Spaniards Pronounce "Cinema" With a Lisp

FILMADRID: Day 1

Tuesday began with my divorce hearing, held over Zoom. I logged on and found myself staring at 12 or 13 strangers, all waiting for their turn while leaning over their webcams with poor available light and serious expressions. There were two other couples there for a divorce, including an elderly pair who seemed to be tickled pink by the whole process. Unlike me and my soon-to-be-ex, they were in the same physical room. The judge asked them only three questions: Were you married on this date? Have you lived in Florida longer than six months? Is your marriage irretrievably broken? Yes, ma’am was the correct response to each of these questions. Then the judge granted the divorce and it was ok to hang up.

With that out of the way, it was time to focus on my inaugural trip to Spain.

I have always been fascinated by people-watching strangers in public places were people have to wait. Bus stations, airports, subways, etc. Smartphones make it fairly easy to acquire snapshots of unsuspecting and unintentional models. They don’t have to be beautiful, or even look happy. They should merely look real. Caught in an unguarded moment.

My flight out of Jacksonville was delayed twice, which meant I might not make my connecting flight to Madrid. This was unacceptable, because I would miss a whole day of the festival and would have to stay in a hotel in New Jersey. When I landed at Newark International Airport, I would have to take the shuttle to the opposite end of the airport and run to the very last gate in the C concourse: 138. I ran at breakneck speed the entire time and panted so hard residual cigarette smoke in my lungs from high school was unearthed and I started coughing repeatedly once I made it to my seat.

Then it was a redeye. Seven hour flight where I did not sleep much but was surprised that I ordered a gluten-free meal for some reason. The cabin was dark as we glided over the Atlantic in the liminal hours. The Spaniards on either side of me (friends, but for some reason they left a space between them) were both asleep, so I took an opportunity to capture some covert images.

I arrived at the Madrid airport and found my phone did not work without wi-fi. Which really mean it didn’t work without wi-fe, as she was always on top of handling out phone plans when we traveled to Europe. I felt the lack of her and her foresight as I realized I had to figure out which subway stop to take without having access to the Internet. I knew I shouldn’t have put it off until the last minute! I ended up asking a surly subway agent for the closest stop to my hostal. Once I had that info I figured out which three trains I needed to take without much difficulty. I cut my teeth reading subway maps by spending time on the BART in San Francisco and Berkeley. I did feel proud of myself for figuring it out, but my pride was tempered by shame for a couple of wrong turns.

Again, once on the street, my phone was no help, so I asked a bartender where was Plaza de Angel, where my hostal was. Luckily, it was just down the street from where I was. My first taste of street life in Madrid was a suspiciously masculine prostitute calling “Hey, papi” and a fist fight in traffic that ended with one man pouring out his can of orange Fanta onto another who lay curled in a fetal position in front of a car idling, while a dozen horrified onlookers watched with distaste. I didn’t take any pictures of that.

I was soaked in sweat from toting my heavy luggage in 96-degree heat. When I met my envoy, Julia at the hostal I was still in culture shock: would I survive here not knowing any Spanish?

I showered, napped, changed into fresh clothes and Julia and I hit the pavement to walk to Lavapiés and have dinner with the FILMADRID staff. We walked and talked and she was delightful. It was also a pleasant surprise to put faces to the organizers I had emailed with over the past six years, Gabriel and Javier. Here is Gabriel:

I dined and drank with filmmakers from all over the world. I had to keep up, as I was now in the company of professionals, with distribution! I met a lovely Swiss woman of Iraqi descent who offered me much-needed marijuana (“Brother!” she exclaimed, handing me a joint). All in all, I have never been in the company of those who took cinema so seriously, or at least not since my Rogue Film School experience in 2010.

We saw a screening at the Cineteca, a short walk from the restaurant.

I said goodbye to my new friends and decided to walk back to the hostal to get some sleep. In an effort to get out of the rain, and also have a wholesome snack in my hotel room for later, I stopped at a Fruiteria on a street adjacent to Embajadores. There in the storefront window was a box of fresh purple figs, each about the size of a small eggplant. I ate the figs as I walked, half-lost, not caring, getting soaked. Eventually, I found my way back to the hostal, without Internet. Incredible.

Now, I can get on a sleep schedule with my fellow festival goers. Spaniards, cinephiles and all.