me a little history of the club.  Apparently, this club is situated in a more liberal part of town and during Franco's reign it was a place where the sentiment in the air was less than accommodating to the dictator.  One form of protest comes in the form of sport.  The Rayo Vallecanos have been a voice for the anti-fascist movement for years and the setting doesn't seem like it is changing soon.  The anti-fascist Madrid punk band, Ska-P, has even named a couple songs after the group of futbollers.  Look it up.

Recap:
Rayos Vallecanos laid a beat down on the visiting Real Murcia.  A two-nil final with Rayo striking early in the first 15' and again in the 90' just to cap off a dominating night.  The futbol hardly crossed the midfield stripe into Rayo territory.  I doubt if Real had more than 3 shots on goal.  Now that we know about the actual match, lets talk about the best spectacle of the match: The Hooligans.

 No one forgot their banner...Why?

Now I'm using this term loosely.  Its more like the superfan section.  Comparable to the student section at an college football match, except bigger, louder, rowdier, and soooo much more Spanish.  The flags they bring are not pennants.  They are FLAGS.  Ten foot PVC pipe draped flags.  The strong-but flexible pipe allows the holder to spin the flag wildly as they add their voice to the constant raucous.  Are there complaints to"put the flag down your blocking my view"... ha... that my get you a Spanish boot to the midsection... but that would never happen because you are already 3 liters deep and waving your own ridiculously huge Pipe-Flag.  

Because no one forgets their banner...

The chants are not chants, but Battle-Cries involving the entire 20,000 spectator crowd, none of whom are here to support the visitors.  I look around to see my Spanish neighbors and as they yell back at the 'call and response' the superfan section has started, I can see that they have been coming here week in and week out for the better part of their lives and I wouldn't find it hard to believe that each one of them did their time down in the superfan pit. 

At one point the superfan area splits in two sections, right down the middle.  The crowd is now completely in the aisles and each side is yelling and screaming at the other.  The Flags are then thrown into the middle, where there is now empty bleachers.  After all the flags pile in the middle, a battle-cry match ensues, seconds later... the two sections charge each other in Braveheart fashion screaming and yelling in a thrashing mosh pit.  The stakes, who brings the flags to the next match, I am assuming.  A minute of battle and the crowd is back to its previous state of cheering and hooliganing...  No real harm done as they are all on the same team, but it proves the kind of mentality these fans are in as compared to their American counterpart.  Like comparing Christian Bale's Batman to Adam West's...

Birthday song time

After the great match, Robin and I head back to the flat where I start to whip up some real Mexican Chicken Tacos, with real spice... (Cue Gabe, Why Not?) for Dave's Big B-day.  The flat starts to fill up with friends and family ( who are one and the same here as an Ex-Pat).  And to spice it up, throw in two French gals, a Romanian damsel, a Norwegian chick, and a Swiss maiden. Bake for 20-25 minutes and let cool. Liters are passed around as the Tacos are devoured.  Laughs, Stories, and Music flow thru the flat.  The lights shut off and votive candles are placed on top of the banana bread which is used as cake.  We all have a raucous night and good times were had by all until eyes fell black or until the metro opens at 6.

We relax for a few days, but there is no rest for the weary.  Alex's B-day is coming up in two days.  And if you don't know the routine by now, you're just not paying attention.  More to come... keep coming back for more fun.

The day after

-Angelo A. Austin

"I may have said the same thing before... But my explanation, I am sure, will always be different."
-Oscar Wilde

Halloweens, Birthdays, Sausages, Football, and the occasional Surfer...pt. 1

What makes Halloween so interesting here in Spain is that it is a very new concept.  I'm assuming that Franco, Spain's former dictator, was not too keen on allowing the Pagan American tradition to invade his borders with his very strong Catholic views. I however have the privilege of working closely with children between ages 9-12 and it is very clear that they don't have the same grasp on the holiday as their American counterparts.  I of course gave them  pointers and hints on the process. A run down on why you take a pillowcase out with you to trick-or-treat and the best way to destroy your neighbors jack-o-laterns were key categories.  One refreshing thing about Halloween being so new and interesting to the Spanish is that they have not evolved (more like digressed) into seeing who can be the slutty-est or who can make the best interpretation of the last episode of SNL. Its terror, scary, and gory... the way it was meant to be... Give them 10 more years and I'm sure they will be finding the shortest skirts and the best dreadlock wig but for now, its nice to a good zombie walking around.  Which takes me back to the horse ranch at Alcala once again....

As I said in the previous post, my good friend Ivan was planning a Halloween bash and he is not one to disappoint.  I arrived with Alex and Dave to the ranch around 11pm surrounded by some good looking Ghouls 'n Ghosts in full gore and regalia. (yes, that game effing scared me really bad when I was 8 or whenever nintendo came out with it... it was the theme song...I'm sure my brother Phil remembers).  A couple drinks into the party an urgent Ivan comes up to me and asks me if I can don a zombie mask, head out into the graveyard and scare children...... "Claro"

The Chicken King, ZombieDave, and 400yearold death queen... you know, taken the metro.

What I don't know is how much effort was spent putting this Haunted Ranch Walk together. It started of with a "Ring" like scene with creepy girl climbing out the well clawing at you, thru to darkened horse stables where assylum twin girls awaited with high pitched moans, into the horse arena turned graveyard where I waited with pick, shovel, and Zombie faced , into a SAW V warehouse where the butcher was waiting with chain saw revving.  With Zombie-Michael Jackson as their tour guide, the ranch walk was a scary delight.  About half way thru the night, a real headless horseman screamed thru the camp, tromping so close to party goers to cover them with dust as he stampeded by.  All the chilling senses you want grazed and shocked during this one special night of the year were perfectly tingled and hacked.

After the terror came the party.  Drinks and dancing flowed like candy corn.  Zombie-Michael Jackson paid his tribute to his former self and all attendees: Spanish, Foreigner, Adult and Child alike had a night that they may or may not remember.  Two huge thumbs up to Ivan and his crew for throwing the Halloween Bash that most party connoisseurs (as myself) dream of.

A few days to recover from the Halloween bash and the crew here at El Gran Salon are back at it again.  After a month long hiatus from the CouchSurfing world, we threw open our doors once again hosted some more of the most wonderful internationals you can find.  In addition to a couple of Bulgarian surfers (they weren't Bulgarian, but Russian, but we didn't know that until we met them, so we just decided they were Bulgarian), we also had the privilege of having Alex's Dad, Ralph, take in the whirlwind known as the  couch surfing world.  And Ralph brat (brought) sausage!  Homemade German Sausage!  They really are doing something different.  Because it was magnanimous.  Sure having a BBQ in November is a little late in the season, but delicious none the less.

Fast-Forward:-->Liters-->Malasaña-->Tapas-->Teach Bulgarians how to Shotgun Beers-->Bulgarians Falling off hand rails in Plaza Dos de Mayo-->Injured Backs-->Jager-------->Scene.

Yet another couple days of recovery, a few English classes learned and we come upon THE David Guss' big B-day. But before we ensue into that night of thrills, spills, and automobiles.... we shall take a break.  Also in the next edition of Angeloco on the Road: my first European football match.... the crowd goes normal.

-Lo

"Its the big button on every camera on the planet"
-Angeloco explaining how to function the whiteman's soul-catcher....