Category Archive

We’re taking a slight pause in the Tall, White Americans saga to relay this important message about Real Madrid, Madrid’s regal soccer team, as we are experiencing writers block on the TWA story and after viewing some pix we took, realized that the following story needed to get out.

Despite our best (and believe me, they were our supreme) efforts, we finally succumbed recently and went to Santiago Bernabéu stadium, home of Real Madrid, to both visit the stadium and later, to see a game. We don’t know if you’re aware, but apparently Real Madrid is the greatest team in the world at every sport, and basking in its glory and achievement is the sole reason this world and all its inhabitants exist. And possibly God, for that matter.

And that’s not hyperbole on my part; it’s more-or-less a direct quote from the numerous information panels within the Real Madrid Museum and Hall of Self-Gratifying Glory. A couple choice quotes:

“Real Madrid is the best team in the 20th Century, which is like saying that it’s the best club of all time: the best club in the history of soccer.”

“The European Cup would be meaningless without Real Madrid.”

Now, being rabid Ohio State football (the only football that matters, etymology be damned) fans (go to hell, SEC, you bunch of over-hyped weenies), we understand the tendency to over-inflate your team’s self-worth and impact on the game (thought it’s hard to beat 7 Heismans and 7 National Championships). This sense of self-awareness, however, seems to have bypassed Real Madrid. Nowhere in any part of the tour nor the game was there any sense that they could lose, have lost, or ever will lose, or that they themselves are not the reason for God’s existence. It was ridiculous.

Unimpressed.

The stadium, in a word, was cute. With a capacity of 80,500, it was so cute, in fact, that it prompted me to ask our tour guide “es para practicar?” and another friend to inquire “donde esta el estadio para los hombres?”. For being the team that invented God, it was a little underwhelming. The press room and visitors locker room, both stops on the tour, paled in comparison to the facilities of most NCAA women’s fencing programs, while the overall stadium was decorated in orange and blue, neither of which is found anywhere in the Real Madrid brand ethos (their colors are white, gold and purple). Makes one question where all the money goes.

Oh, that’s right, it goes to the overpaid players. Basically, Real Madrid is the New York Yankees of European soccer, which means they can pretty much buy anyone they want to virtually ensure that they at least get to the finals in any league in which they play. And when you consider that a large portion of the players aren’t even Spanish, it undermines their nationalistic claims all the more (not that US football teams are all Americans; there’s a Samoan and maybe Canadian or two in there, we know). Whatever is left over goes to provide the La-Z-Boy-like armchairs in which the teams sit on the sidelines. While lounging in them at one stop of the tour, another buddy leaned over and asked “why don’t our professional athletes have such comfortable equipment?”. It’s because our professional athletes are men. With the exception of pro basketballers. They’re princesses.

Alright, enough bashing. Every team has the right and board-mandated obligation to win games and turn a profit. So be it. Doesn’t mean we can’t laugh at them.

The game itself—which by coincidence was the last game of the Spanish La Liga season—was fairly interesting and passionate (at least on the part of the fans). Real Madrid played some podunk team and completely thrashed them, which didn’t matter anyway because they had already locked up the title a few weeks ago. The post-game festivities and presentation of the trophy was as ostentatious as the team that invented God would demand: music; a procession around the stadium accompanied by confetti cannons at each section; an hour-long multimedia presentation and summary of the season; and probably more, though I can’t say for sure because by that point it was getting on midnight and we’d been up for 2 days and were exhausted, so we left. Overall, it was akin to a Superbowl Championship presentation, for which I have equal disdain.

We (and by “we” I mean Al) did do our part to support the Team that Invented the Universe by purchasing 2 €45 nosebleed tickets (I will point out, however, that we were able to acquire these tickets a few hours before the game, at the ticket office, without a line, a fact that would never stand at an Ohio State game, regardless of the opponent; a truly disheartening anecdote that calls into question the true level of devotion of Real Madrid’s fanbase), a Champions scarf and replica game jersey (both for our nephew, who is, with out a doubt, being indoctrinated with this dreck as we type). It pained me to think that we were, in essence, actively supporting the European version of the M*ch*g*n Wolverines.

May God (should he be an independent creation from Real Madrid) have mercy on our souls.

Photodocumentation of our transgression available on flickr.

Final note: the fans (however deluded) were really nice.

-bdmc

Edited to add: I truly enjoyed the tour of the stadium and the game. The stadium does not have a bad seat, and the fans were extremely friendly and entertaining. The Real Madrid museum was completely charming in its unabashed self-glorification and I truly think I’m getting into soccer. I think BDMC’s post might have been influenced just a little bit by his love/hate relationship with a certain rabid Real Madrid fan-in-law we know
-cuptastic

After an intense bout of homesickness this evening (spurred on by bdmc saying “wouldn’t it be nice to be sitting on our front porch with a beer right now?”) I arrived back to the apartment to find a full jar of olives, an almost full bottle of wine and some jamon serrano awaiting me. All helped to assuage the homesickness and also got me thinking about my favorite things in Spain. So without further ado, mi lista de mis cosas favoritas (in no particular order, and to be added to in the future):

01) Jamon serrano: kicks the crap out of prosciutto. Sorry, Italy.

02) Olives: they just taste better in Spain. (And there’s my white person statement for the day).

03) Walking through Retiro Park on my way to class: I doubt I will ever again have this beautiful of a walk to “work.”

04) And, oh yeah, “working” for three hours a day: okay, granted, this is specific to our trip and not completely about Spain, but not working beats the crap out of working.

05) The Spanish Language: it’s just so much more descriptive and flowery than the English language. Everything is just a little more beautiful/funny/interesting in castellano.

06) Four hundred verbs meaning “to lay down”: so you know how Inuits have about a thousand words for snow? The Spanish have about a thousand verbs that all basically mean “to lay down.” No wonder this is the country that created the proverb, “How beautiful it is to do nothing and then rest afterwards.”

07) El Prado, Thyssen-Bornemisza, Reina Sofia: We live in a city with three fantastic museums, not to mention other galleries and exhibits dispersed throughout Madrid.

0 The satisfying “thunk” of a cork being pulled from a €3 bottle of wine that kicks the living crap out of a $15 bottle of US wine. Now that’s the sound of progress.

09) Sitting in a bar or restaurant with friends and suddenly looking up and remembering that I’m in another country: it’s strange how quickly you start to feel like this foreign country is your own. That is, of course, until you try to pay your bill and the bartender asks you something in Spanish and you completely misunderstand him and it all goes downhill from there and then somehow you find yourself washing dishes for the rest of the evening. But for a short period of time, it almost feels like home.

-cuptastic

Since all good things come in threes (wishes, Graces, Stooges, Ménage-à-Trois..es), this is the third in a series of three posts on some Amero-centric topic. I don’t know what it is, but I’m on a Hispano-American comparison kick. I assure you, though, it’s only temporary, and this will be the last one for a while.

At any rate, we were out pub crawling again tonight in search of the elusive free food that intermittently comes with the beer (’tis a valiant quest: we’ve discovered parts of the city that aren’t listed on any tourist map), and as we were walking home, Al and I were suddenly hit with a wicked, undeniable craving for something sweet (damn munchies). We did a quick survey of our immediate locale, and realizing that there were no quick-rips around that would carry such vittles (side note, even in Spain, the quick-rips are run by Asians…”Hora!“), we caved and went to the one place we swore we wouldn’t visit while in Spain: Mc-F’ing-Donald’s (come on, it was RIGHT THERE and it was the only thing open…still…we’re so ashamed).

In an attempt to still honor our No American Fast Food Pledge (which for the purposes of this story now only includes burgers, fries and chicken), we settled on milk shakes, as that seemed the least culturally offensive. Unfortunately, milk shakes haven’t yet made the translation, so we agreed to split a McFlurry. (Side note #2: I’m personally happy to report that I’ve never had a McFlurry in the States, so in a way—to me, at least—it’s a Spanish…um…”delicacy”. Rationalizing, I know, but it’ll help me sleep better tonight.)

So we’re standing in the Mc-F’ing-Donald’s waiting for to order, and we both felt that something was eerily familiar (aside, of course, from it being a Mc-F’ing-Donald’s), and then it dawned on us: even in Spain, the Mc-F’ing-Donalds(es?) are staffed by South Americans and managed by white guys! It was surreal. As we were discussing this odd phenomenon on the way home, we decided that it would infinitely suck to make it all the way to Spain (which is a significantly more expensive and difficult crossing than that into Texas, even with the MinuteMen), and end up working at a Mc-F’ing-Donald’s.

What to do, what to do…(and DON’T say “Build a wall!”)

So between the facts that (1) the quick-rips are owned and staffed by Asians and (2) there even ARE Mc-F’ing-Donalds and (3) said Mc-F’ing-Donalds(es?) are staffed by South Americans and managed by white guys, tonight felt a very oddly American cliche. We’re hoping it’s only because Madrid is a newer city (by European standards), and very modern and pro-Western, and as such, feels similar to most other big Western cities. We didn’t get the American heebie-jeebies in Segovia—a smaller, older city—so we hope it hasn’t run rampant through the hinterlands. Our trip to Toledo (not Ohio) this weekend should give us another comparative datapoint. If they have a Wal-Mart, I’m going to kill myself.

Stay tuned.

-bleedingly liberal bdmc

We love cities, and Madrid is a fantastic city. Having been deprived of some of the luxuries of urban living for so long, we are both fully enjoying getting back into the lifestyle: the ease of transit, both by foot and metro; the greenery interspersed among the historic towers of concrete and steel; the hustle and bustle of so many people, and, of course, the people watching.

Over the past two weeks, however, I have been watching those same people slowly drive me up the f*cking wall.

I am an ardent supporter of the lackadaisical Mediterranean lifestyle and fully embrace the tranquilo (basically: “slow it down, hombre”) mentality, but can’t these mellow bastards walk in a straight line and on at least ONE side of the road, sidewalk, grocery store aisle, museum hallway, metro staircase or other public venue? Being laid back doesn’t mean there can’t be SOME kind of order and regard for your immediate place in the public sphere. I’m not talking about going all German where they fine you €60 when you’re late for your ping pong club meeting*, but c’mon…

Case in point:
During a recent trip to the grocery store (throughout which I was plagued with a raging headache), I:
• endured 30 minutes of sheer pandemonium while every Spaniard in Madrid, it seemed, scrambled to get to the market before it closed. There was no order, no common sense, no thought as to whether a person’s individual actions affected another. It was as if a giant ant farm full of Spaniards had just been dropped from above and shattered into this market and they were all skittering about trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
• was nearly bowled over 3 times by people not watching where they were going.
• got caught behind some numbskull intent on reading every ingredient on the back of a shampoo bottle whilst standing squarely in the middle of the aisle, oblivious that he was prohibiting traffic in ANY direction.
• received glowering stare-downs from a bunch of old ladies who wouldn’t move so that I could get to the stack of shopping baskets—which, contrary to logic, were not at the front of the store, but nestled behind some register which took 10 minutes to find, and rather than move them to a more accessible spot, the 10 employees of the store were all intent on stacking yogurt in the cooler section.
Needless to say, we won’t be going back to the market anywhere near closing time. Learned our lesson.

Anyway, as I was bitching to Al about my experience on the way home from the market, I commented that I longed for Chicago and the American appreciation of personal space, walking on the right, etc., and speculated that things would be different once we got away from all these Spaniards. She was quick to retort that it’s not Spaniards, it’s people that drive me nuts.

Maybe I need my own island?

*True story: our German friend, Tomas, said that he was in a table tennis club and if you’re late for your match (by even one minute), they fine you €60. Zee beatings vill kontinue oontil morale eemprooves!

-bdmc

You’d think that the continent with the greatest concentration of world-class museums would have yielded a population with at least a functional understanding of how to browse and behave in one.

Our recent trip to the Thyssen-Bournemisza Museum proved that this is only wishful thinking. There is still no way to get the culture without having to put up with the uncultured.

Alas, the day they institute a mandatory Museum Etiquette class and certification program for anyone wishing to enter such establishments is still too far off.

-bdmc

…as an American. Global warming is being caused by 18- to 21-year-olds in North America and Europe.

-cuptastic

Random observations about the Spanish adventure, both positive and negative, and in no particular order:

001:
The worst Spanish food is infinitely better than mediocre American food and can be purchased everywhere and for a fraction of the price.

002:
Having a 6 foot stack of blond hotness with you at all times gets things done around here.

003:
Spain needs a smoking ban. Too many boogers, not enough Febreeze. (Note to those coming to visit: Bring extra Febreeze for us.)

004:
We’re too old to be living in a substandard college-style apartment with the requisite patina of filth in close proximity to 4 other 20 year-olds who come home from the clubs at 6 am and hold an afterparty and holler till 7 am thru the paper-thin walls of our echoing apartment.

005:
6 people go thru toilet paper at an alarming rate. And they didn’t have TP in the bathroom before we showed up…disturbing to think of how they managed…

(and MC forgot to mention that not only did they not have toilet paper in either bathroom, but they did not have handsoap in either bathroom. all together now: ewwww…)

006:
They put the lightswitch to the public rooms (i.e. bathroom, living room, kitchen, etc) OUTSIDE the rooms, but the switches to the private rooms (bedrooms) inside the rooms. Weird. I get the idea of turning on the light before entering the room, but what happens if you’re in there and someone turns it off?

007:
Supply-line style water heaters are a decently good idea, so long as you have the water pressure to back them up.

008:
Would it really be that hard to mount a showerhead high enough on the wall so that 6-footers didn’t have to duck each time they wash their hair?

-bdmc

Our fourth roommate apparently returned from her two-week vacation last night (From what exactly do you need a vacation? The taxing few hours a day of Spanish classes? Really?).

She is very loud. This could get interesting.

-cuptastic

I am catching up on some email and blogs today while waiting for MC to finish getting ready. We are going to look for a market that is supposed to be close to our apartment and much cheaper than a store that rhymes with Smell Courte In glase, which I consider to be a cross between two stores that rhyme with Farget and Carbucks. (Spelling is strange because I’m trying to avoid weird web searches and spam). Farget because it offers pretty much anything you could want (although at higher prices) and Carbucks because there are so many of them and you can find them right across the street from each other.

Our tour yesterday was very interesting and made me feel pretty good about my Spanish comprehension. Although at the end, they did about a half hour tour of typical Spanish taverns and restaurants and I was so hungry that it was a little hard to concentrate. I might suggest to them that next time they do the taverns at the beginning of the tour when everyone is still full from breakfast and the historical part at the end. It was extremely disheartening to spend so much time in front of these restaurants with such wonderful smells emanating from them while my stomach was growling and have to walk right on by.

After the tour we had lunch at a little outdoor cafe and then walked around quite a bit until finally ending at the park where we sat and soaked up the sun for at least an hour. (For all the foodies reading, MC and I shared a ham and egg dish served on top of potatoes fried in olive oil. I’m drooling just thinking about it right now). The park was beautiful yesterday and full of Madrilenos who had the day off for Semana Santa. (And, by the way, we’re pretty sure there was a little bit of exaggeration going on when we were told everything would be super-cerrado. There were tons of stores and restaurants open all over the city). I’m glad we spent a lot of time outside in the sun yesterday, because today is much cooler and rainy. Madrid is in a drought right now, so the rain is a good thing, but tomorrow is supposed to be down in the low 40’s and some people are talking about snow. I think maybe that’s another exaggeration, but we’ll see.

Tomorrow is Easter and we are going to try to go to a Procession that’s done in the city and I believe ends in Plaza Mayor. We have heard a number of different things about the Processions, but I’ll wait until tomorrow to explain them once I’ve actually experienced one.

Okay, on to the market and then to do some laundry. Don’t our Spanish lives sound so exciting?

-cuptastic