La Calle

The thing I’m going to miss the most about living in the city is being able to open my window and hear life outside. Living in the suburbs seems quite boring after this experience. There I open up my window and hear nothing. It’s true, silence can be golden, and de vez en cuando, cuando oigo las canciones de los pájaros, me pone muy tranquila, pero by vivir en la ciudad, puede oír la vida de la gente.

It’s the sound of the cars driving by, the low rumble of a car accelerating down the street, the whoosh of their tires as they drive by. It’s the screech of braking metal when they slow down. It’s the shrill blast of a frustrated driver honking his horn. It’s the snippets of music coming from the open windows of those very drivers, sometimes a thumping Arabic beat, and others the latest English pop hit.

It’s the clack of women’s heels on the pavement as they walk back from the metro or from the supermarket or the pastelería. It’s the chatter of voices of couples walking by or friends getting back from school and going out for a coffee. It’s the sudden crashing of the metal grate in front of a store as it closes for the day, with the owner finally ready to return home after a long day of selling his wares or services.

It’s the cutting of the telepizza scooters gunning their engines as they tear down the road. It’s the wailing of police sirens as they race off to catch some perpetrator.

It’s the brisa fresca that enters the room, fluttering the yellow see-through curtains on my window and brushing my arm. It’s the flashing neon green and red cross above the farmacía.

It’s the father and daughter walking back from school and work, it’s the young guy with his laptop case tucked beneath his arm instead of strapped across his shoulder. It’s the woman in the red coat walking slowly on by as she texts someone on her phone, crossed by a youngish boy walking with prisa down the streets, schoolbooks tucked into the crook of his arm at his elbow. It’s the flashing of headlights as the sky begins to darken and dusk finally settles upon this city, which is still getting used to the time change. What is now 9:00 used to be 10:00, but by the way this street is still active you’d think it was just 5 or 6.

It’s the row of cars parked all the way down as far as you can see, diagonally into their slots. It’s the slow moving car that everyone knows is trying to find a parking spot, and it’s the one lucky guy who drives down at just the right time to catch the spot of woman coming out of the drycleaners. It’s the all-too-familiar fake orangish glow the streetlights cast on the sidewalk and road, the glow that mocks you when you try to go to sleep at night. Thankfully these European windows all have the shades that close all the way and keep out the light, unlike the crappy cheap blinds in my apartment at school that hardly keep out any light at all.

It’s the industrial van that is the first one you see passing into Garage Lasarte, whose entry is always closed. To the left and right of the entry to this garage, the wall is painted in alternating red and white rectangles, reminding me of the dovelas that are in the haram of the mesquita in Cordoba, of which I’ve only seen in pictures. It’s the gente that is surprised to see this very van exiting the garage, the look sudden surprise at having their walking path interrupted by this white hubcapless automobile.

If I close my eyes, I'm in New Delhi (minus the heat), the only other major city that you could say I've "lived" in (if three weeks counts as living there). It's feeling like I'm three-quarters of the world away from home and knowing that I'm half a world away.