A love letter to Madrid

Plaza de dos olores horribles, pis y mierda fresca,
Tus rasgos me asaltan, atracan mis sentidos,
Como cubo de basura, recibes todo lo mal,
Hasta que el cubo se derrama,
Un verdadero vertadero,
Su gentuza apesta a merluza,
La tarde arde con un infierno andaluz,
La luz acaba en este vacío de Malasaña,
Feo, ediondo, así te quiero mi querido Madrid.

Pasé la tarde en Plaza Dos de Mayo y un poeta, viejo, desesperado, me vendió su libro de poemas y, por pena, se lo compré. Inspirado por sus poemas, que me parecían de poco nivel, si voy a ser sincero, escribí este poema.

Kicked Out

So I got kicked out of my apt. 

Saturday evening, as I was preparing my grocery list and skyping with my gf, I get a What's App message from my roommate (anyone who has lived in Spain knows that What's App is king here, you can even use it as a verb). He said in the message that he wanted to have a word, it was important and he wanted to do it over a drink. Bet. 

I didn't have a clue what it was about but I knew it was regarding the flat. I arrived at the Cafe del Teatro, a couple blocks from home, and found him working on his laptop. The cafe was chic yet homely, hipster except for the fact that there weren't hipsters there but local folks. 

We jumped right into it, I didn't have time to dilly dally. 

"Larry, I'm asking you to leave the apt. The reason is because I'm sick of living in the tiniest room in the flat and want one of the larger bedrooms. I know how this goes, I've been kicked out of a place in the past and was given little time so, because of it, I'm giving you a month to find another place." We'll call him Asier, out of respect for his privacy, and he said all this matter-of-factly and once he said it I knew that this was a final decision, not something to be discussed or debated. 

"Tell me the truth, Asier, what's the real reason for kicking me out, be straight with me. If it's a bigger room why are you kicking me out and not one of the other roommates?"

"The main reason is because I want a bigger room... though I won't deny that our prior conflict didn't influence my opinion. We've had our run-ins but that's not the main reason."

"Look, Asier, I'm not gonna mince words, you're fucking me over. You and I had a verbal contract, back in August, that I would stay until the end of June. I wasn't planning on deviating from that and now I have to look for a new place, to me this is coming out of left field. I knew we had our differences but I also thought we'd moved past it."

"Well, the other day I was in my room and you were in the kitchen with a friend when she began to say, 'Is this the same flat where you were arguing with your friend...' and then you cut her off. Well, I heard the whole thing and it really bothered me and I was about to come out of my room and say something but thought better of it."

"You're right about that, that's how it went and I admit that that was silly of her to do but what I told her wasn't shit-talking because I have no problem telling that to your face. Furthermore, Asier, I understand that this is a decision you've taken and I have to simply live with it and move on but I want to be very clear with you: you're fucking me over."

During this convo I was texting on What's App with a friend and simply told her to come meet me there, that way we could both go to the supermarket together (obviously prior to getting hit with this news). When she arrived (and had no clue what our convo was about) she reminded him of the dinner and this guy had the gall to show up. Picture it, you kick someone out and then go to the dinner that they've prepared. I don't blame my friend for her ignorance, she had no clue, but he lacks decency, in my opinion. 

We had a great time at the dinner, I made pollo guisado and platano maduro (comfort food for me, my friend wanted Cuban food and I said, "I can make that at home and it'll be cheaper that way"). I decided that since it was the plan we'd made I wasn't going to let the bad news spoil what could be a great night and so it was. 

He'd given me a month to look for a new flat, and that was the 22nd of January when he told me, but I knew that I wasn't going to use up that month, the goal was to get the hell out as soon as possible. I began looking that Sunday, posting a status on FB letting my friends know that I'm looking for a room and reaching out to them individually but it took its toll. It all came as a shock, especially after I spoke to my other roommates about the matter, they had no clue that he was so unhappy in the situation. They also were upset because in our previous (and sole) roommate meeting he made it clear that even though he was the leaseholder he didn't want to consider himself above us. Making such a unilateral move made it all too clear that they weren't peers anymore and changed the dynamic. 

You're free to make what you want of the situation. Personally, I take this as an affront on two levels. Firstly, on a professional level: we had a verbal agreement that I would stay until the end of June. He broke this agreement and that's unlawful, plain and simple, I can give a shit about his flimsy reasons. Secondly, on a friendship level: you don't do that to your friends. You don't. At least, by making this decision, you make it clear that you're no longer friends. I knew this was the case and I wanted to give him a piece of my mind but I also knew that, just in case he chooses to be vindictive, I need to hold my tongue until I get my security deposit back. 

I searched and searched but to no avail. I sent many messages, I called some of them and went to see some but nothing clicked. Monday the 30th I woke up with a knot in my stomach, I had 48 hours to find a place and none of my friends were able to let me stay with them, well, one did offer his couch and for that I'm grateful. That Monday morning I debated looking for an Airbnb or placing all my efforts on finding a place. The first place that I saw I called and within a half hour I was in her flat checking out the place. It wouldn't normally be my first choice, if I'm going to be honest, but with time running out I had no choice. I decided to lock it up, be done with it and in one fell stroke had gotten a room. 

Once I'd locked up the room, handed in my deposit and gotten the keys I knew it was just a matter of packing and organizing the move. That and getting my deposit back as well as being brutally honest with him regarding what transpired. 

I had been rehearsing for days what I was going to tell him, each time I told a friend my story I would end with what I was dying to tell him and that moment came Thursday afternoon. 

That afternoon he began by asking me if I'd cleaned the bathroom per house rules of cleaning, to which I replied "no". He proceeded to lecture me on why that was one of the reasons why he was kicking me out, that that affects living together and I bit my tongue (because I can give a shit about cleaning this week, I had this tiny thing called moving out of the place I called home for the past 7 months coming up). 

Once that money was in my pocket I let him have it. 

"Listen, Asier, I need to get this off my chest before I leave and I want you to know before I begin that this isn't going to be a conversation or debate, this is a speech and I just want you to listen." 

I reiterated the two points I made above and told him very clearly that "we're not parting ways as friends and that what he did was wrong". Within a couple of minutes I'd made my points and was ready to leave but he also wanted to get something off his chest and, out of courtesy, I listened patiently. He spoke for damn near 10 min, and even threw me a curveball, mentioning that he was going through something and that he thought I'd been passive-agressive (which makes me laugh, I think I'm the last person you could accuse of that, it smelled of the pot calling the kettle black if you ask me) but aside from that it was regurgitated points. After ten min listening to him I cut him off since I still hadn't eaten breakfast and had to head to work. 

As I was eating my croissant and sipping my coffee I was mulling over what happened when I received a What's App message from him. In it he said that perhaps my sense of smell is off and that my room smelled and made a couple other points. Whether that was truly the case or not I thought it a low blow and cowardly, he didn't have the nerve to say it to my face when he had the chance. I was two seconds away from responding but I thought it imprudent, I won't get pulled into a tit for tat. Good riddance. 

As I reflect on my experience there are a few lessons. Living with friends is a dangerous circumstance, it can turn out well or it can end disastrously. I would think long and hard before making such a decision. I do need to be more considerate with my roommates, though it's worth noting that my other two roommates were sad at my leaving and angry with him. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm aware of my shortcomings and am always ready to listen to any criticism, no matter how harsh, but I do think where I'm lacking I make up for it in other ways. I should've signed a contract, something, a verbal contract ain't worth shit and now I'm left to pay the price for it. 

Ultimately, I think in the future I'll either live on my own or with my girl, this roommate shit is for the birds. 

Lazy Sunday

We woke up late this morning but early enough to go for a stroll through El Rastro. The great thing about living in a foreign city is there's a constant stream of new places you haven't been to, you haven't discovered, and the novelty never seems to wear out. Today we found the Mercado de la Ribera, a tucked away spot near the end of the main street of El Rastro that caught my attention. It was packed, with stalls lining the walls and people flowing in and out, sitting at tables outside on the terrace. 

We continued up the street, making a left and grabbing a tapa at Teatro Bar, a well known spot with good tapas, a cazuelita of your choosing with every drink. Then we went to this spot we found in our last expedition through El Rastro, Bar Santurce, where we chowed down on grilled sardines and pimientos al padron (unos pican, otros no). The sign of a great place is the pile of soiled napkins strewn across the floor, look below:

 

What do we do next? Head for the Campo de la Cebada, an occupied space that's self-run by a community organization that has renovated it, taken an abandoned lot and filled it with the life. Concrete walls are adorned with graf and street art murals, stands with seating made from donated or found materials, a basketball/football/handball court where pickup games are regularly played and many gardens and green spaces which are spread out across the open area. As we speak a singer/songwriter plucks her strings to the applause and praise of her impromptu crowd, most are here to sit down in the shade and share a beer with friends or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin. 

Being that this is an open space and all are welcome you get your fair share of strange folks, we saw the crazy dude at the cumbia party at La Tabacalera that argued angrily with some folks in the bathroom and later accosted women on the dance floor a couple weeks back. He dropped a litrona (like a 40 oz) right behind Armelle and totally splashed her but that's the thing, with spaces like these you never what will happen next and that's kinda the fun of it. We posted up in the stands in the shade next to some hippie stoners that were really friendly, they even had this awesome greyhound that was all over the place but cool in the end. This is a typical, warm Sunday in Madrid, magically lazy. 

Lunch / Comida / Déjeuner

Lunch is a pretty simple concept, you have it in the middle of the day, right around noon back in the states. Thing is, in Spain it's customary to have five meals a day. You have breakfast as soon as you wake up or get to your work bar, then around 10:30, 11, you have merienda (almuerzo) which can consist of a small sandwich and then you have lunch around 2pm. In fact, you can tell that 2pm is the Spanish lunch hour because when someone invites you over lunch it's at 2, I made this faux pas by showing up at 4 for lunch and my fam out here were like, "but we invited you for lunch, that's at 2!?". 

It could be that everything is later because of the addition of two extra meals but I think it's also owed to the longer day here. Spain and the rest of Iberia is just below England and so, because of its longitude, should follow Greenwich-Meridian Time (GMT) as opposed to Central European Time (CET). It doesn't because Franco, during WWII, wanted Spain to be on the same time format as Germany to be able to help them (clandestinely). It's a holdover from that time but the Spanish have simply adapted, they eat later at nearly every meal except breakfast and the sun here in Madrid, come summer, will fall around 10. Is it any surprise the Spanish party like it's 1999?

 Lunch doesn't stop being different in relation to time. Here you have to have a first plate, second plate and dessert. That's called a "menú". Not to be confused with "menu", that in Spanish is "la carta". Confused yet? Everywhere you go you'll see boards with signs advertising how much their menú is, typically around 9€, and the fare at a normal bar is standard Spanish cuisine. If it's a steak (entrecot) or something similarly expensive it'll cost you more. 

When I worked at the school in Cercedilla my first year it was a bit of a culture shock (but then again what wasn't). A first plate might be soup or beans or a plate of rice with tomato sauce (think rich ketchup, the kids loved that dish!). The second plate would be maybe a chicken breast or pasta or paella, something a bit heavier. I couldn't understand it at first why I'm eating a chicken breast separate from beans or rice. As a Latino you have your meal altogether, same plate and all (even if I'm bougie with my salad and always eat it on the side). As an American you can also have everything together, perhaps you might order an appetizer before the entree but that's on you. They need the order ... and don't even think about skipping dessert! A piece of fruit, yogurt or maybe just a cup of coffee, you always have to have that last bit. 

When I go out I see it as normal now and even do it at home sometimes, if we have leftovers they might become the first plate. The structure, even if it's annoying when all you wanna do is have your beans and rice with chicken, is a bit refreshing coming from a city (NYC) and culture where you see people walking down the street scarfing a slice of pizza on their way somewhere. I no longer eat on the go, I sit down, take my time to eat, decompress and then continue working or heading to my destination. 

There's something old-fashioned to it but that's sometimes the best aspect. I think often in western society it's seen as backwards going to small shops that overcharge or take too long with service or don't offer a to-go option. However, those same elements can be seen from a different perspective. When you buy something from a chain, franchise or big-box store that money is being siphoned from your community to a multinational company. Service may take longer but there's a human being who has dedicated their life to that job and knows it better than anyone being trained in a couple weeks and paid minimum wage. That to-go option? That's just contributing to more rubbish, more detritus, more plastic is being produced to accommodate that growing need (or want) and for what? Just sit down and eat ya damn lunch in peace. 

10 Sitios Imprescindibles Si Vienes A Madrid

Muchas veces tengo amigos o familia que me piden detallar lugares que deben de ver en Madrid o tal vez me piden describirlo. Recientemente mi madrina y padrino me pidieron esto mismo y decidí hacer una guía, por cierto, hay sitios que se me olvidaron y hay lugares que me recuerdo de ellos al estar en una zona o pasando una calle, pero pienso que esta guía es un buen punto de inicio.

1. Puerta del Sol - Es el centro de Madrid, el centro de España y un poco parecido a Times Square en el sentido de que hay muchas actuaciones. Aparte del circo de curiosidades hay cosas en concreto, Kilómetro Cero está ahí, el punto central de las carreteras radiales. La estatua del oso con el madroño, símbolo de Madrid (que se puede encontrar en el escudo de Madrid), también se encuentra ahí. 

2. Plaza Mayor - Cada ciudad española tiene su plaza mayor y Madrid no es excepción, a 5 minutos andando de Puerta del Sol uno puede "tomarse un café con leche en la plaza mayor". (Alusión a la frase vergonzosa de Ana Botella.) Tiene varias salidas/entradas y la fachada pintada es preciosa, no puedes venir a Madrid sin verlo. 

3. Palacio Real y la Catedral - Vale la pena echarle un vistazo al palacio pero desde fuera, cuesta una pasta entrar y en realidad para que? Para ver cuartos amplios con muebles dorados? La plaza delante del palacio tiene estatuas que adornaban antiguamente la fachada, los jardines reales son una pasada y la catedral se puede acceder desde el lado y recomiendo verlo. Lo bueno es que todo esta al lado del otro, puedes empezar con la catedral, luego el palacio y al final los jardines. 

4. Templo de Debod - Uno de los puntos más altos de Madrid con paisajes a la vista, también tiene un templo egipcio y es punto para quedar y hacer botellón para madrileños cuando hace buen tiempo. No es solamente turístico, aquí se ve un poco la cultura madrileña. 

5. El Prado y La Reina Sofía - La gran mayoría de museos están colocados en el Paseo del Prado, una avenida ancha con árboles y un camino peatonal en medio de la carretera. Estos museos en particular, el Museo Thyssen también merece la pena, tienen las obras de los pintores españoles más conocidos, el Prado tiene Velázquez y Goya, la Reina Sofía tiene Picasso y Joan Miro (creo). 

6. Paseo del Prado - El Paseo de la Castellana se convierte en Paseo del Prado empezando en Plaza Cibeles, aquí es donde los madridistas (hinchas del Real Madrid) celebran sus títulos y donde la Cabalgata de Carnaval y varios desfiles se celebran. Bajando el paseo llegas a Plaza Neptuno, donde los hinchas del Atlético de Madrid celebran sus victorias, y si sigues bajando llegas a Atocha, la estación principal de trenes y sitio donde ocurrieron los atentados del 11-M, lamentablemente. En Atocha hay un sitio donde hay un montón de tortugas y es uno de mis lugares favoritos en Madrid para parar y desahogarme. 

7. Círculo de Bellas Artes - Madrid, como muchas ciudades europeas, no tiene muchos rascacielos, de hecho sólo tiene 4 (las Cuatro Torres), y entonces los pocos edificios altos que tiene ofrecen paisajes amplios de la ciudad. Desde esta terraza, o nada más salir del edificio, se puede ver el famoso edificio Metropolitan, iconico de Madrid. 

8. Gran Vía - Empezando en Plaza Cibeles, atravesando el centro tienes Gran Vía, una calle petada de turistas y madrileños, con varias tiendas comerciales. Al otro lado llegas a Plaza España, otro punto de encuentro para jóvenes y gente de todas edades donde también tienes al barrio chino al lado. 

9. Malasaña y Lavapies - Malasaña tiene boutiques y plazas, bares para salir de cañas o lugares donde puedes tomar un batido, sería un poco como Williamsburg en Nueva York. Perdiendote por las calles te da la sensación de la historia de la ciudad y hay bares, como El Palentino y Casa Camacho, un poco cutres, donde se puede tomar el pulso de la ciudad. Lavapies es un barrio un poco parecido a Malasaña pero que todavía no ha sido gentrificado. Aquí se ve la mezcla más diversa de nacionalidades, en mi opinión, y por eso me encanta Lavapies. 

10. Bares y Centros Auto-gestionados (Okupas) - España es muy de bares pero no el sentido de emborracharse, se come el desayuno en el bar, tomas la comida (almuerzo) ahí o pides una caña (acompañada de una tapa) y luego tal vez traes a tu familia al bar de "toda la vida" para quedar con amigos y familia. En algunos bares sólo te ponen aceitunas o patatas fritas con la caña (una cerveza pequeña), en otros puedes salir hinchado. 

Las okupas son algo muy curioso, son técnicamente centros socioculturales donde la comunidad ha formado un comité para gestionar un edificio abandonado y aportar servicios y clases a quién quiera. Hay sitios como La Tabacalera, La Morada, Patio Maravillas (que en este momento sigue sin sitio) y La Dragona que son auto-gestionados sin ayuda del gobierno pero con el apoyo del pueblo. 

Al final hay muchas cosas que tampoco se puede explicar o describir, como el ambiente acogedor de Madrid. Hay calles perdidas, hay plazas sorprendentes y tanto más que hacen falta las palabras. Si tienen algunas dudas me los comunican pero lo mejor va ser cuando estén aquí para poder mostrarles la ciudad. 

A Day to Forget

I woke up Monday morning wanting to have breakfast, relax a bit before teaching my class at noon here at home. What happened instead was my landlady, Luisa, came with her ax to grind and berated Armelle and I before I'd even finished my first piece of toast.

What happened? Sunday morning, after traveling 1,700 km, 32 hours from Strasbourg to Barcelona and then on to Madrid we arrived home. We showered, ate something and got under the covers for a nice siesta in our own bed when just as I'm drifting off to sleep I hear the door open. There's a knock on my ex-roommate Rodri's door and then the shouting began. Luisa had come in, saw Rodri's friend sleeping on the couch and was upset that he had allowed a friend to crash. There was the also the reason Luisa was there, she came to show the room and Rodri refused to allow her to see it. Bea, Rodri's quasi gf, got into the mix in order to defend him when she got into it with our prospective, now actual, roommate, Sandra. I heard all of this, and the full report from Rodri and Juanma's perspective later, but I just stayed in my bed listening while Armelle dozed, I saw no need to step in since it wasn't my problem. Luisa has this impression that I'm the only person that brings guests over and allows them to spend the night, in fact, on various occasions she's made me feel like I'm an awful person for doing so, something that at times makes me second guess myself. I know I'm right in this respect, though, she wants to run a boardinghouse here, not a shared apt, and this is what bothers me most, here I have less freedom to have company over or invite guests to come and spend a few days than I do with my own parents! So Sunday morning, after all the shouts and slammed doors dissipated I fell into a deep sleep...

Around 7 pm that same Sunday I was in my room, I'd already spoken to both my roommate's and the apt was calm, Rodri had gone to Bea's all shaken up, Juanma went out with a friend to have tapas and Armelle and I were on our laptops when we hear the front door open. I knew it couldn't be roommate's and so could just be one person: Luisa. She heads straight for the living room and starts complaining to me how the lamp there is broken, how the chair from the dining room set table is also broken and recounting to me the events from earlier in the day. At various points I tried to interject that none of those points, none of those issues had to do with me. We had just been away nearly 3 weeks, when we left the lamp worked albeit we never used it, it was just there in the corner. If I'd broken it, I'd pay to fix it, I have no problem taking responsibility for what I break. The chair was broken from usage and the chairs were poorly designed to begin with, that's part of offering a furnished apt. And the issue with Rodri and having guests, it does have to do with me but I've already stated a thousand and one reasons why I don't agree with her, the number one because I pay for a shared flat and that should be an issue resolved with the roommates alone. Here's the kicker, though, she came, berated m over things that I hadn't done and she came drunk. Yup, I could smell it on her a mile away, she wreaked and I tolerated her because I knew in this state I couldn't easily get rid of her, so I listened though I also gave her a piece of my mind and finally, when she'd realized she was chastising the wrong person she sat down on the armrest of the couch and began to cry. Talk about emotional blackmail! I gave her a pat on the back and told her to go home, think on it and we could talk about it tomorrow or later on.

She came the next day, asking for the rent, fair enough, and for 10 euros extra for the lamp, then 10 euros extra for a cleaning lady she'd hired, without our consent, to clean the apt. I summarily told her she'd only get the rent from me and not a penny more. In the following she came every single day, most days twice a day for silly reasons, she brought back the lamp repaired, sans lampshade. She kept the chair, or threw it out, not sure, but it never made a reappearance and at some point mid-week there was a glimmer of hope that Luisa had gotten her senses back. This was a mirage, she'd spoken to Juanma saying that she'd been unfair with us and had taken things overboard but she only communicated this to Juanma, she never told us any of this. In any case this all evaporated once Rodri moved out and our new roommate, the aforementioned Sandra, moved in. Just when we thought that we might be able to stay a bit longer, because we liked the apt, he neighborhood, that there's a storage area for bikes downstairs, that there's a Lidl a block away, a Dia across the street, that Chinatown is the next neighborhood over, we loved all these things and didn't want to uproot. No, we got La Pedorra as a new roommate and she lived up to her stinky moniker.

We got our first taste of what La Pedorra is like last Saturday. We invited a couple, Daniel and Laura, to come over and play video games. She wasn't going to be home that night, something Armelle had learned prior to Sandra learning that we were having company. It didn't matter. She saw our company arrive so we invited her to play with us and get to know us to which she rudely declined. She then, after briefly speaking with Juanma, called Luisa. She complained that there was company over every day she'd been there, which was true though not nuanced info. In the week prior we'd had company only once and it was that Saturday night, Rodri had company the day she came to check out the apt and Juanma had company the previous night. These were all weekend nights, so you kinda have to tolerate it. It didn't matter. Luisa called me, yelling at me, asking why I had company. After trying to patiently reason with her I lost my cool, yelled back and then hung up. For me to yell it takes a lot, and I mean a lot, to get that response out of me. She then messaged me on What's App and told me I'm not allowed to have company at all, not to play, not to have dinner, zero company. That was last Saturday and the following Sunday I had an early morning argument with her and Sandra, it left things clear: we have to get the fuck out of this crazy, fucking situation! In a few days we'd sent nearly 50 messages, gotten an appointment to see one and liked it. We move in on the 1st and this dark period with our insane landlady, Luisa, will be just that, a period in the past and days to forget.

Breakfast / Desayuno / Petit Déjeuner

My first year in Spain the concept of breakfast was a culture shock (like many things).

Back home in NYC I'd pass by the breakfast cart in front of the liquor store on Sutphin Blvd and buy a croissant or Boston creme and cup of coffee on the way to the E and finish it on the platform while waiting for the J or on the J. Either that or I'd buy a bacon, egg & cheese at a bodega near the Clinton-Washington stop and finish it at work ( I so miss these). The famous New York minute, a way of life measured in seconds, where folks buy their breakfast to-go and scarf down their grub on the subway, has its place but Europe moves to the beat of a different drummer.

Let's begin with where they have breakfast in Spain. At the bar. Yes, at the bar. Everyone. Not just drunkards or clubgoers stumbling out of the club for café con leche con churros, normal people: the construction workers in paint-spotted jeans and boots, the office workers chatting and smoking a cig with their co-workers just outside their office building and the executives, a suit-n-tie munching down on an Andalusian breakfast. Early on I would wonder why the bars were open before the bakeries, why so many people frequented them and why on earth there weren't any to-go cups for coffee (most bars will give you coffee, hot coffee, to-go in a plastic cup). My first year I had to walk 10 min through Moncloa and grab something quickly from Rodilla or Al Punto before hopping on the 687 to Cercedilla (it was an hour-long ride).

I would also have breakfast at Armelle's home some mornings and this was my introduction to a typical European breakfast, toast with butter and/or jam accompanied by tea or coffee. That's it. No eggs. No bacon or sausage. No home fries or French fries. A typical Spanish breakfast, the aforementioned Andalusian breakfast, is toast with a tomato-based sauce (that I think has a bit of garlic in it) with olive oil and salt, it's my preferred breakfast in Madrid. I also have oatmeal some mornings but that's something I'd have in the States, I picked it up from reading about fighters' diets.

I was reminded about this difference this morning and how I no longer need eggs with my meal, how I don't balk at the thought of just toast. And one should take into account that the merienda, mid-morning snack, still has a strong place in the customs here, in reality you have 5 meals a day and so a lighter breakfast is more bearable knowing you'll eat again in a couple hours. It's also nice to just go to my local bar or the one outside my class and sit down, take 10 min to have breakfast or 5 for a cup of coffee and take a breather before jumping into my workday. And this pace is just great.

A New Yorker in Madrid: Top Slang You'll Hear in Madrid

Before I came to Spain I thought Spanish was just Spanish, sure you've got different dialects all over Latin America but when you got down to it, it's all just Spanish. Thing is, here Spanish is often referred to as Castellano, because aside from from regional dialects you've got parts of the country that speak something altogether different like Euskera, Catalan and Gallego. The last two seem like a combo of Spanish, French and Portuguese, which makes sense given their Latin origins, but Euskera, from Basque Country, is in another league, some say it comes from barbaric tribes that populated Spain before the Romans and that were never actually conquered by them, the Arabs or the Catholic Kings that came later. Basque Country is dense forests and hilly, a terrain that's closed off and very different climatically from the rest of Spain.

Now, I've come across a person from nearly every Spanish-speaking country and picked up the lingo from their respective countries but Spain is a microcosm of Latin America. Here's a vocabulary guide to some of the slang I've come across out here, I'm sure I'll continuously update it.

Guay - adj. it basically means cool. You're gonna use this shit a lot here. It's like chido for Mexicans, chevere for a Venezuelan and chivo for us Salvadorans.

Friki - n. comes from freaks or freaky, without a doubt. Used to describe a misfit or outlandish person or a geek. A computer geek would be a "friki". Doesn't have to have a negative connotation.

Genial - adj. used much more than its English counterpart, it's used in place of great or nice.

Tí@ - n. refers to a guy or chick in the colloquial Castellano. You hear this all over the place here in Spain.

Tronco - n. also refers to a dude in the colloquial way and is particular to Madrid.

Buen@ - adj. means a hot person.

Cachonda - n. this one is tricky, it can mean a hot girl, a horny girl or a slutty girl. I thought I had a handle on this one but I've altogether decided not to use it, not worth the potential offense. Cachondo, on the other hand, is typically used to describe a humorous guy.

Cachondeo - n. can mean laughter, silliness or having a good time, I heard this a lot when I worked at a school, it was used by the teachers when they were scolding the children for laughing a lot and making noise.

Maj@ - n. + adj. it can mean a nice person or a hot person, it all depends on how it's used, can also be used interchangeably with guap@.

Guap@ - n. + adj. it's a handsome or attractive person, in general, but in Madrid they use it plainly, it doesn't have to have a meaning or compliment behind it, it can be used to simply address you without using your name. I got hype the first time someone addressed me this way but you soon figure out it ain't like that.

Follón - n. is a big mess, comes from follar (to fuck), anytime you add -on to the end of a word it makes it big, like botellon, which means big bottle.

Botellón -  n. you'll be doing a lot of this in Spain, it means a get-together in a park, typically to pre-game before heading out. You can do it in a plaza, park or any other public place and it can involve spliffs or shishas but, above else, it means drinking in public. You can't botellon without a bottle of something alcoholic.

"!!!" - this one is a sound, similar to a sucking noise but slightly different, you make it by putting your tongue on the roof of your mouth and snapping it out, the Spanish use it in place of "well", I'd say. It definitely has a meaning, this sound, though it's hard to recognize at times.

Where to eat pupusas in Madrid

I've often said I've got a fat man in my belly, I put it away like nobody's business.

I think with my belly, I love cuisine from all over the world and don't say it frivolously, though it's taken work and resolve on my part. I also love a bargain and am constantly in search of dishes I've had that are sometimes hard to find outside a cultural and culinary capital like New York. The first thing I looked for in Madrid in anticipation of my arrival back in 2013 was pupusas. I can't live without them, ask me what dish I'd have to eat for the rest of my life if forced to and the resounding answer would be pupusas, without a doubt. I'm Salvadoran, it's in my blood, but it's also a great dish, it's very healthy, filling and I've shared my favorite dish with people from all over the world and they've loved it.

What is it? It's a tortilla (not the Spanish kind with eggs and potatoes) but closer to its skinny Mexican cousin, though thicker and made from corn dough (masa). It's similar to its Venezuelan kin, the arepa,but I like to kid that the arepa is like an incomplete pupusa, though not as thick. It comes stuffed with your choice (typically) of cheese, cheese & beans or cheese, beans and chicharron (shredded pork). That last one is called a "revuelta", it's my preferred choice though perhaps not the healthiest (but let's face it, sometimes it's most flavorful for a reason). The pupusa then comes with the option of adding curtido, which is diced cabbage, carrots, onions and spices soaked in water and vinegar, I'd say it's kind of similar to coleslaw and even have my theories of how it may be linked to Germanic traditions. You can also add a tomato sauce on top of all of this and there you have it, the pupusa.

Pic from the internet

In New York City, in my neighborhood of Jamaica, Queens, I had approximately 7 pupuserias (as they're called) within walking distance of my home due to the high density of Salvadorans and other Central Americans in the area. My favorites are Pupusa Market (formerly El OK Restaurante) and Marina Restaurant. In Madrid there aren't nearly as many guanacos and in reality I only know of two places, the first, Rio Grande, I found Google searching "pupuseria Madrid".

Rio Grande (Pupuseria Madrid)

I have an emotional attachment to this place, I won't lie. When I found the Facebook page I only had an address to go off and I was still a noob getting around Madrid so I depended on my friend Jean to get us there, along with her roommate John. We took the 3 from Moncloa and walked from the Villaverde Bajo-Cruce stop, which is a good 10 minute walk (it was a rookie mistake). We got the area and looked around in vain for the storefront, back and forth along the street. Finally I decided to take a look at the address again and realized that we weren't looking for a storefront but for an apt. The restaurant was in someone's apt! This was quite shocking for my American pals, they couldn't fathom that a restaurant could be in someone's place and in any case felt it was pretty sketch. In NYC I'd seen businesses grow this way, in fact, Marina's up above had that same trajectory, springing forth from their home and having so much commerce coming through their doors that they eventually decided to open up a proper restaurant. So I knew that it wouldn't be so bad and I knew that I wanted pupusas, I was dead set on having them, danger be damned. They wilted initially, but bolstered by my resolve chose to join me, they certainly didn't regret the decision. It was someone's piso (apartment) but it was run like any restaurant, they had a waiter, tables set up in the living room and a menu with the dishes available. My buddies liked it so much they'd make trips there without me.

When we went it was early Sept and around November they opened up a brand new location, the owner, I still don't know his name but Jean dubbed him "Smiley", was exuberant in informing us. That's where they are now, just a stone's throw from the Villaverde Bajo stop on Cercanias and 15 minutes away from Sol on the C3 or the C4. I love this place, I feel like I grew with them and am always met warmly each time I come, the prices are great, the service decent (and that's saying a lot for Spain) and if you order a glass of wine they give you a tub! I highly recommend it, I'll be there tonight.

Sombrero Azul

I've only been to this place twice but I have to check it out at least a third time because I hear their Sunday sancocho is to die for. For those that are afraid to venture to Villaverde (it's not that far, people) I don't know what to tell you, but this place is located in the center, in Malasaña, and provides some good pupusas. The service was good, the locale tiny yet cozy and you can also get Mexican food like a torta (because I suppose they just lump Central American cuisine with Mexican here *groan*). The caveat: it's a bit expensive, each pupusa is 2 euros and most things on the menu are pretty expensive, especially compared to the former restaurant. If money isn't an issue and you live nearby, by all means check it out (though I wasn't impressed with the Mexican food, the torta wasn't genuine). The pupusas were def par for the course, however, and you're always met with a smile.

If you have any questions or know of other spots please feel free to drop a line below. Buen provecho!

How to pull an all-nighter in Barcelona

All you gotta do is take a free magazine from La Taverne in Strasbourg, miss the last bus to Madrid due to a packed bus, find a quiet spot for my gf to rest while the restless urchins that traverse that crummiest of crummy travel hubs (a bus station) scuttle by. 

The majority of the sketches/doodles I worked on though some I finished after and some she added her touch. Even though it was uncomfortable giving myself something to do helped pass the time, growing up in New York passing through Port Authority I knew there was no way I'd get any sleep especially in a city like Barcelona, there's no shortage of junkies, bums and thieves, that's for sure. 

Un 'Naco En Madrid: Una Curva (A curveball)

My journey coming to and arriving in Madrid was mired in complicated circumstances.

My friend, we'll call her Mary, convinced me to come here, told me all about how cheap Madrid was with its tapas, how living in Madrid enables you to see Spain and visit other parts of Europe more easily and how liberal it is when it comes to the consumption and production of marijuana. She was also in love with me. I was aware of the last bit yet I made it clear that if I were to move to Madrid it would be for my personal growth, not for romantic reasons.

We were paramours. Since my last serious relationship I've known many women who were amazing in so many distinct ways but for some reason or another I liked the relationship the way it was, with no strings attached. It was no different with Mary, she was intelligent, witty, pretty and I could spend hours with her watching tv, playing games and drinking, just having a good time. She was also possessive, though, and even though I made it clear where I stood, my feelings toward her and what I saw for our future (just being friends), she was still territorial, jealous and intrusive, looking through my emails and messages. I tried letting her off easy yet the message went ignored, no matter what language I used.

Maybe I didn't try hard enough to sever ties. Maybe I shouldn't have continued our physical relationship long after she'd grown attached. Maybe I was wrong to accept any gifts or help she offered, no matter how tempting or alluring. Maybe I shouldn't have come to Madrid. Whatever the uncertainty or regret I feel, the path only moves forward. The recipe for disaster had come to fruition and it was only a matter of time before I tasted the meal.

There was a fallout. I am to blame, demonstrating poor self control and poor judgment, perhaps it was self sabotage unconsciously manifesting itself. Whatever the case, she hates my guts, an eventuality that I'd imagined but one I lament nonetheless. Even though Mary and I had our problems it's always incredibly painful to lose a friend.

I'd always been a bachelor but suddenly I was truly on my own, owing nothing to no one. I thought I could finally breathe, finally go out, flirt, hook up, go on dates, bring home whoever I like. I had a bit of success but I also found Spain challenging, I've never really had hang ups about my complexion or race but Spain is a different beast. Here, I can pass for east Asian, Latin American or Middle Eastern, none of which are particularly appealing to most Spanish women. Oh, with my haircut I can also pass for gypsy (imagine where they stand in the hierarchy). Normally I'd take pride in being confused for these other ethnicities but instead it only made me second guess myself. It would be a lonely year, it seemed, and what was never an insecurity of mine started to wear on me.

I fell into despair. Normally reasonably confident, I felt ugly here, unattractive, thinking that I was part of that undesired group of dark-skinned people that go mistreated, misunderstood and marginalized much like in other parts of the world. I'd resigned myself to my fate and felt that if that's how it is, I would not let it change me, let it mark my attitude, I would be the same person I've always been and see who responds to that.
Just when I'd moved past the maelstrom of Mary, crossed the desert of despair and found solace in my self confidence I found her. It was lust at first sight, like many relationships first start for me, but I could tell she had something special about her.

I met Armelle at a free salsa class at La Tabacalera, as we swiveled our hips together and flirted. We spent time together whiling away the days chatting, taking strolls and becoming closer and closer when the thought that'd eluded me for four years now began to take hold on the cliffside of my mind, a mountain rose sprouting. When you least expect great things, when you least expect to meet that special someone, life has a way of throwing you a curveball. And I'm thankful.