(unfinished and scattered)
every morning i crossed the rail way tracks. there was a rail stop near my house
walk down Calle Bolivia, turn left at the end, pass the small pastry shop, turn right and up and over the bridge, or under the railway through the tunnel.
i walked through the crowd of school children waiting for classes to start, past the old man in the kiosko, sometimes i would stop for a gummy strawberry, or a periodico. through parque de españa, sometimes i would walk along the street, and others i would walk past the fountains to see the swans. i would drag my feet in the gravel around the barricades. pass the ice cream shop that i never stopped at, to the cross walk. If i got up early enough, i would have a cafe con leche at Birdland Jazz Cafe, on the corner of Gran Via. it smelled like cigarettes and hashish, and from the third floor balcony i could see everything. other days i would stop at crosanteria paris, they had the best pastries, the blanco y negro, i could buy one fresh, still warm for less than one Euro, then cut through the alley near the cathedral to get near the plaza by my classroom. i would have time for a cigarette with the Italians in the hallway before class.
somedays i took a different route, but this was my favorite.
somedays i would walk down Paseo Rollo, turn by the traffic lights, pass the church and the catholic school, the fish market and slope down to the bottom. Through the smaller streets that by late night were filled with people celebrating and dancing in the street, from the chupiteria to the litro bar, and the salsa club. they all look even more foreign in the daylight.
in the afternoon i would walk around the city, i would explore the exterior walls of the cathedral, umbrella in one hand and notebook in the other. on the day i bought a bus ticket, i was in unfamiliar territory, i found the hospital, the bridge and the graffiti, the most odd looking trees that i cannot describe unless i draw it for you right now on a napkin. when i would get as far as the highway, when the sidewalk would end, i could see kilometers of olive trees and hills. Olive trees. i love them.
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unfinished.
walk down Calle Bolivia, turn left at the end, pass the small pastry shop, turn right and up and over the bridge, or under the railway through the tunnel.
i walked through the crowd of school children waiting for classes to start, past the old man in the kiosko, sometimes i would stop for a gummy strawberry, or a periodico. through parque de españa, sometimes i would walk along the street, and others i would walk past the fountains to see the swans. i would drag my feet in the gravel around the barricades. pass the ice cream shop that i never stopped at, to the cross walk. If i got up early enough, i would have a cafe con leche at Birdland Jazz Cafe, on the corner of Gran Via. it smelled like cigarettes and hashish, and from the third floor balcony i could see everything. other days i would stop at crosanteria paris, they had the best pastries, the blanco y negro, i could buy one fresh, still warm for less than one Euro, then cut through the alley near the cathedral to get near the plaza by my classroom. i would have time for a cigarette with the Italians in the hallway before class.
somedays i took a different route, but this was my favorite.
somedays i would walk down Paseo Rollo, turn by the traffic lights, pass the church and the catholic school, the fish market and slope down to the bottom. Through the smaller streets that by late night were filled with people celebrating and dancing in the street, from the chupiteria to the litro bar, and the salsa club. they all look even more foreign in the daylight.
in the afternoon i would walk around the city, i would explore the exterior walls of the cathedral, umbrella in one hand and notebook in the other. on the day i bought a bus ticket, i was in unfamiliar territory, i found the hospital, the bridge and the graffiti, the most odd looking trees that i cannot describe unless i draw it for you right now on a napkin. when i would get as far as the highway, when the sidewalk would end, i could see kilometers of olive trees and hills. Olive trees. i love them.
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unfinished.