Madrid Redux
Madrid Redux
On day three in Madrid Andy's herculean snoring finally prompted me to move to the Mad Hostel (Mad, Madrid, get it! Oh, the originality). I was intent on a quiet nite despite the injunction in the Hostel brochure: don't come here if you don't like to party. Yeah baby, yeah. In the early evening i sat in the hostel bar sending some emails. I was sipping on a pious bottle of tap water when i fell into conversation with an English lad and a Kiwi. Succumbing to peer pressure i agreed to sup one beer ... and it was 3:45am before i finally made it up the stairs, which whirled around me as i groped in the darkness for the light switch, handrail or some such.
It was past 1:00pm when i exited leaba the next day heading in the direction of the Palais Royal. Given the time i had passed out the nite before i had a certain self-satisfaction in simply being out and about. In the later afternoon the warming satisfaction had dissipated and my left heel had sprouted a blister of the sort i thought belonged only in Vietnam movies. On return to the Hostel my drinking companions of the nite before were chasing away their hangovers with a jug of beer in the bar. It would of course have been rude not to stay with them for a sociable one.
Gypsy
We exchanged brief details of our respective days, though it was the English lad's retelling of the previous nite that was of most interest. English's dorm hosted four people including one who was to become known to one and all as the "Gypsy". Gypsy had arrived into the dorm the previous nite even later than English. He then proceeded to switch on all of the lights, leave and re-enter the dorm a number of times and generate a great deal of noise. Having spent close to an hour clanging about he finally quenched the lights and lay into his bed. English was furious and of mild inclination to offer Gypsy a physical appraisal of his behaviour - English was a former prop forward whose frame shared many of the characteristics of a medieval fortress. As the other dorm sharers had left duiring the afternoon English was slated to share the dorm with Gypsy on his own that nite.
Later in the evening Gypsy appeared in the communal kitchen. Mostly he leaned on the door frame entreating each entrant to share their dinner with him. As he was unknown to all, and took no time to introduce himself before requesting a half-share of people's food it was unsurprising that nobody wished to break their bread with him. Not one to be daunted by an initial set back Gypsy settled on a more direct route - stealing the food in the communal fridge. My deli-counter slices of salami remain missing in action, presumed gypsified. An American lad came out of the kitchen into the bar area holding a plate and shouting "He's a fucking bum. He's a thief. There's some guy in there stealing everyone's food right under their eyes. Bum". I wished English well for the nite ahead.
The early evening soon melted into early morning and our little cabal was forced to break up. The inebriated Kiwi set out for the bus or train station for a bus or train to somewhere. He was as dim on the details as i. The bar had long shut when i staggered up the spiral staircase and bid English good nite.
The following evening English filled me in on the goings on of the previous nite as we sat in the Hostel bar. Gypsy had arrived in around 5:00am and followed his standard operating procedure - turning on the lights, rummaging in plastic bags full of clothes, entering and exiting the dorm room, chomping on an apple. When the seam of English's patience had been exhausted he sat up to find Gypsy leisurely lying on his bed reviewing some receipts. English politely requested that this undoubtedly urgent task be left till the morning and that perhaps they could turn out the light. Gypsy poked a hand into his inside jacket pocket and produced a handful of pink, penis-shaped jellies which he offered to English. The offer was declined as was the follow up opportunity to buy from Gypsy some pills that "will make the sex magical". At this point English lumbered down to reception to request a new room, a request that was granted only on English recounting his desire to break Gypsy in half.
That evening as we discussed the geo-political imbalances building up in Northwest Asia over a relaxing beer in the Hostel bar, none other than Gypsey seemed to be approaching our table. I was curious whether A) he was here to apologise; or B) English would break him in half before he got to spoke, denying me an insight on a truly incredible mind. As it happens Gypsey siddled up to English - as though nothing had passed between them the nite before - to model his freshly stolen brown leather jacket. My jaw opened a little at the braggartly audacity when Gypsey nudged English under the ribs and asked if he would "loan" him the price of a beer.
Reina Sofia
The Reina Sofia is a gallery housing modern and contemporary art. My mixed mind on this topic is documented in previous posts, but suffice it to say i went along prepared for the worst. Mostly i wanted to see the collection of Picasso's and Salvadore Dali's. The collection was organised chronologically and it was noticeable that best stuff was created in the early and mid twentieth century and the most recently produced material was almost uniformly bilge. Even more disconcerting is that the bilge was created by the self same artists who had produced their best work decades before. Now they are so famous that a tiny black dot on a ten by twenty foot blank canvass is considered a masterpiece - would the same work turned out by a spotty twenty year old art student be held in the same regard? Perhaps if it were titled Polar Bear Nose in a Blizzard? Even more pitiable was the artist's explanation of his work faithfully reproduced on the (€8.00) audioguide. It went like this: "I have always been interested in the idea of innocence. White is a colour that is synonymous with innocence and i use a lot of it in this work". Its a blank cavass with a dot. And you haven't even bothered to explain the dot, you lazy bastard.
On a more uplifting note the collection of Salvadore Dali paintings is excellent. Dali's surreal, paranoid and often nocturnal worlds connect with the parts of my brain that recall hangovers and drunken nites. The outstanding Picasso piece is Guernica - the artist's protest at the bombing of a small Basque market village by the German Luftwaffe. It is a huge, complex and impassioned piece. An accompanying exhibition contains the sketches and drafts Picasso created in preparation for Guernica. And the emergence of the piece itself from a blank canvass (no dots) is recorded in a series of photographs by Picasso's missus (as i am sure she would prefer to be recalled by history).
With that i left Gypsy and the mad, Mad Hostel behind and i headed for Andalusia.
On day three in Madrid Andy's herculean snoring finally prompted me to move to the Mad Hostel (Mad, Madrid, get it! Oh, the originality). I was intent on a quiet nite despite the injunction in the Hostel brochure: don't come here if you don't like to party. Yeah baby, yeah. In the early evening i sat in the hostel bar sending some emails. I was sipping on a pious bottle of tap water when i fell into conversation with an English lad and a Kiwi. Succumbing to peer pressure i agreed to sup one beer ... and it was 3:45am before i finally made it up the stairs, which whirled around me as i groped in the darkness for the light switch, handrail or some such.
It was past 1:00pm when i exited leaba the next day heading in the direction of the Palais Royal. Given the time i had passed out the nite before i had a certain self-satisfaction in simply being out and about. In the later afternoon the warming satisfaction had dissipated and my left heel had sprouted a blister of the sort i thought belonged only in Vietnam movies. On return to the Hostel my drinking companions of the nite before were chasing away their hangovers with a jug of beer in the bar. It would of course have been rude not to stay with them for a sociable one.
Gypsy
We exchanged brief details of our respective days, though it was the English lad's retelling of the previous nite that was of most interest. English's dorm hosted four people including one who was to become known to one and all as the "Gypsy". Gypsy had arrived into the dorm the previous nite even later than English. He then proceeded to switch on all of the lights, leave and re-enter the dorm a number of times and generate a great deal of noise. Having spent close to an hour clanging about he finally quenched the lights and lay into his bed. English was furious and of mild inclination to offer Gypsy a physical appraisal of his behaviour - English was a former prop forward whose frame shared many of the characteristics of a medieval fortress. As the other dorm sharers had left duiring the afternoon English was slated to share the dorm with Gypsy on his own that nite.
Later in the evening Gypsy appeared in the communal kitchen. Mostly he leaned on the door frame entreating each entrant to share their dinner with him. As he was unknown to all, and took no time to introduce himself before requesting a half-share of people's food it was unsurprising that nobody wished to break their bread with him. Not one to be daunted by an initial set back Gypsy settled on a more direct route - stealing the food in the communal fridge. My deli-counter slices of salami remain missing in action, presumed gypsified. An American lad came out of the kitchen into the bar area holding a plate and shouting "He's a fucking bum. He's a thief. There's some guy in there stealing everyone's food right under their eyes. Bum". I wished English well for the nite ahead.
The early evening soon melted into early morning and our little cabal was forced to break up. The inebriated Kiwi set out for the bus or train station for a bus or train to somewhere. He was as dim on the details as i. The bar had long shut when i staggered up the spiral staircase and bid English good nite.
The following evening English filled me in on the goings on of the previous nite as we sat in the Hostel bar. Gypsy had arrived in around 5:00am and followed his standard operating procedure - turning on the lights, rummaging in plastic bags full of clothes, entering and exiting the dorm room, chomping on an apple. When the seam of English's patience had been exhausted he sat up to find Gypsy leisurely lying on his bed reviewing some receipts. English politely requested that this undoubtedly urgent task be left till the morning and that perhaps they could turn out the light. Gypsy poked a hand into his inside jacket pocket and produced a handful of pink, penis-shaped jellies which he offered to English. The offer was declined as was the follow up opportunity to buy from Gypsy some pills that "will make the sex magical". At this point English lumbered down to reception to request a new room, a request that was granted only on English recounting his desire to break Gypsy in half.
That evening as we discussed the geo-political imbalances building up in Northwest Asia over a relaxing beer in the Hostel bar, none other than Gypsey seemed to be approaching our table. I was curious whether A) he was here to apologise; or B) English would break him in half before he got to spoke, denying me an insight on a truly incredible mind. As it happens Gypsey siddled up to English - as though nothing had passed between them the nite before - to model his freshly stolen brown leather jacket. My jaw opened a little at the braggartly audacity when Gypsey nudged English under the ribs and asked if he would "loan" him the price of a beer.
Reina Sofia
The Reina Sofia is a gallery housing modern and contemporary art. My mixed mind on this topic is documented in previous posts, but suffice it to say i went along prepared for the worst. Mostly i wanted to see the collection of Picasso's and Salvadore Dali's. The collection was organised chronologically and it was noticeable that best stuff was created in the early and mid twentieth century and the most recently produced material was almost uniformly bilge. Even more disconcerting is that the bilge was created by the self same artists who had produced their best work decades before. Now they are so famous that a tiny black dot on a ten by twenty foot blank canvass is considered a masterpiece - would the same work turned out by a spotty twenty year old art student be held in the same regard? Perhaps if it were titled Polar Bear Nose in a Blizzard? Even more pitiable was the artist's explanation of his work faithfully reproduced on the (€8.00) audioguide. It went like this: "I have always been interested in the idea of innocence. White is a colour that is synonymous with innocence and i use a lot of it in this work". Its a blank cavass with a dot. And you haven't even bothered to explain the dot, you lazy bastard.
On a more uplifting note the collection of Salvadore Dali paintings is excellent. Dali's surreal, paranoid and often nocturnal worlds connect with the parts of my brain that recall hangovers and drunken nites. The outstanding Picasso piece is Guernica - the artist's protest at the bombing of a small Basque market village by the German Luftwaffe. It is a huge, complex and impassioned piece. An accompanying exhibition contains the sketches and drafts Picasso created in preparation for Guernica. And the emergence of the piece itself from a blank canvass (no dots) is recorded in a series of photographs by Picasso's missus (as i am sure she would prefer to be recalled by history).
With that i left Gypsy and the mad, Mad Hostel behind and i headed for Andalusia.
posted by Supertramp | 6:02 AM
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