Diario de Madrid: Tomando el sol, Plaza Mayor: Julio 9, 2005

I will not begin this with comments on the heat. It is an all encompassing, overwhelming theme that drips into everyday thought and speech, impairing ability for action, work and sleep. The nights are oppressive, although lately the temperature drop of three degrees has allowed for a few consecutive hours of slumber…

So, no. I won’t write about the heat.

Actually, I wanted to write about my new situation: living in Lavapies. The immigrant district, renowned for troubles and skirmishes between its beautifully diverse populous. The architecture alone can blow you away, Moorish domes rising above terracotta slanting roofs, all at once dilapidated and sublime. The mixture of Moroccans, West Africans, Asians, guiris and Latinos form a complex society that I hope will one day change the whole city. Racism and xenophobia is a problem here if you pay heed to the papers. I just get my food from the shop two doors down while shooting the breeze with the gargantuan smiling African who refuses to stock alcohol. I nod to the dog walkers in the square, who sit and sweat, watching the canines snuffle. I avoid the hot pools of water left by the limpiezas overnight, shifting my flowing skirt high above the grey cobblestones that rumble downhill.

I still feel disconnected from this life. I came here to learn a language I love, one that I grasp ineffectually at, but one so far I have fallen dismally short of understanding. I have lived the life of a guiri, choosing to speak my own tongue for embarrassments sake, feeling shame rise into my cheeks every time I attempt a contorted sentence of sorts.

I now live with an Israeli Jew and a young German photographer. They both study the art, shooting constantly, seeing life through a different lens. Yesterday I awoke at midday to find a semi-nude woman slumped against the wall, touching her legs suggestively. Today she is covered in nothing but a type of gauze netting, drinking peach tea and pouting at the camera. I am trying not to look, which is just too ridiculous and British for words.