Pressure Down (Madrid)

Sunday in Spain, dear reader, like that in France, is civilised and quiet. While some establishments do open and hospitality workers score the worst part of the deal, it is genuinely a day of rest and relaxation to enjoy with friends or family (if you like them enough). Just like Australia was before we became all 24-7 American in the eternal chase for more. It does take some getting used to, but it is worth it. It takes the pressure down (by John Farnham) one might say. 

As a result of this intelligent behaviour, we had decided to do little more than head to the main park in Madrid for a relaxing afternoon. That was after we called Dave to hear about the horrendous transit day he and the family had, returning from Japan. You know in my world, dear reader, everything is a competition. Except transit days. Transit days are no longer a competition, Dave reigns supreme. If you need to increase your stress levels then click here - it is a traumatic read.

The Parque de El Retiro is at the bottom of Gran Via and whatever it changes into when it turns a corner. The street, not the park. As usual the best laid plans … we hit the crest of the Gran Via and looked down the streetscape to crowds. Glances were exchanged. “Not sure we can get through there,” Jayne said. Scanning further down the street, I saw people movement, “Yes, we can, over there” I said, pointing to a moving mass of people. Teeth gritted, off we went.

Down the street we walked, past some barricades and hundreds of people who were standing on the road’s edge, obviously waiting for something. A fun run? A parade? A protest? A pope? I had a flashback to my time in Madrid with World Youth Day in 2010. There didn’t seem to be any flags of support for any particular event or team. We pressed on to find section of the road closed off with barriers preventing people and vehicles going further.

When we arrived at the Palace of Communications, there was a special corralled area with chairs and a podium. We looked back towards where we had been, the crowd was growing as was Jayne’s interest. The park would have to wait. Out came the phone and after a few attempts, Google managed to stop trying to sell me shit and answered my question.

Behind the dignitaries' corral.

Today, October 19 was the Transhumance Festival, something that has embraced the streets of Madrid since 1994. Despite its history, the organisation was, well, not all it could have been. More on that later. The gist of the festival is to celebrate the historic, sustainable farming methods that have been used in Spain forever. This has now blended with climate change (yes it’s real and yes we are responsible for the speed of the change) and a renewed focus on organic, sustainable farming.

Now how does that manifest itself in a festival? Good question, dear reader. With a parade of people in traditional dress from Leon and Castille who dance their way down the streets, followed by some 1,000 sheep and 200 goats. Allegedly. And the crowds continued to grow.

The dignitaries started to arrive.

Jayne wanted to see the sheep. A girl from Dubbo wanted to change our plans and see some sheep. I thought she would have seen enough sheep in her early life. Wonders never cease. So we set ourselves up behind the muster station for the dignitaries, with a view directly up the Gran Via. All the better to see the sheep with my dear.

And we waited. And we watched the electrical leads being taped down in the visitor area. And we waited. And we watched the electrical leads being untaped and placed inside the rubber risers that allow safe pedestrian access. And we waited. And we watched the police ride around on their motorbikes. And we waited. And we watched the police move the barriers to contain the ever expanding numbers of people. And we waited. And we watched some of the dignitaries arrive – they just looked like old female famers. And we waited. And people ran from one side of the road to the other. And we waited. And the police moved them back again. Then there was a flurry of activity and barriers were moved and people rushed from everywhere to fill the void and the police got active and nothing happened.

We went back to waiting. The throng continued to grow, all the way to the top of the hill. This could be a triggering moment for me as I experienced more flashbacks to World Youth Day. Then a helicopter appeared. A good sign, the media were close, so must be the sheep. From the top of the hill came a cheer. Excitement rippled through the crowd. The police all caressed their automatic rifles in anticipation. Pandemonium. The crowd broke the barrier again and surged forward as the first of the people in traditional costume danced into view and were then lost behind a sea of civilly disobedient spectators.

And the view was gone.

There was no sign of sheep. We were the goats standing and waiting for … nothing. The perfect view we had was gone. The police at the front of the dignitaries’ corral looked at the organisers and shrugged their shoulders. One man mouthed, what can we do?

Well, let me tell you. Get your shit organised for starters. This festival has been run annually for over 30 years. Nothing, at this stage, should be a surprise. How about close the streets at 3am. Set the barricades up where you want. Don’t keep moving the barriers at the last minute. Don’t assume police tape will stop people running through it. Have the police in numbers where you know they’ll be needed. You know, like the areas where the sheep all stop and the people dance.

A church opposite the park.

With our view decimated and disappointed hearts, we turned back toward the Park of Retirement and strolled away, right up the middle of the main street which normally is bumper to bumper traffic. Still no sheep in sight, nor sound, nor smell for that matter.

There were many fountains.

The park is very large and, despite me thinking that most of Madrid was lining the streets to watch the sheep spectacle, the rest of them were clearly in the park enjoying a Sunday afternoon. The cafés and bars were well patronised. There were people on boats on the big pond. There were puppet shows, Disney characters, kids on bikes and skates; if it was happening it was at the park. However, there were no sheep.

One of two puppet shows.

To mask our disappointment, we paused for a beer. To add insult to injury, the clown (figuratively speaking) who served me, not only replied to my Spanish in French, go figure, he dispatched two bottled beers to the table, not draught. Really? If you opt for the same bottled beer that can be supplied on tap, you might as well drink VB.

The aptly named 'Big Pond'.

Homeward bound, the crowds were gone and there was no evidence of sheep having been anywhere near the street. No droppings, no smell, nothing.

The Crystal Palace greenhouse. Closed for renovations.

Back at the hotel we relaxed, did some blogging and research and enjoyed Cava Sunday. While we sipped our drinks, we turned on the television to see if there was any coverage of the Transhumance Festivities. Eureka! There was the footage of the flock, milling around in the Plaza as promised. 

We dined in house again partially because it was Sunday. The service and food at El Telón is excellent and I’ve never been a fan of hotel restaurants. Cristian looks after us so well, extra food while we’re waiting for our mains, a discount when the bill arrives, recommendations of dishes, it’s almost perfect. Tonight he presented us with a farewell bottle of our favourite red wine with the strict instructions it was not to be opened until we are home so we can remember Madrid.

Tomorrow is the Prado.

Until then.