karmic ciudad

Do places carry Karma? Getting off the tube at the wrong stop by mistake, I found myself back at the top of Hortaleza, and the birth of the euro and the travails of New Year 2001 came flooding back. Here I am again, not quite in the mood for poetry. Madrid now has a double niche, occupies a clear karmic space. Not that ich bin nicht fond of the place. Ich bin. I like the medieval chill, the cinema frenzy, the cheap wine, the ease with which the city opens up to the foreigner. Maybe there will be a fourth time, and my theory will be shown to be tripe. Talking of which...

The first time, pre-karma, early 1990s, I met a red-bearded Californian artist who loved Douanier Rousseau; whose paintings had been bought by Dennis Hopper; who tried and failed to pick up Madridlenas; with whom I shared the horrific experience of consuming tripe, dressed as lasagna. An experience which may have been a premonition I should have listened to.