from humble beginnings

On Madrid

Sitting in the hallway of the Teatro Real with my back to the wall, not completely used to the cross-legged position, because I am still unbendy as a piece of dried straw. And of course I forgot my pens an pencils, but brought a blank piece of paper with me. So I guess I have no excuse but to write this while listening to Spanish voices echo out of long fluorescent hallways. Next to the voices, the creak of a door can be heard every so often and I wonder when someone will come by to give me the signature look of “Oh, hi, hope you are okay, sitting outside of the door, while the boss is resting inside.” That is what the eyes say, we usually only exchange a quick “Hola” and “Buenas”.

It is bloody hot in Madrid right now, about 35º and rising. The mornings are nice, of course, but at the end of the days, walking become kind of more wet than it needs to be. And I do not mean just in the pant area, I mean everywhere. Every pore of my body is making an effort to outdo the other and I must say, this is a competition I didn’t sign up for.

Course the Tapwater isn’t safe to drink. And carrying around