A religious experience at the Templo de Debod

On Fridays, my Spanish school takes a "cultural tour." The director of the school majored in art history, he told me when I signed up for courses, so he knows his Spanish stuff. He gives a stand-up comedy act in Spanish around every sight we see.

This Friday, we saw the royal gardens. Each one is the same story, of kings trying to one-up the kings before them, usually their own fathers, by building bigger and grander gardens.
The most interesting sight was a statue outside the front gardens of Felipe IV riding his horse. His father had commissioned a similar statue in which he rode a horse "a pasello" (trotting along). That statue now sits in a plaza I stumbled across just last night.

Like father, like son, but flashier. Felipe IV wanted a statue of himself riding "a caballo" (galloping), and he wanted it at the front of the main palace´s royal gardens.

The artist he commissioned didn´t know how to build a statue of a galloping horse. The two legs in the back would be the only legs touching the ground, and the front of the statue would fall forward. He called on Galileo Galilee and Diego Velázquez to help him, and the all-star cast came up with a design that stands to this day, filling the back with solid iron and making the front hollow.

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Later that Friday, I made my first money in Spain, giving a two-hour English lesson. Oscar, the student, was 10 years older than me. He ordered us Chinese food, and we spoke in English and Spanish.

He works in food distribution, so he often goes to China, mostly to buy canned mushrooms. The reason he wants to learn English? To speak to the Chinese!

I laughed. No, he was serious.

A testament to the importance of English in business around the world.

When I came home, Dario and Hector were driving Margie mad. Margie opened the door for me, said a quick hola, and ran after Hector, who had chocolate smeared all around his mouth for reasons I still don´t know. I could tell I was in for a hard lesson.

I started off with a picture book, and the lesson was began smoothly. They named the words they knew. I gave them the words they didn´t, and they repeated them.

After about five minutes, though, Hector started saying "sufey" after every word. It´s a common joke. Hector thinks it´s hilarious, as does Dario, who idolizes him.

I usually pretend that they´re making an honest mistake. "No, that´s not right," I said. "What is it?" As long as they know the word, I´m okay with them adding "sufey."

Then Dario inexplicably spit in the book. "No, Dario, that´s not okay," I said. He spit again, and then Hector spit in the book. "What are you guys doing?" I asked, taken aback. "Go to the bathroom, get towels, and clean this up." I led them to the bathroom, and we cleaned up the book.

Time to move on to songs, I thought. But before the first song finished, Hector kicked Dario in the mouth. Utterly shocked, I scolded Hector. I decided to take the lessons outside to release some energy.

Hector and I threw a ball around. At one point, though, the ball fell onto the second-floor balcony.

"Oh, we´ll have to go get it," I said.

As I unlocked the door to the balcony, I saw a ladder leading up to the third story. As the door swung open, Hector bolted to the ladder, not even feigning interest in getting the ball. I caught him, barely, grabbing him by the ankle.

Meanwhile, Dario ambled out and chilled. I concentrated on Hector, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Dario trying to turn a giant water faucet.

"Lucky it´s rusted over," I thought.

I turned my attention back to Hector. He was almost bawling. "¡Quiero, quiero, quiero ver la calle!" he screamed in an absurdly high-pitched voice. ("I want to see the street!")

Suddenly, water burst out of the faucet, drenching Dario. In twenty minutes, they were going to a birthday party for their dad´s colleague´s son.

"Dario, no!" I yelled. I turned off the faucet as Hector raced up the ladder to ver la calle.

Margie changed Dario´s clothes, I retrieved Hector kicking and screaming from the porch, and Hector and Dario proved once and for all how ridiculous, hilarious, and crazy Spanish kids can be.

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Last night, (Saturday), Madrid hosted "La noche en blanco."

Riga (Latvia) and Rome have already hosted the festival and Paris and Brussels are set to host it as well, but it felt especially Madrid.

Almost the whole city stayed open through the night, which meant business as usual for many businesses. Also, museums stayed open, and small art exhibitions and music shows lined the streets.

I strolled the streets with Carol, a friend from Germany who I met at the Spanish school. Two hour lines at the museums drove Carrrrroh (the correct pronunciation of her name) and I away from the big stuff and towards three music shows and two art exhibitions.

At the Templo de Debod, I had a religious experience. I was watching Fátima Miranda, which the program said would make you ask, "¿Dondé estoy?" ("Where am I?").

Rain was falling as hard as hail, and the wind shook the trees and churned up the water around the temple. At first, I didn´t realize that the music was a human voice. I saw a woman onstage, carrying a clay pot on her head. I soon realized she was singing, something between an Indian spiritual and a wolf howling at the moon. We arrived at a calmer part of the song. Soon, she was almost shrieking, and then something between Bjork and Sigur Ros, and then, she fell silent, and the blue lights dimmed. The audience went crazy.