So, as I promised, I didn't take any pictures of La Noche en Blanco, but I'll tell you what. Didn't see the damn puppets. Nor the circuses. Nor did I get into any museums- the plan (my plan) was to finish the morning-side of night wandering blearily around the Prado, perhaps collapsing on a bench in front of something gorgeous to shock my eyes open while relieving my poor feet. However! The museums closed at 3:00. Matt, Julia and I spent most of the night shouldering through street parties in search of people-we-might-be-meeting? and I-think-there's-an-outside-concerts, and we did eventually meet up with people-we-might-be-meeting?, and they were ducks. Look, I know I don't say "ducks," much, and nobody does, but their just isn't a word in Spanish like "duck." I have to write it here and mouth it to myself. It is a solace.
Back to all La Noche etc.: We actually didn't have an officially sanctioned Cultural Experience until the v. early morning (la madrugada), about 7ish, but (I am typing with one hand so I can entertain (torture?) the cat by whapping her big pink ribbon around with the other. Remember the way the girl in "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" swordfought while sipping her tea? That way. Just as Ninja Miss Manners taught us) it was worth it (oho! forgot I was in the middle of a sentence, did you? Go back and read it again!). Or maybe it just felt like it was worth it because we were all so exhausted. Well, I felt happy, and I'm not sure one can have felt happy without having been happy, as happiness is a feeling an' all. Anyhow, there was music in the park as the sun came up, and even though we were exhausted we hippie danced a little. I mean, barely. I tried, but ooh, tired, sore, chilly. Hey, they say "chill out" in Spain. "Cheel out," really. It's a style of music.
They also have a show on the model of American Idol, "Operación Triunfo." Operation Triumph, to put it vulgarly. The first thousand times I heard it mentioned I thought people were talking military politics.
Oh, yeah, La Noche en Blanco. I did take one picture. Not of the crowded boozy streets, nor the monuments lit startling colors, no, nor the park nor the sunrise over the lake, nor the musicians, nor the dancers. Nor the chocolate with churros we ate at 8:00 in the morning, in a café full of similarly cheerful all-nighters, though I'm sure we were a sight to see.
I DID take a picture of one of the buildings across the street from me, one block down. It's a newish, boring building, but the sun at 8:00 am is a grace, and it gives you an idea of my neighbourhood.
Too bad these color-coordinated chicas aren't walking toward it this second. Though really, it's not my building, and I'm one of them, so we'd have to be pretttty confused. Also, I don't want a big ugly New York City street cutting through the buildings in this new-but-cosy corner of Madrid.
This morning M.J. promised to throw me out if I keep being deaf, and (many minutes later) to throw the cat out if she keeps getting fat. In Spanish those adjectives rhyme (sorda, gorda), and I was spooked that she could repeat a threat, rhyme it, and not notice. People do often think in nursery rhymes. Violent, illogical, ultimately charming for virtue of their repetetive musicality and familiarity. Well, our thoughts don't always achieve musicality, but violence, illogic, repetetition . . .oof, time for bed.
Also, here they say "uf."