The last weekend

My last weekend in Spain was a weekend of pride, in more than one sense of the word.  I left Madrid on July 4th, and the weekend before I left was the perfect way to end my second year in my favorite city (sorry New York) in the world. 


waiting for the parade to begin!

Saturday, June 30th was the Gay Pride parade.  I missed it last year, but I was determined to go this year.  I went with my roommate Christian and his two friends.  We met up at Alonso Martinez and walked down to the Plaza de Cibeles to catch the parade at the beginning instead of down by Plaza de España where all the drunken fiesteros would be.  Even before we turned down the main boulevard, I sensed that everyone walking down the street was a little bit happier and smiley-er than usual.  We passed a family with a baby, who couldn't have been more than 2 years old, waving a rainbow flag.  How could someone not love living here?  When it comes to the tiny seemingly insignificant parts of daily life here, they are the most traditional and annoyingly conservative people.  When it comes to the big matters, like telling people how to live their lives, they are the most liberal and accepting.  Spain was the second country in the world to legalize gay marriage, and Madrid was the perfect place to be on this very day.  The floats were amazing, the music was great, and the weather was the typical 90 degree cloudless sky that it seems to be every day in June in Madrid. 

I turned to Christian at one point when we were dancing in the street (waving to the hottest men I've ever seen in my life) and said, "Christian, I am so happy right now, I can't even put it into words.  This is the perfect moment."  He looked at me like I was crazy....but then again, he always does.  I couldn't explain to him how even though the theme of the day had nothing to do with me, that moment made me realize my complete joy and independence and appreciation for the life I had here.  How do you explain to someone that the sheer fact that we were dancing on the closed off street, in the Plaza de Cibeles, surrounded by the most accepting group of people I've ever seen, and everyone was having fun, was making me want to burst with joy?  Pure and simple fun. I had begun to think that it wasn't possible, but it was.  (The fact that every single one of my old problems was miles away probably helped.)

 

squished into the bar across the street
from my apartment during one of the
semi-final matches

The next day, Sunday, July 1st was the Eurocup final.  Now, I've never been very much into futbol, let alone sports, in my entire life.  I could appreciate athletes for their talent, and would occasionally be awestruck by the amount of passion they had on the field / court / pitch, but I never understood the obsession.  When Lynn was here, I was forced to get into the Eurocup tournament because Lynn is a sports fanatic and still harbours her patriotismo español from last year.  It really is inexplicable, but by watching the matches with her and the people in our hostels, I became obsessed with seeing our boys win.  I think it comes down to the national element.  I can't see the point in becoming obsessed with teams like Real Madrid or the New York Giants or the Lakers because it doesn't matter where the players are from as long as the organization has enough money to buy them.  I don't see the logic in supporting one team over another because (to me) they're all the same.  Tournaments like the Eurocup, the World Cup, the Olympics.....now that, I can understand!  No matter how good you are, or who you play for, you have to go back to your home country and play for them.  I love it.  After all was said and done, Spain beat Italy 4-0 in the final.  I celebrated in the living room with my roommate as the selección española became the first team ever to win three major tournaments in a row (Eurocup 2008, World Cup 2010, and Eurocup 2012).


celebrating the Eurocup final in our
enormous living room

Monday, July 2 was the welcome home parade for the team.  I had read somewhere that it was going to start in Moncloa, which is where I live!  I had been doing some shopping (obviously souvenir shopping the day before I had to go home) and wound up near the main street right around the time the parade was to begin.  I took a seat on the opposite side of the street because I wasn't about to brave the crowds of die-hard fans painted head-to-toe in red and yellow paint while we waited for the double decker bus.  While I was wandering around, I ran into my friend Carlinhios.  What were the chances I would see someone I knew?!  Then again, he does live around the corner on my block....so why wouldn't he see a parade like this passing right by our houses?  The parade finally began (over an hour late, as per usual in Spain) and it was the strangest thing seeing these "national heroes" in real life.  I loved the fact that half of them were drunk and they were waving to everyone in the crowd as if it was a small hometown parade. It made me so proud to even be a small part of this country.  Obviously, I'll never be seen as a real Spaniard by the people who have it in their blood, but I've been getting by pretty well so far, and one more year won't hurt at all.