Four blind men descend into the metro.
Photo by: Lauri Valerio
There are a lot of blind people in Madrid. And I’m not just saying that because my school is next to an organization that supports the blind. They’re everywhere in the city. At first when I noticed, it just surprised me. Eventually, it dawned on me how remarkable it is.
It is difficult to navigate a city. You bump into people, they bump into you and you madly clutch at your belongings. Cars speed past inches from your feet, or face. You constantly dodge dog poop and uneven concrete.
Then you see, a few steps in front of you, an individual or sometimes a couple holding hands and walking sticks. (Proof, one friend said, that love really is blind.) They stroll tranquilly amidst the city’s chaos, sliding their sticks back and forth along the ground in front of them. If the stick strikes a pole or wall, they skillfully maneuver their way around it. If it strikes a person, that person always moves out of the way.
Blind friends or lovers often walk together, chattering and paying more attention to their conversation than their walking, as if navigating Madrid has become a habit or an instinct. Whenever I pass the organization near my school, the men and women gathered outside are having such a jolly time I half want to join in, but I don’t.
While all this interested me, I didn’t appreciate how difficult life must be for blind individuals in cities. They make it look so easy. Then one day, on my way home, I found myself walking behind a blind man in the metro. He approached the escalator very carefully, clutched the handrail and crept onto the moving conveyer. He descended just as carefully and approached the area where the train comes in, testing the ground in front of him with his stick. I grew tense as he approached the edge, but his faithful stick felt the large bumps covering the ground near the edge. He paused and waited as the metro rushed by. When it stopped, he grazed his stick along the edge of the train until it came across the door. A woman next to him noticed and laid her hand on his shoulder, firmly guiding him as he stepped across the divide.
The thought of being blind in Madrid is terrifying—the lack of control in this chaotic city. I imagine walking through the metro station blindfolded, then trying to board the train. Then realizing I’m on the wrong train, then realizing I can’t read any signs to know where the right train is. It is so easy to imagine what could go wrong, but the individuals I’ve seen courageously do it anyway. Many madrileños (Madrid citizens) go out of their way to help, something they do through establishing a physical connection: touching and guiding.
While studying abroad, it’s easy to forget that the novelties and magic of your city are the daily trials of some of its citizens. I’ve worked so hard at adapting to life as Madrid lives it—grocery store gloves, 10 p.m. dinners, and a standard non-Claremont walking speed. But not all madrileños live like this. There are many lifestyles in this city, some I may never understand. But though the blind madrileños experience it differently, it’s still Madrid.