I made my début into Europe with Madrid which welcomed me with open arms. I have never lived in a major city before, therefore do not have professional experience with the metro system. Immediately after passing through customs I was thrown into this confusing operation of underground travel in order to get to my hostel. Long story short, I ended up being confidently pointed in the direction of several wrong trains around a good bit of Madrid before I arrived in the proper place: Sol. Such a simple name for such a complicated journey.
I stayed in Mad city for three nights. During my visit, there was a nation-wide strike consisting of mainly young folk due to the the government basically screwing them over with its decision for lower wages. Every time I stepped outside, a symphony of chanting, singing, and horn blowing penetrated my ears. The strike went on for two days straight. Thankfully I didn't leave until the day after the strike and the metro was running properly again. Others weren't so fortunate and had to change their expensive itineraries.
Police officers decked out in their finest swat-like getup decorated the streets. At one point there was a face off between the protesters who were linking arms and jumping up and down chanting, "
No consumen!" Or something similar. The police officers just stood their ground, legs in a wide stance, arms folded, and wearing the visage of warriors...or so they hoped.
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| My favorite frozen yogurt place post strike. |
My last night in Madrid, I wanted to get one last peek at the strike, so some other people from the hostel and I made our way down to the city centre. Cheap, green crunched up beer cans and ripped up, dirty signs from the protest tiled the ground. All the Spaniards now were scattered about drinking and smoking whatever was rolled up in those little white papers. The action seemed to have ended. All of a sudden I get a whiff of something burning. We weave through the dazed civilians and turn a corner onto one of Madrid's tiny streets. Smoke climbed the brick buildings and tumbled down the street towards us. We broke out into a run along side other amateur and professional camera men wanting to witness the creation of such smoke. One lady passed us, heading the opposite direction of the fire, saying in the most nonchalant state, "Oh it's just a car on fire." My eyes grew and my legs accelerated. The smoke was thick now and I had to use my scarf as a mask as not to become faint. La policía were pushing spectators back, trying to maintain what little control they had left over the city. It was mayhem. About 300 people were injured from the strike and many were arrested.
I made my début into Europe with Madrid which welcomed me with open arms. I have never lived in a major city before, therefore do not have professional experience with the metro system. Immediately after passing through customs I was thrown into this confusing operation of underground travel in order to get to my hostel. Long story short, I ended up being confidently pointed in the direction of several wrong trains around a good bit of Madrid before I arrived in the proper place: Sol. Such a simple name for such a complicated journey.
Police officers decked out in their finest swat-like getup decorated the streets. At one point there was a face off between the protesters who were linking arms and jumping up and down chanting, "No consumen!" Or something similar. The police officers just stood their ground, legs in a wide stance, arms folded, and wearing the visage of warriors...or so they hoped. 
My last night in Madrid, I wanted to get one last peek at the strike, so some other people from the hostel and I made our way down to the city centre. Cheap, green crunched up beer cans and ripped up, dirty signs from the protest tiled the ground. All the Spaniards now were scattered about drinking and smoking whatever was rolled up in those little white papers. The action seemed to have ended. All of a sudden I get a whiff of something burning. We weave through the dazed civilians and turn a corner onto one of Madrid's tiny streets. Smoke climbed the brick buildings and tumbled down the street towards us. We broke out into a run along side other amateur and professional camera men wanting to witness the creation of such smoke. One lady passed us, heading the opposite direction of the fire, saying in the most nonchalant state, "Oh it's just a car on fire." My eyes grew and my legs accelerated. The smoke was thick now and I had to use my scarf as a mask as not to become faint. La policía were pushing spectators back, trying to maintain what little control they had left over the city. It was mayhem. About 300 people were injured from the strike and many were arrested.
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