Los cuentos de la peste

And the BAFTA for most unpredictable blogger goes to…

Hello. I’m back. I know, it hasn’t been long since I last wrote, last time I left a two-month hiatus between the posts and now I’m here, writing for the second time in less than two weeks. Even I wasn’t really sure that I would be here again so soon when I wrote “Until the next post, hopefully in less than two months!”. Odd, how these things go. But I have good reasons to be here: something nice and heart-warming, for once, and not just exams and complaining about uni life in Spain.

It all started when I still was in Madrid, during my second, fabulous weekend in the capital with my friends. I mentioned it briefly in my last post, but it’s worth recalling. We were enjoying a lazy stroll in the city centre, close to the Prado, when, suddenly, a poster of a theatre play hanging from a street lamp caught my eye: Los cuentos de la peste.

There was something familiar about it. The man on the right. A face I had already seen somewhere else. “Wait a sec, I know you!” I thought, and then I realised it was a brilliant actor I had seen in my favourite Spanish drama series, Isabel. The character he played in it was arguably the most interesting, a Machiavellian and ambitious archbishop (well, he was more of a politician to be fair) helping the Queen on the way to her throne. I just stood there, mesmerised, for a second, then ran after my friends, who hadn’t noticed anything and kept walking. I had many other things to get distracted with at the time, and places to see with my friends, so I just dismissed the thought of the play with something like “It’s out of the question, coming back here again for the second time in less than two weeks for a theatre play”. I was so, so wrong.

There were so many posters of the play around the city centre that I couldn’t really forget about it. So much so that, when I last wrote on the blog, another trip to the capital seemed like a viable project. The point is, I didn’t think I would ACTUALLY do it. But then, after all, I am soooo changeable.

On Tuesday 17^th, after a French class whose main feature of interest was the announcement that the following lesson, on Friday 20^th, would be cancelled, I started wondering on the possibility of going back again to the capital (French is the only useful class I have on Friday, the English into Spanish translation class is all theory, so IRRELEVANT). I tried to organise everything as efficiently as I could, and on Wednesday night I had my train tickets for the following day. Yes, the following day. Very expensive train tickets, that goes without saying. But I was going to make them worth it. If there’s one person I need to thank for this, for making my amazing little adventure possible, it’s Stefano, whose help and hospitality have been incredible, in spite of me monopolising his free time at such short notice. I couldn’t have done any of this without him, hence I’m immensely grateful.

El Teatro Español

Having the tickets for the theatre play, though, was an entirely different matter. I won’t go into details, all I will say is that I have been extremely lucky in finding a ticket for that night, which, incidentally, was exactly the one when there would be the only Q&A with cast and crew of the entire run. I didn’t know about it, so it was a lovely surprise. After all, the writer of the play, who starred as one of the protagonists as well, was Mario Vargas Llosa, recipient of the 2010 Nobel Prize in Literature, so listening to him talk about his work would be very interesting.

The play in itself was wonderful, rarely have I seen Boccaccio’s Decameron brought to life in this way, so lively, sexy, cheeky, full of joie de vivre. There was no actual wooden stage, it was just like a Roman theatre, with the first rows of the public being very close to the large, oval space where the actors were. I think it made it all quite personal, all close together in a not-so-big space. A theatre play is an experience for the soul, quite intimate and personal in itself, but the setting can definitely help creating the mood for it. Those two hours flew by so quick I almost didn’t realise the time for the Q&A had come.

Inside the theatre

I don’t think I could do justice to what was said there, I listened, sure, but not in the way I’d do at uni, to later critically comment and analyse. I just listened as Vargas Llosa talked about his work, about a decade of work out of love for Boccaccio’s Decameron, about the genesis of the play. I listened to the cast talking about how this experience had somehow created a family out of a group of strangers, something I can personally relate to, since it happened to me last year when I played a role in Un chapeau de paille d’Italie, UEA’s 2014 French play. In short, I felt quite happy my Spanish was good enough not to miss a single word, I only wish I could tell you more.

The Q&A (source: https://twitter.com/piquemen/status/568683773203750912)

It was a rather long Q&A for a theatre play, many people had questions for Vargas Llosa, but it was almost midnight and the theatre had to be closed, so, at 11.40pm, both cast and public rose up and chatted a bit before heading towards the doors. It was then that I thought I didn’t want a second Martin-Freeman-as-Richard-III disappointment, so I just went up to where my favourite actor was, luckily on his own as the rest of the cast had followed Vargas Llosa, and told him he’d been great, that I would gladly come back again if I could, and then, well, I think my voice basically disappeared, I was so nervous. I’m astonished I managed to speak in Spanish, when all my brain desperately craved was switching to either Italian or English. However, he was incredibly nice, he asked my name and whether I was a Spaniard living in Italy, and when I told him it was the other way round he seemed surprised and said I didn’t have an Italian accent in Spanish (no matter what people might say on the point in the future, I have this opinion to cherish and I’m chuffed, case closed). As he signed my ticket, I told him that the character he played in Isabel was my favourite and, again, he looked surprised, I suppose he didn’t expect Italians to know about the series, but smiled. Then, two other girls who were standing by asked for a photo together with him, and he asked me if I wanted to take one too. I could barely speak then, so I just nodded, smiling widely. After that, he gave me a hug, smiled and said bye, heading towards the rest of the cast. As for myself, I walked, well, ran out of the theatre into the square, without even putting my coat on, and it was a chilly evening, mind you. I just didn’t need it. What cared I for colds when my thoughts were entirely elsewhere? For a moment, just a tiny, precious moment in all these long, melancholic Erasmus months, I felt completely, blissfully happy. I almost couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it now, after a week. I tweeted my impressions on the play, got a retweet and now I have a new Twitter follower, which came as a most welcome surprise. I will use Twitter a tiny bit more from now on, I reckon.

Here’s the trailer, so you can have an idea. It’s in Spanish, though.

The rest of the weekend went as smoothly as one could possibly wish, I was in a perfect mood and Madrid seemed even more exciting than usual. I went on my own to the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, an art gallery close to the Prado hosting one of the largest private collections in the world, and then, on Saturday, Stefano and I went to the monastery of El Escorial, a historical royal residence located about 45 kilometres northwest of Madrid. The wind was so strong we could barely walk, but the site was so huge and there were so many rooms and floors that most of our time was spent inside. I was particularly impressed by the library, and by how generally stately and grand the whole structure was. Besides, it was a bright, cloudless sunny day, so the contrast between the grey-white walls and the clear blue sky made it all the more impressive.

El Escorial

On Sunday we didn’t really know what to do, so, together with a new acquaintance, Federica (new for me, she used to be a flatmate of Stefano’s), we went for a walk in the city centre, back to the Royal Palace for an exhibition of portraits on the history of the Spanish monarchy and to the Temple of Debod, an actual Egyptian temple in the heart of the capital.

Temple of Debod

In the end, the only sad thing about this perfect weekend has been having to go back to Atocha Station to leave for Alicante. When you get a taste of a different, more lively lifestyle, such as the one Madrid and, in general, capital cities can offer, it is even harder to get back to a corner of Spain where all you can do has already been done over and over again. If it weren’t for the lovely people I’ve met, living here would be even more mortally dull than it is. But let’s not dwell on the bad parts of this year abroad, however big they might be. I have this weekend’s memories to cherish, and no one can take that away from me, so, for the time being, I’m over the moon and intend to stay here indefinitely.

Until the next post!

xx