In between my previous trip to Seattle and my future current trip to Morocco, I crashed in a hostel for two days in the touristy part of Madrid. I coincided my flights with two classmates who were also traveling to Morocco. The whole trip cost me two hundred additional dollars.
The Cathedral
Living in the United States, the oldest building I've probably seen is probably the Tuzigoot ruins in Arizona. While significant and beautiful, it is true to say that Pre-Colombian Southwest was "bumfuck nowhere", so the buildings aren't nearly impressive as your average ruin in Guatemala, Mexico, or Peru. I went to Spain wanting to see some old cathedrals. We wandered into the beautiful Almudena Cathedral, just south of the royal palace, and I was completely captivated. I spent a full half hour just wandering around reverently, taking in the environment. This is the first cathedral that I've seen shaped like a cross, which I'm told is common for most European cathedrals.
What was most interesting was the mix of art styles. I saw pre-Renaissance Christian art mixed with Renaissance Christian art mixed with cubist stained glass mixed with a straight up abstract art of a saint in the ambulatory, as well as the ornate paintings of the crucifixion on the eastern wall of the Cathedral. It was so interesting to see how the different art forms that Christians used to express themselves and honor their church come together in what feels like a celebration of Christian culture.
To my surprise, this cathedral was completed in 1993! It was consecrated by John Paul II who died in like 2005! It is a beautiful place to be, and I would like to go back in the future. Whenever I enter a cathedral, I'm always struck by how much effort and love went into the construction. How many hundreds of thousands of hours of work have to be done to even pay for the materials, much less design the thing. The men pouring the foundation probably knew they weren't going to live to see the first mass held under a completed roof, and yet they worked. Likewise, the first elderly woman to write the church into her will knew that she would not enjoy the music at Almudena, and yet she gave her widow's mite.
Flamenco
We saw a Flamenco show at Torres Bermejas. Right off the bat, I was impressed with the hospitality received for such a short show. The receptionist guy (who spoke in perfect English with a slight Spanish accent) recognized that three people with American names booked seats at the same time, and was able to seat me next to my companions when I arrived late. Most of the show was one of the three dancers on the stage, while the singer and guitarist shredded played. The singing was good, and the guitar was appropriately lively and impressive, with lots of rasgueado.
Flamenco is a very a masculine dance. The entire dance conjured images of a strong woman playing both defense and offense in a game between an unseen opponent. Many of the individual moves convey the image of a strong man standing defensively, or a bullfighter projecting machismo. The masculine body language of the dancers contrasted with the feminine dresses and Merino Wool mantles. I don't know much about dancing, but in my conception of other Latin dances like Tango, women are the object of desire (though not necessarily objectified). The relationship between the male and female parts is equal, with both parties moving in the same direction, even after all the bluster of the initial stage of attraction. The two parts fall neatly into roles masculinity and femininity. I think that in the world of Flamenco, women are equal combatants in a war of affection against unseen men, and women can project the same amount of physical power. Rather than moving in concert, the Flamenco dancer moves against the unseen male part, challenging his authority, and presenting a worthy combatant.
The dancer's faces were pained and serious. The storyline of each dance was sad, angry, or jealous, but never happy or triumphant. This is not a happy dance. It is loud, resentful, and subversive. No ones having a good time. One of my travel companions said it was hard to watch, until the end of the number where the performer couldn't hide the massive smile that is common to all dancers after an applause.
Hostel Living
I stayed at 2060 Newton in Lavapies neighborhood southeast of Plaza Mayor. 2060 is five stories tall and has an organized bar crawl every night. For a first time hostel-goer, it was fantastic, and the people and staff were welcoming. I would recommend it, and there was enough women there that I would gander a solo female traveler would be just fine.
I have been told that European hostels are full of either snobby rich kids or rebellious rich kids. Rarely do you find someone that is in the area because they want to learn about the culture, especially in touristy parts of Europe. No one knew anything about Madrid, the Spanish Empire, the Bourbons, the Hapsburgs, or the Inquisition. A few people were surprised when I offhandedly said "Well, this place was a fascist country". Everyone is either looking to get shitfaced, looking to fuck someone, or looking to get one of the girls drunk enough to give him a chance. There was some 34 year old American from Florida who came to Madrid to get back with his ex-girlfriend which didn't end up working out. He spent the rest of the trip hitting on every woman he could see and being a douchebag to every man in the building. It's possible he got kicked out or the cops called on him on one particularly raucous night, but I'm not sure. Creeps come with the territory.
That being said, I waded through a lot of crap to meet some very interesting people whose interests are higher on Maslow's hierarchy of needs. While out on the town, me and a Swiss guy argued so loudly and for so long about why it would be a bad idea for the US to have three presidents that some guy shouted down from his balcony in Spanish "Stop talking comparative politics and go to fucking sleep!" I generally enjoyed being with (besides my lovely classmates) kids from poor American backgrounds and Eastern Europeans. I didn't grow up poor, but I think the pragmatism I pretend to have connects me with these people. However, the sibling rivalry we have with Brits will always be fun.
Music I listened to this Week
Arab Money - Busta Rhymes, Ron Brownz