Today Fausto has promised me a trip by motorcycle to Vallecas, a Madrid neighborhood fairly far to the south where he used to live.
In anticipation, I piece together a moto-ridin’ get-up, the highlight of which is definitely my bitchin’ black boots. Next time I bust them out, I’m definitely getting Em to snap a better-angled photo, but can you imagine a better spot for an outfit shot?? The lines, the colors!
Naturally, by the time we get around to heading out, the sun has warmed the air enough that I have to reconfigure. I switch to red plaid and glorified flip-flops instead, aiming for “sloppy rockabilly.” Emily can tell you if it works or not.
The garbage is nearly overflowing, so we grab it on the way. Unfortunately, the cans on our street don’t emerge until later in the afternoon, so it becomes the third passenger.
Fausto is an extremely calm motorist, commenting that maneuvering the bike gives him a sense of tranquility. I’ve only ever been on motorbike in Bangkok before, and in comparison Madrid traffic does seem extremely ordered. We meander southward, almost imperceptibly ascending in altitude as well.
Fausto calls this “El Parque de las Tetas,” and it’s immediately clear why – it takes the form of two giant mounds, clearly beckoning to be climbed.
It’s very much perspective-changing to view Madrid splayed out in a panorama like this. It can be altogether too easy to submerge oneself in the subway and allow the narrow streets to work as blinders, constantly funneling from destination to destination without any idea of a whole. Seeing the city stretch from one horizon to another gives me a sense of really being here all over again.
Fausto and I sit and absorb. We’re both oddballs of distinct varieties, and our rhythms match well.