I’ve always considered myself an outgoing introvert. I love talking to people, but I often find myself needing to recharge after time spent in a group. But last weekend, I was overcharged. I’d spent so much time alone back in America, that what I really wanted was to be with people, to think about someone else’s life for a while.
Last weekend I had originally had plans to go to Milan for my friend’s birthday, which I had been looking forward to for a while. It was going to be Fashion Week when we were there, and the tickets were going to be cheap. But I had to cancel for a couple reasons. I had a “tocho” of work to makeup, which in Spain basically means a mountain of work, but I also wasn’t ready to get back on a plane. I’d had enough of airports and security lines for a while. Unfortunately, all of my friends were also leaving for the weekend to Lisbon. I knew it was the right decision to stay, but I worried with time to think I would just think about my dad.
So I planned the weekend to end all weekends in Madrid. I was going to do all the Madrid things I hadn’t had the chance to do yet, because they weren’t things that I could convince anyone else to do with me. On Thursday night, I went to bed early so I could “madrugar” (get up early) on Friday. I didn’t get up as early as I wanted to, but I did have enough time to visit La Capilla de San Isidro. I went to mass…unintentionally. I was looking around and all of a sudden everyone stood up for the priest who walked in and promptly began mass. I had wanted to see a Spanish mass anyways, so I stayed and took communion and tried to mark the differences in the masses. But if I’m being honest, they were pretty similar. The one main difference is that the Spanish don’t do any of that singing nonsense. There are no bells and whistles. The priest says the mass in the same tone of voice the entire time, gives communion, and leaves. Very utilitarian, and I thought to myself that as a kid I would have much preferred this kind of mass.
After mass, I went for Indian food in Lavapiés, which is the immigrant neighborhood of Spain with great Indian and Middle Eastern food, and I ordered “menú style,” which means for a fixed price I chose between several courses and a drink and dessert. So I was able to get all my favorites: garlic naan, tikka masala, vegetable samosa, and mango lassi for only 9 euros. Hopefully, in the next couple of weeks I can return to Lavapiés and have tea at a Moroccan tea house.
That day I also decided to go to the cemetery, because I didn’t know if anyone else would ever want to go with me. That’s the great thing about going places alone, you don’t have to compromise or be a team player. I went to the cemetery, because I wanted to.
Cemeterio de la Almudena, is according to Wikipedia, so take that with a grain of salt, the biggest cemetery in Western Europe and has more dead people in it that there are people alive in Madrid. But that’s not why I wanted to see it. I have always found cemeteries peaceful, and even when I’m home I’ll wander around them from time to time.
Tombstones for miles
The cemetery actually ended up being my favorite place I’ve been in Madrid. I went at sunset, and as soon as I walked into the cemetery the city sounds just faded away. I was probably one of the only people in the place. I couldn’t see or hear anyone besides the wind and birds. It was such a relief, because even when I’m at my host family’s house I still hear the sounds of them talking and of the neighbors next door and the traffic outside. But the cemetery was dead-quiet (pun-intended). Tombs went for miles, into a valley, in which there were more tombs for as far as I could see.
I wasn’t sure if it was bad to sit by a tomb, so I found a spot where I wasn’t disturbing anything and just sat and thought. I thought about my dad and just reflected a little. It’s always nice to distract myself with friends and activities, but sometimes I’m not ready to be happy and I just want to sit and be sad. So I let myself sit and be sad.
Cats hiding out in the tombstones
Some of the tombstones are broken and sunken in from years of wear. My host mom told me that often the cemetery asks the family to come retrieve the remains when this happens, and what’s left are empty, above ground tombs. Wild cats populate the cemetery and have made these empty tombs their home. I ran after the cats in an attempt to catch them, but I couldn’t. They remain elusive as ever. I just found out about a cat-populated café though, so I have high hopes for next weekend. At least I wasn’t truly alone, I had my cats and 5 million silent friends. Okay, that sounded really depressing, but I swear I had fun on my weekend alone.