Learning Madrid
Nov 20 2021: I meet Madrid
This is a new place.
I lean into this, and listen for openings to present themselves. It’s always a little funny and freaky traveling alone. A trip exposes the self in many ways.
Olfactory sparks. Madrid has a certain smell — washroom meets green. Upon research I learn it is the decaying Poplar leaves in the city. This is both reassuring and also a little disappointing to solve the mysterious scent. The unknown kept me present.
This time away from Oslo feels very significant.
The people here in Madrid are incredibly warm and welcoming. I sense a sense of care that reaches beyond their borders. It inspires you to reciprocate; giving as much with each interaction.
The dance contract takes most of my time, but I walk to and from rehearsal acknowledging my map not to get lost and eventual learn my surroundings — there is joy is remembering where you are. Corners are helpful. Burger Kings become landmarks.
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Madrid is an incredibly dirty city. I laugh to myself as I constantly notice janitors positioned on the streets as they just push the garbage/leaves/whatever around from place to place, never really solving the problem. Gifting their collection to the neighbours.
I am three weeks into my plastic diet as I enter Madrd. This place is incredibly triggering for this affair. I, myself, cannot pick up every piece on the ground. My visual field distracted by each piece left. This place in some ways reminds me of Toronto; density overriding the potential to keep the place clean — and you see more care in some areas than others. This care is only the result of the area’s wealth and the greater system itself. In Madrid Centre the people are hard at work to tidy.
Unlike Moss, Madrid being a non-coastal city, I am forced to consider her insides; reframing the notion of a border where water meets land, to a place desiring close attention.
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A river cuts through the land — her current is soft, but present.
On my last day I set out to meet Casa de Campo — the largest park in Madrid’s centre that is astonishingly enough five times New York City’s Central Park. I spend 6 hours in here, like Moss, acknowledging visitors like myself with warmth, but spend most of my experience alone wandering deep into the park herself.
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I encounter the same blue as before.
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Nov 20 2021: I meet Madrid
This is a new place.
I lean into this, and listen for openings to present themselves. It’s always a little funny and freaky traveling alone. A trip exposes the self in many ways.
Olfactory sparks. Madrid has a certain smell — washroom meets green. Upon research I learn it is the decaying Poplar leaves in the city. This is both reassuring and also a little disappointing to solve the mysterious scent. The unknown kept me present.
This time away from Oslo feels very significant.
The people here in Madrid are incredibly warm and welcoming. I sense a sense of care that reaches beyond their borders. It inspires you to reciprocate; giving as much with each interaction.
The dance contract takes most of my time, but I walk to and from rehearsal acknowledging my map not to get lost and eventual learn my surroundings — there is joy is remembering where you are. Corners are helpful. Burger Kings become landmarks.
Madrid is an incredibly dirty city. I laugh to myself as I constantly notice janitors positioned on the streets as they just push the garbage/leaves/whatever around from place to place, never really solving the problem. Gifting their collection to the neighbours.
I am three weeks into my plastic diet as I enter Madrd. This place is incredibly triggering for this affair. I, myself, cannot pick up every piece on the ground. My visual field distracted by each piece left. This place in some ways reminds me of Toronto; density overriding the potential to keep the place clean — and you see more care in some areas than others. This care is only the result of the area’s wealth and the greater system itself. In Madrid Centre the people are hard at work to tidy.
Unlike Moss, Madrid being a non-coastal city, I am forced to consider her insides; reframing the notion of a border where water meets land, to a place desiring close attention.
A river cuts through the land — her current is soft, but present.
On my last day I set out to meet Casa de Campo — the largest park in Madrid’s centre that is astonishingly enough five times New York City’s Central Park. I spend 6 hours in here, like Moss, acknowledging visitors like myself with warmth, but spend most of my experience alone wandering deep into the park herself.
I encounter the same blue as before.
