Necks of Madrid
By Terje Raa
 Madrid
requires a good neck - strong, flexible and alert. For Madrid boasts impressions
high and low, something is always going on left and right, and people behind you
could at worst be evaluating your neck as a possible target, just waiting for
you to drop out of the crowd. However stressing the constant crowd may be, it
also protects you.
Plaza de Espana is ideal for studying the necks of Madrid,
whether belonging to tourists, locals or illegals. The square is easy to locate
- at the western end of Gran Via, a traffic artery and parade street. Plaza de
Espana has twin landmarks visible from afar: Edificio de Espana and Torre de
Madrid, skyscrapers from the days of Franco. The foremost attraction, at the
bottom of a Cervantes monument, looks tiny in comparison: Don Quixote and Sancho
Panza, cast in bronze as they head southwest on their respective horse and
donkey.
 An
untiring Don Quixote - tall, slim and armored - keeps standing up in the saddle
while holding a lance and with his neck erect, proud as a knight. He has spotted
a dangerous situation that calls for his interference, possibly giants disguised
as windmills. He appears to live in a world of his own. The aging nobleman is in
fact absorbed in a romantic fantasy world after reading too many knight novels;
medieval soap literature that is. His adventures have captivated readers for
centuries.
A pair of droopy ears on a bowed neck indicate that
something is amiss. The limp ears belong to Rocinante, Don Quixote's thin and
skinny horse, so exhausted that it only seems able to take one more step, just
to collapse into the pond right in front it. More noticeable is the harmony
between Sancho Panza and his donkey. Despite the burden of its heavy owner, the
animal trudges along with pointed ears on its horizontal neck, lulling Sancho
Panza to believe he will one day become a governor, as a reward for loyally
serving his master.
Necks at Rest
 Little
did the two know that in 1605, they would enter the literary world, as the
personified pioneers of modern literature, introduced by Miguel de Cervantes. At
an age of 57, he himself had gathered sufficient experience of life - among them
a 5-year war imprisonment in Algiers - to create these opposing characters
complete with psychological shortcomings; loved and laughed at by a whole world
ever since. Cervantes sits behind and above them, white as marble, the angle of
his neck suggesting he's busy counting the tourists who digitally immortalize
each other, pretending to be members of his little family.
Although dominated by the Cervantes monument, the sloping
park has also room for fountains, benches, pansies and trees bursting into leaf;
well-kept to the point of idyll. The idyllic picture is framed by restless
traffic. Less shining is the underground version of Plaza de Espana. At the
upper end, cars disappear down into a car park, while the pedestrian tunnels at
the lower end are populated by homeless junkies, resting side by side under
carpets and cardboard, hardly distinguishing between day and night. Privacy they
only find behind vertically suspended carpets.
 You'll
be alone with the junkies if you take the tunnel to reach Templo de Debod, an
Egyptian temple in Parque del Oeste opposite. In their apathetic condition,
hardly able to raise their necks, they pose no apparent threat, although
following you with watchful eyes. Always in need of money, but they seem to
conduct their stealing elsewhere, which may explain why they are tolerated on
this monumental spot. For some reason, other people prefer to wait at the zebra
crossing above to cross the street. It's possible that certain types, who notice
you taking the tunnel, might label you stupid and careless, practically asking
for trouble.
The early morning version of Plaza de Espana is a sad
sight: litter and empty bottles everywhere, even heaps of smashed woodwork.
Women and men, with "Parques y Jardines" written on the backs of their yellow
and sharp green uniforms, do their best to reestablish the shining image - by
rinsing, sweeping and hoovering. A few people sit on the benches, while a young
couple prefer a foetal position on the lawn, suggesting the police are not on
patrol yet. A playfully rising sun makes this time of day special.
Iron Embrace
 Like
a bolt from the blue, a forearm is thrust around your neck from behind, like
iron pressing against your throat. "Not like this!" you scream inside, convinced
it's the end. Then there is nothing. Until a very dark man stands in front of
you. "You must call the police!" he says, handing you your glasses. Regaining
consciousness takes awhile, but you realize gradually that all other belongings
are gone, except handkerchief and toothpicks.
A nearby police department
apparently specializes in attacks on tourists, located in Calle de Leganitos,
19. The reporting is fully systematized. You pull a number, grab the telephone
on the wall, choose language, whereupon a kind male voice starts dragging all
the details out of you, leaves you with a report number that qualifies you for
the waiting room. The early hour proves well-chosen, so you're soon checking up
on the telephone report with a local policeman, who describes the stranglehold
as a method practiced by Moroccans.
 Why
you, and could you have prevented it - the afterward soul searching may also
bring forgotten episodes into the daylight. You dimly remember two guys who
appeared all of a sudden, freshly shaven and clearly not from the junkie crowd.
Their soundless appearance alerted you so much that you walked away, shaking
your head at their unintelligible question. That's where your memory stops.
Still you have a feeling there was a sequence between the question and the
attack, now completely blank.
 Nor
do you remember any warnings. You have probably studied every page handed out by
the main Oficina de Turismo on Plaza Mayor. You feel like seeing them again.
They appear surprised at the violence of your case, but quite familiar with the
thefts going on. For the moment, groups of Rumanians operate in certain areas,
stealing whatever they can get their hands on. When they become aware of
new problems, the Oficina urges the police to keep an eye on that particular
district. As a tourist, you're told nothing unless you ask explicitly.
From a tourist point of view, the silence of the
authorities is reprehensible It would suit them better to take security
seriously, by informing, warning and publishing practical hints. A piece of
paper is enough; it can be revised easily, distributed together with maps and
folders, even pasted up. The Don and his squire nearly beg to be equipped with
discreet cameras monitoring the square. And the police do have loudspeakers, why
not use them: "Atención turistas, atención! Danger of stranglehold in Plaza de
Espana. Stay close to Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, they will look after you.
Gracias. Hasta pronto!" |
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