At 15 years my father spent one night in Fuencarral. Selling fabrics, and had gone to visit a man who completed his hire sewing costumes. He was late and ran out of tram, and the man, not bought any fabric, I got accommodation in a private home. I mean 1958.
is Marta who doubts my concept of periphery. He says: "For those of Leganés, the periphery was not Aluche, we were." I also stumbled when John P. I said "in my book is a story dedicated to Plaza de Castilla." I thought, but Plaza de Castilla is periphery? Are not the Kio towers and their new neighbors what I'm looking from afar, the cloud of dust and contamination until the point that if I miss, I can not let go like: Madrid? the obvious question my notion of periphery: everything that does not work as an identifier of the city. It is not that the neighborhoods do not let your mark, what happens is that if we do not live in them, are part of urban space as a whole, as a large color panorama of brick and open fields where we are willing to believe that we have the gift of ubiquity. David said that increasingly tends to make a living centrifuge, and the limits can be mobile: "Some people put them at Plaza Elliptical, because there are buses to Leganés, Móstoles, to Parla." He also says that the periphery can only be defined in relation to a concept, and if we do so from the cultural policies is for the neighborhoods, we would conclude that Madrid has only four districts: those who leave the map of the English Court could find in hotel lobbies and halls. Ie the middle and little else.
Cojo line 10 in court and under which I have never done: in Fuencarral. I can hardly move. Yesterday I got griposa, and although I have a fever, I feel a warm weight on his head and limbs (as I write this, my neurons are threatening to call a strike without minimum services). I go out expecting to find Power Girl with a fountain. The blame for everything and is not Yoko Ono, but the Wikipedia . I take my father in the head, which arrived in Madrid on December 30, 1948, at 5 years and went to Badalona in 1961 (dates not carry in his head, then says to me, because he loves to flaunt his memory.) When it came to spend the night here, Fuencarral was still a village, and he had just enough money for the tram. Maybe you do not stay free, but in exchange for certain fabrics. The case: Seeking the source, and take the street Badalona not for my father, but because I think the most attractive. Asked an old lady who shakes a rag in a window Plaza de Castilla (my idea is to stroll into the story of John P.). The lady is very friendly and I said that is far away. I take this opportunity to tell you what I do here. When I leave, I did not have asked for the source, and on board a girl who must be my age, and she is pregnant. The girl pulls out his pride and tells me that the real Fuencarral, the lifetime is not so, but is higher, from the Church of Our Lady of Valverde ("my virgin, most important of the neighborhood"). The only source you have heard is a park which is known as Fuente Fuente Piejo or louse (no doubt it just me writing it, the girl also pronounce it). There has been every day for your dog. With it I can not sincere as the old lady, I think you will think I'm crazy when I say that I devote myself to walk about the neighborhood, and you loose I am a journalist and I'm writing an article (the thermometer more than 37 and a half, is this fever?).
No power, but I hear the water running down into the sewers during my ascent Divina Pastora, where I run yum-yum, a high school education dedicated to food, with the approval plate Community of Madrid. It is true that from here many streets are people, small houses, silence, occasional chair by the door because the sun stings, clotheslines from which we could take a wrinkled gowns booty floral and socks. You're right the girl to give much importance to its virgin: Main Street is called as the Church, Our Lady of Valverde, and I guess the road that crosses the old road. The incipient flu kept me glued to these urban landmarks, but sometimes I forget. For example: I get to a park perhaps Fuente Fuente Piejo or louse, a candidate to mark the boundary of Fuencarral. From the hill on the right, barren land is sighted, and dug up and relocated, with piles of rubble and cranes, on the left, new buildings and houses, the slate roof and two floors ( I) produce distress. The end of the end is the saw, and what interests me is an old house, those that remain as a relic in the suburbs. By far seem ruins, but if you come, if you find a garden, and which have recently whitewashed. In this there was also a mop drying between the bars of a window and a path came flanked by cactus. I've never met anyone who owns a house from them, and I would like.
Other highlights: the Casa Grande de Fuencarral, a sort of palace-fledged farm (I've embedded the eye in the rear door lock), the winery Peter, 1825 (entered a woman like Pilar Bardem), a former "factory, shop? of "Castile soap" and "olive oil" called Juan del Pozo (I wondered if he had anything to do with Jesus del Pozo). To return, I took the SE, and near the Plaza de Castilla, Enrique Larreta street, had a plaque that read: "pen reached orbit of the Hispanic transcendent."
The thermometer reads 38 and a few tenths. This is already fever. 'll Leave it for the Comic, what rage. I do not want to take an antibiotic. I hope not stop raving street names.
