Las Calabazas

Its seems like everyone and their mother is getting ready for Halloween. This past weekend, “halloweekend”, Madrid looked like a wasteland of witches, zombies, etc. if you were out past midnight. Kids from 16 to 30 were all dressed up, packed in the calles like sardines, drinking and having a good time. I love how Halloween isn’t really until Tuesday, but any excuse for a party is a good excuse in my book. 

So today we decided we ought to get in the spirit, and how better to do that than to buy some pumpkins and carve them to pieces before we smash them because we have nowhere to put them? Nothing! So thats exactly what we did. We each got a nice looking pumpkin, brought them to the park where we proceeded to butcher them- adding grimaces and mean-muggin’ eyebrows, shocked mouths, and odd noses. Everyone who walked by was fascinated at the mad group of silly Americans, speaking english and making voodoo dolls out of pumpkins or something. Do people not carve pumpkins in Spain? I honestly don’t know... 

The children in particular were fascinated, and a group of 4 or 5 kids no older than 10 or 11 worked up the courage to ask for one. Naturally we decided we could spare one, probably the ugliest one- so of course it was mine that went to the kids. They were mesmerized, unwilling to share the pumpkin as if it was the magic lantern in Aladdin. But they didn’t know what to do with it! Take it home? Put a candle in it and leave it on the front porch as a fun, festive decoration? No, let’s smash it, seemed to be the consensus. Coincidental too, considering that was exactly what we were planning to do with ours... 

Unfortunately they ran off arguing over the pumpkin before we could see what became of it. But I think its safe to say that one suffered the same fate as ours- being smashed to pieces by the cruel realities of gravity. Of course the pumpkins pain is worth the (shockingly high) level of entertainment that we got from carving and smashing them.. 

Of course before we smashed ours we sat them on a bench to be admired by passers-by. One child on a tricycle nearly refused to continue on his voyage because he was so enthralled by the silly orange faces looking back at him. Joggers tripped over their own confusion as they double-took, not sure what they were seeing. Were their eyes deceiving them? Or were there really 4 little orange faces staring back at them, unchanging and bold. 

5 hours later and my hands are still sticky with pumpkin goo, but my mind still full of the surprised faces of the children walking by the faces, flabbergasted, and of course, the instant of impact as the smiling little face of the pumpkin hits the hard, cold ground, getting a firsthand lesson on Sir Isaac Newton, and exploding into a thousand pieces with a pleasant and dull pop.