The Adjusted Normal, 27. A Gem in Danger.

Back at the end of May, in 2015, I went with my daughter to an AC/DC concert in Madrid. The concert was on a Sunday evening, and that midday found us walking through the streets of the neighborhood La Latina, down a street filled with stands selling all different kinds of clothes. It was the famous street market, El Rastro.

I had planned to visit this famous market, which is held every Sunday. I had heard about treasures one could find, or the purse that had been pulled off your shoulder the previous night. At least, that was a good possibility in years gone by. Once upon a time, it was very easy to buy things lifted from their rightful owner the day before. 

The street we were on looked like a regular street market of the many I have visited. Either El Rastro had changed dramatically, or we were missing something. We reach the end of the street, and see some stands along a side street. We enter. We've hit the jackpot.

The side street led into a small square, filled with stands and with some shops spilling out onto the street. Everywhere, all the stands have what pass for antiques. Some of the things for sale are antiques. Others are plain junk. But it's a riot of a jumbled mass of colors, metals, and textures. People are shouting they have the best prices, shoppers are wandering in and out, and my daughter and I peruse. 

But this square isn't the best of the place. I saw a coin my husband might like, but the asking price was too much. So, we wandered around the square, and continued down another narrow street, with the stands continuing. Down this street, there are also shops that are just like the stands; filled to the ceiling with a variety of beautiful, old, junk that once was in someone's home, and is now offered like a window to yesterday. 

There are spinning wheels, sewing machines from the nineteenth century, wooden washboards, mirrors, sideboards, night stands, lamps, statuettes, milk cans, chairs, headboards, armchairs, grandfather clocks, bed warmers, trumpets, copper pans, cuckoo clocks, wind-up clocks, alarm clocks, dolls, dolls, dolls, pocket watches, inlaid chests, children's toys, paintings with frame, paintings without frame, leather suitcases, cardboard suitcases, old photos, old postcards, old papers and documents, rocking chairs, glassware (I doubt it's really Murano), books, books, books, and at the end, in a large, open square, trading cards from the past fifty years.

Strolling through the market, I felt I could stay all day, and return the next Sunday, and I still wouldn't find out all its secrets. I vowed to return the next time we go to Madrid.

But, now, I don't know if it will be there. The lockdown meant that there were no open air markets anywhere in Spain. Since the re-opening, the Rastro has not come back, yet. The sellers are arguing with city hall about the niceties. People have to be controlled, and crowds can't be allowed, but the city is telling the sellers they have to do the controlling, not the local police. Not all the stands can set up shop every week, either, to avoid crowds, but no agreement on rotation has been reached. Some shops have closed, never to re-open. Their storefronts are shuttered, For Sale, or For Rent signs on them. Others that open are not doing as well; they sold the most on Sundays, when everyone came to the market. Some have figured out ways to bring in customers, such as an Iranian immigrant of thirty years that has a carpet store. He now cleans, and promises to disinfect Covid-19 from carpets. 

I have my doubts about whether El Rastro will ever return in all its glory. It's in the town center, and the brains over at City Hall might have different ideas on how to re-direct the neighborhood. If the market disappears, or diminishes, it will be one more victim of the virus. And of a stone-hearted local government.

Life continues. I hope El Rastro will, too.