September 29th
Spain’s financial woes are world famous at this point, but as American
expatriates living in Madrid, we're strangely removed from the
economic reality of the average Spaniard – and even from our ordinary
lives in the States. However, we have a little more sense of
solidarity this year, as, like the Spanish, we have made some budget
cuts. With college tuitions and our return to the States looming
before us, we had to say good bye to the nice woman who helped keep
the apartment clean. Also, though eating out is a common pastime in
Spain and had become a frequent habit for us, like many Spaniards, we
have cut way back on that.
So it was a special occasion when we decided to go out to dinner
Saturday night. We wanted to visit the Barrio de las Letras
neighborhood, where the stores and galleries were participating in a
design exhibit, and then go to an Asian restaurant, preferably a fancy
one, as the girls love an excuse to dress up. Matt found one near that
neighborhood. Normally it was quite pricey, but they had a major
discount for the night, 40% off. And it was double plus fancy as it
was located in the 100-year-old Westin Palace Hotel. Perfect.
In the cab on the way to the barrio, the driver mentioned that there
were demonstrations planned for tonight at Plaza del Neptuno, so we
might have a bit of trouble driving to our destination.
Uh oh, said Matt, that is where the Palace Hotel is, as well as the
Parliament Building. Just three days ago, it was the site of one of
the worst clashes between protesters and the police that Madrid has
seen during this tense economic downturn. Over 60 people were injured
in violent clashes. Some of the photos from that event were disturbing,
but I love this one that got a lot of press, of a cafe owner gaurding people who have taken refuge inside.
We decided not to worry. The design exhibit was a lot of fun. The
atmosphere was festive, with the streets full of people enjoying the
stores and booths and the decorations that had been put up in the
streets. These photos are all from the event's official website, www.nuevo-estilo.es
We were tempted to buy various items, old globes, jewelry, lovely
ceramics, but we kept to our austerity measures and saved our pennies
for the dinner.
As we walked towards the Plaza the crowd began to change. Intermingled
with the tourists and people enjoying a night out were others looking
more grim, some carrying protest signs. It became progressively more
crowded and we could see many thousands of people in the Plaza before
us, some chanting, some blowing whistles.
It did not seem possible to cross that Plaza, but the hotel was not
far to the left of us. Maybe if we stayed close to the sides of the
buildings we could squeeze our way through. I was struck by the
difference in the mood of this demonstration compared to the
occupation of Puerto del Sol just a year and a half ago, at the
beginning of the Arab Spring and Occupation movement. Then there was a
sense of gaiety and humor. The mood this night ranged from mere
boredom to angry desperation. With so many unemployed in Spain, many
have little else to do.
We were feeling quite self-conscious about our fancy dress. Here and
there were small groups of people sat together in the midst of the
crush. I looked at them nervously, recalling news stories of people
trampled in crowds.
As we squeezed our way toward the hotel entrance, we came right up
against the police barrier. On the other side of the metal gates was a
row of policemen in riot gear. And right behind them, the entrance to
the restaurant. Maybe we could ask one of these nice policemen to let
us through? After all, we are so nicely dressed. Matt was looking
incredulous – What are we doing here!? These are the very barriers
that the crowd stormed three days ago, and the police responded with
rubber bullets and truncheons.
Once out of the plaza the crowd thinned. As we made our way down a
dark street toward the back of the hotel, I couldn’t help but feel a
twinge of guilt that I was not staying to chant and hold a sign. But
exactly for what solution was so unclear. Anyway, I was really looking
forward to a nice dinner.
There was a hotel service entrance with a guard standing outside. We
told him that we had reservations for dinner but could not get in
through the front. He showed us in and handed us over to a young woman
who had us follow her down several narrow halls, into a storage room
with sacks and barrels of food and then through the kitchens. The
cooks and waiters watched us with surprise as we walked gingerly over
slippery floors.
After the noise and confusion, first of the protest and then of the
kitchens, it was a shock to go through the swinging doors into the
luxurious hush of the Palace Hotel lobby, encircled in columns and
bouquets of fresh flowers. I was momentarily confused by the
tranquility of the elegantly dressed diners. Were they unaware that
they were like prisoners, barricaded in the hotel, with just the glass
dome and a veneer of luxury separating them from the riotous crowd in
the plaza?
And what a dome, commissioned by Charles III in the 18th century as a
meeting place for the crème of Madrid society. What fun, just for an
evening, to imagine being that crème, carried above the fray by
centuries of privilege and unerring good taste.
From the lobby, we were led into the restaurant. With the carpets, painted tapestries, silk
cushions and pillows, that luxurious hush was even deeper, the protesters yet further away.
After finishing our drinks, appetizers, Peking Duck, desserts and
sesame encrusted walnuts, we stepped back outside, leaving by the main
entrance of the hotel this time. We now found ourselves on an empty
street, facing the protesters on the other side of the barricades. A
phalanx of armored cars stood between us and them. It felt as though
the crowd was specifically protesting against us.
We escaped through another set of barriers and side streets and were soon on Gran Via. Always noisy and crowded on a Saturday night, it was especially congested due to the rerouting of traffic for the protest. We thought we would escape into the metro, but that was closed off due to strikes. At least the taxi drivers are benefitting from this mayhem!
I suppose the best way for us to help the Spaniards is just by spending our money here, even when it puts us on the other side of the barriers. Hmmm. I may not be helping by posting this. To our friends and relatives in the U.S. Please do not hesitate to come visit. We promise not to take you to any protests! (Unless you want to go :=)
Spain’s financial woes are world famous at this point, but as American
expatriates living in Madrid, we're strangely removed from the
economic reality of the average Spaniard – and even from our ordinary
lives in the States. However, we have a little more sense of
solidarity this year, as, like the Spanish, we have made some budget
cuts. With college tuitions and our return to the States looming
before us, we had to say good bye to the nice woman who helped keep
the apartment clean. Also, though eating out is a common pastime in
Spain and had become a frequent habit for us, like many Spaniards, we
have cut way back on that.
So it was a special occasion when we decided to go out to dinner
Saturday night. We wanted to visit the Barrio de las Letras
neighborhood, where the stores and galleries were participating in a
design exhibit, and then go to an Asian restaurant, preferably a fancy
one, as the girls love an excuse to dress up. Matt found one near that
neighborhood. Normally it was quite pricey, but they had a major
discount for the night, 40% off. And it was double plus fancy as it
was located in the 100-year-old Westin Palace Hotel. Perfect.
In the cab on the way to the barrio, the driver mentioned that there
were demonstrations planned for tonight at Plaza del Neptuno, so we
might have a bit of trouble driving to our destination.
Uh oh, said Matt, that is where the Palace Hotel is, as well as the
Parliament Building. Just three days ago, it was the site of one of
the worst clashes between protesters and the police that Madrid has
seen during this tense economic downturn. Over 60 people were injured
in violent clashes. Some of the photos from that event were disturbing,
but I love this one that got a lot of press, of a cafe owner gaurding people who have taken refuge inside.
We decided not to worry. The design exhibit was a lot of fun. The
atmosphere was festive, with the streets full of people enjoying the
stores and booths and the decorations that had been put up in the
streets. These photos are all from the event's official website, www.nuevo-estilo.es
We were tempted to buy various items, old globes, jewelry, lovely
ceramics, but we kept to our austerity measures and saved our pennies
for the dinner.
As we walked towards the Plaza the crowd began to change. Intermingled
with the tourists and people enjoying a night out were others looking
more grim, some carrying protest signs. It became progressively more
crowded and we could see many thousands of people in the Plaza before
us, some chanting, some blowing whistles.
It did not seem possible to cross that Plaza, but the hotel was not
far to the left of us. Maybe if we stayed close to the sides of the
buildings we could squeeze our way through. I was struck by the
difference in the mood of this demonstration compared to the
occupation of Puerto del Sol just a year and a half ago, at the
beginning of the Arab Spring and Occupation movement. Then there was a
sense of gaiety and humor. The mood this night ranged from mere
boredom to angry desperation. With so many unemployed in Spain, many
have little else to do.
We were feeling quite self-conscious about our fancy dress. Here and
there were small groups of people sat together in the midst of the
crush. I looked at them nervously, recalling news stories of people
trampled in crowds.
As we squeezed our way toward the hotel entrance, we came right up
against the police barrier. On the other side of the metal gates was a
row of policemen in riot gear. And right behind them, the entrance to
the restaurant. Maybe we could ask one of these nice policemen to let
us through? After all, we are so nicely dressed. Matt was looking
incredulous – What are we doing here!? These are the very barriers
that the crowd stormed three days ago, and the police responded with
rubber bullets and truncheons.
It could happen again at any moment. He herded us back through the crowd.
Once out of the plaza the crowd thinned. As we made our way down a
dark street toward the back of the hotel, I couldn’t help but feel a
twinge of guilt that I was not staying to chant and hold a sign. But
exactly for what solution was so unclear. Anyway, I was really looking
forward to a nice dinner.
There was a hotel service entrance with a guard standing outside. We
told him that we had reservations for dinner but could not get in
through the front. He showed us in and handed us over to a young woman
who had us follow her down several narrow halls, into a storage room
with sacks and barrels of food and then through the kitchens. The
cooks and waiters watched us with surprise as we walked gingerly over
slippery floors.
After the noise and confusion, first of the protest and then of the
kitchens, it was a shock to go through the swinging doors into the
luxurious hush of the Palace Hotel lobby, encircled in columns and
bouquets of fresh flowers. I was momentarily confused by the
tranquility of the elegantly dressed diners. Were they unaware that
they were like prisoners, barricaded in the hotel, with just the glass
dome and a veneer of luxury separating them from the riotous crowd in
the plaza?
And what a dome, commissioned by Charles III in the 18th century as a
meeting place for the crème of Madrid society. What fun, just for an
evening, to imagine being that crème, carried above the fray by
centuries of privilege and unerring good taste.
From the lobby, we were led into the restaurant. With the carpets, painted tapestries, silk
cushions and pillows, that luxurious hush was even deeper, the protesters yet further away.
After finishing our drinks, appetizers, Peking Duck, desserts and
sesame encrusted walnuts, we stepped back outside, leaving by the main
entrance of the hotel this time. We now found ourselves on an empty
street, facing the protesters on the other side of the barricades. A
phalanx of armored cars stood between us and them. It felt as though
the crowd was specifically protesting against us.
We escaped through another set of barriers and side streets and were soon on Gran Via. Always noisy and crowded on a Saturday night, it was especially congested due to the rerouting of traffic for the protest. We thought we would escape into the metro, but that was closed off due to strikes. At least the taxi drivers are benefitting from this mayhem!
I suppose the best way for us to help the Spaniards is just by spending our money here, even when it puts us on the other side of the barriers. Hmmm. I may not be helping by posting this. To our friends and relatives in the U.S. Please do not hesitate to come visit. We promise not to take you to any protests! (Unless you want to go :=)
 |
| Claire and Iris with the Palace Hotel behind, and, further back, the Protest behind police barriers. |
