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An article by a graduate about the Madrid MetroAs an English teacher in Madrid, let's just say that one gets an intimate sense of public transportation. This intuitive impression is not confined to routes and daily schedules. All subterranean cultures appeal to sensibilities different from their above ground counterparts. In New York City, I grew to love the experience bestowed upon me and my fellow passengers by the MTA. But as one good friend put it, the necessity of transport seemed to bring us all closer to the recesses of hell, where steps downward into the comprehensive maze of intertwined train lines reveal a gutted abyss liable to jolt all the senses: sights, sounds, smells, and even people ranging from disagreeable to offensive. The Madrid metro, in contrast, offers a host of benefits, including two (arguably) very pleasant surprises. Despite a recent two-week lapse in general upkeep when limpiadores (metro cleaners) were on strike giving anarchists the opportunity to wreak havoc, Madrid generally provides good service, a clean and comfortable experience that facilitates travel and tranquility. Electronic message boards indicate the impending arrival times of nearby trains, and they are never more than ten minutes away, usually no more than four. Often times, the next train is delivered to the station on the heels of the previous one, only a minute or two behind. One drawback is the closing time. 1:30 AM is the latest assurance that the system grants straphangers in the hours of darkness. For weekends out, one must take appropriate measures to make sure he or she can return home safely. These include cutting an evening of enjoyment short, catching a night bus at Cibeles to any major location, or balling it to the early morning (trains start running again at 6AM). It may just be that NYC has spoiled me with their round-the-clock service, but the sacrifice in Madrid is worth it considering the ease of alternative options as well as the unforeseen perks. There are moments over the course of a given commute when an indisputably delightful sensation attracts the attention of hungry bellies and curious noses. You may begin to notice this tantalizing scent emanating from open train car doors at a handful of select stations. This is not an olfactory mirage sent to haunt you during the daily drudgery of working life. In Sol, Tribunal, Plaza de Castilla and a few other integral transfer points, these aromas constitute the presence of an overwhelmingly tempting underground bakery. These panaderias prepare bread and pastries capable of manipulating any notion of self-control. And while dining is not ideal at such altitudes, a napolitana con chocolate (chocolate croissant commemorating the two-century old invasion by Spain's northern neighbor) can prove quite difficult to resist. Another revelation of the Madrid metro is the pervasive musicality. Above the metered rhythms of escalators and roaring trains exist soundscapes that, on occasion, reach for the sublime. Some may contest that these tunes intrude upon their aural serenity; I sincerely appreciate the vocation of these musicians. In exchange for the potential of coinage, singers, guitarists, violinists, accordionists, and horn players bless their immediate surroundings with choice notes. Often, they play along with tracks transmitted from an amplifier hooked up to a tape or minidisk player. From the looks of it, their profits barely cover the cost of the many D batteries that are needed to power the amplifiers, but for better or worse, many buskers earn their living off these prerecorded sounds. Though some "subterranean passions" exist in their original or unaccompanied form, most of the artists are indebted to Pachobel's Canon or an unsung verse of "Besame Mucho." It seems that the master accordionists have moved above ground in protest of this fact. They stake out corners as if they were careers and display the refined left hand technique often absent from those who rely on electronic supplemental sound. Indeed, many of the musicians become careless in their execution as they repeat a monotonous interpretation of a classic for the umpteenth time. As their faces begin to become recognizable, so will the songs. I promise that you will, if only unconsciously, learn at least some of the words to Spain's most adored anthem. Renditions of "Besame Mucho" are as varied as the people who attempt to do the song justice with their karaoke amplifiers. And while an unconvincing charm might still bring a smile, beware of the smile from a performer - it often comes with a price tag, or at least a feeling of obligation. I cannot as ardently endorse those who enter train cars to perform melodic tidbits before sticking their hands, hats, or small pouches out for contributions. In these settings it is more likely that a musical presence might interrupt the flow of one's thoughts or activities (ie. reading). Nevertheless, I usually welcome the addition to my ride. Andrew Aprile |
