Like
the rest of Madrid,
Plaza Mayor wakes up slowly. In the morning, it is refreshingly quiet and
serene; you can amble across the cobbles without having to traverse the crowds,
pause to take a photo without being harangued by a Mickey Mouse and take your
pick of the terraces without having to stalk tables... The calm before the
carnival.
As
the morning drifts by, the street performers filter in one-by-one, preparing for the day’s entertainment. A year since I last visited, I watched
as a steady stream of familiar faces arrived. The inexplicably successful
snapping goat (a body of tinsel and a plastic head with a hinged jaw) remained
resident in the north-west corner. Whether desperate or just enthusiastic, its
jingles, snaps and shakes seemed even more animated than they were last year. The
man masquerading as a baby, his face painted garish colours and nestled in an
overly twee pram, took up position in the centre of the square. More disturbing than
entertaining, his success is even more
surprising than that of the goat. The headless sailors meanwhile had multiplied
three-fold. Wearing identically ill-fitting suits, the bulge of their heads
protruding clumsily from between the shoulder pads, they hovered awkwardly in
opposite corners of the plaza.
A
few new faces had joined the ranks. The yellow zig-zag crest of a Bart Simpson
bobbed through the crowd, alongside a short and squat Tigger, a Winney the Pooh
and a host of less-recognisable characters. I was informed that one, which can
only be described as a pink banana with a smile, was the sidekick to Spongebob
Squarepants. Innovation must be running low… There were a few token Spanish
acts: an ornately dressed matador waving a bilious red flag and a Carmen
swishing the elaborate red skirts of a full flamenco dress, as well as a
few notable absentees: the tango-tanned Elvis and the Charlie Chaplin were
nowhere to be seen, nor was the Jesus Christ who made his debut last April (hardly
surprising in a staunchly catholic country).
In
the business of the plaza, experience shows. By midday, the Tigger had
retreated glumly to the shade of the central statue; the Goat, in comparison, had
procured a generous hatful of change from passersby. Spiderman meanwhile, the
undisputed ringmaster of Plaza Mayor, remained nowhere to be seen. Presumably, he was unconcerned with the slow trade of the early morning. As expected, just as the
square was beginning to buzz, I heard the rattle of his plastic trunk being
dragged unceremoniously across the cobbles.
When I looked up however, Spiderman was nowhere to be seen. In his place, a large,
squashy-looking Spaniard wearing an unbuttoned scruffy shirt, baggy knee-length
shorts and flip flops. Running a hand absent-mindedly through his thick mop of
black hair, he sat down on the trunk and looked around the plaza
absent-mindedly. His round-shouldered slouch and perusing gaze curiously
familiar, not to mention his possession of the trademark trunk, I was
immediately suspicious. … Could this bushy-haired, broad-bellied Spaniard be
the man behind the mask? After a
moment or two he lumbered to his feet. Standing, his silhouette was
unmistakable. The faded black T-shirt had risen to reveal a band of belly flesh
drooping in a generous sag over the waistband of his shorts and he was rocking
back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. There was no mistake: Spiderman
had appeared in the plaza without his disguise. Was this a first? Spiderman
unmasked?
He
didn’t linger long in the open. Taking hold of his trunk, he began walking towards
a nearby restaurant and, waving a hand in greeting to the waiter, vanished
inside. I imagine his metamorphosis from mere mortal into superhero was rather
more cumbersome than most flash transformations; he didn’t emerge for some
time. A booming “Venga! Hay criminales
por aqui?!” alerted me to his reappearance. Slaloming through the crowd
with his distinctive gait – belly first and breast bouncing slightly with each step
– he began his shift by patrolling the square. Taking command of the plaza,
he swept past the restaurants to high-five the waiters and greet the locals before
setting to work with characteristic panache.
Undoubtedly the star of the circus, Spiderman's success is undeniable. When I first saw him in the scorching heat of August 2010, he was practically a permanent resident of the plaza: a guaranteed presence right from
the first café latte through to the evening aperitif. Now, he has the liberty
to work to his own slightly sporadic timetable, has upgraded his worn out
rucksack to a sturdy plastic trunk and has acquired a miniature statue of
himself. He has even appeared in the local English newspaper several times. Needless
to say, those in miscellaneous fancy dress have their work cut out if they’re
trying to compete!
As you can probably tell, I’ve been following Spiderman for fair
while...
- 23 Jan 2011: The Peculiar Resident of the Plaza
- 4 April 2011: An Update on the Plaza
- 19 May 2011: The Ringmaster
- 12 April 2012: Does Spiderman get Hangovers?
- 11 May 2012: Times are Tough in Madrid
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