My Spain experience couldn't be complete without an overwhelming display of Spanish patriotism, and since facism is thankfully a thing of the past, the World Cup provided a perfect opportunity to display the red and gold. Each stage of the tournament that Spain miraculously passed was greeted with progressively larger parties and growing excitement. Block parties, cars blaring their horns, the reaction was unreal. And that was before the final, and really, there are no words. I know this is a blog, and writing (i.e. WORDS) are key, but...there's no way to explain. Luckily for me, although my memory of the World Cup win has no transcript, I do have several blurry photographs and also a movie! Way to go, past Abi. I’m not calling it ground-breaking journalism, but I will say that I did an ok job of documenting a singular moment in my life (yes, it WAS that big) and in the history of Spain (because we all know…never gonna happen again). The pictures and video are from the bar where we anxiously watched the game, and there are several from Cibeles, a central plaza where there were big screen TVs set up. The sheer quantity of people was incredible, and while I thought that was a one-time deal, it was only amplified the next day, when the Spanish team rolled through in a make-shift parade. I saw that from my living room and the television because the government begged people to stay home after a certain hour. There was no room for people. It was like a giant amoeba with a hundred thousand heads. Or maybe...a giant prophetic octopus with a hundred thousand little sucker things? No, because everybody knows that prophetic octopus don't exist (Cue X-Files music).
rience couldn't be complete without an overwhelming display of Spanish patriotism, and since facism is thankfully a thing of the past, the World Cup provided a perfect opportunity to display the red and gold. Each stage of the tournament that Spain miraculously passed was greeted with progressively larger parties and growing excitement. Block parties, cars blaring their horns, the reaction was unreal. And that was before the final, and really, there are no words. I know this is a blog, and writing (i.e. WOR
DS) are key, but...there's no way to explain. Luckily for me, although my memory of the World Cup win has no transcript, I do have several blurry photographs and also a movie! Way to go, past Abi. I’m not calling it ground-breaking journalism, but I will say that I did an ok job of documenting a singular moment in my life (yes, it WAS that big) and in the history of Spain (because we all know…never gonna happen again). The pictures and video are from the bar where we anxiously watched the game, and there are several from Cibeles, a central plaza where there were big screen TVs set up. The sheer quantity of people was incredible, and while I thought that was a one-time deal, it was only amplified the next day, when the Spanish team rolled through in a make-shift parade. I saw that from my living room and the television because the government begged people to stay home after a certain hour. There was no room for people. It was like a giant amoeba with a hundred thousand heads. Or maybe...a giant prophetic octopus with a hundred thousand little sucker things? No, because everybody knows that prophetic octopus don't exist (Cue X-Files music).
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