Salamanca District: From a Living Postcard to an Elegant Set

Perhaps these last, stubborn and silent inhabitants are the ones who uphold the memory of Salamanca, preventing it from disappearing altogether in this imported brilliance that has no roots, no accents, no memories.I imagine it would be the same for the turkey sellers as for the real estate agents, who have always had the doormen of houses in these Madrid areas as their best allies for selling turkeys or apartments.Thus, this neighborhood, which was once a living postcard, has become an elegant set where almost no one lives and where few voices remain to recall what it was like to buy turrón at the old-fashioned store or to ask the fruit vendor for 'the good dates, because today is Christmas Eve.'One walks along López de Hoyos or Ortega y Gasset on Christmas Eve, and the city seems contained, suspended in a gesture that is undecided between celebration and melancholy.The neighborhood, which was once a living postcard, has become a set where almost no one lives and few voices remain to recall what it was like to buy turrón at the old-fashioned store. Not long ago, the doormen's booths displayed their small plastic nativity scenes, proudly set up by the doorman, who would always say 'I've set it up better this year' even though the figures were somewhat mutilated by the passage of time.But today, it would be a great surprise to come across the turkey seller, a woman who walked with her group of live turkeys along Serrano and Velázquez, selling them to the doormen of those who could not only afford to pay for them but also to pluck and cook them for their families.Today there are no turkey sellers in this area, and plenty of space to park cars on Christmas Eve, which says a lot about the people who live in these houses.Today, those nativity scenes have been relegated to a closet, perhaps next to the raincoats of a family that only comes to Madrid when a direct flight from Doha or Singapore coincides with their schedule.In those years, the neighborhood truly seemed like a living organism.And yet, it is enough to stop for a moment, perhaps at the height of Goya, when the last errands have been rushed, to remember how this neighborhood was when it still smelled of freshly made broth and charcoal briquettes.Not so long ago, Madrid, in these pre-Christmas days, donned its best attire to celebrate Christmas Eve.Twenty years ago, one could pass by Juan Bravo or Príncipe de Vergara and find it impossible to park the car during dinner.And it is unsettling to see it fully lit but at the same time completely empty.In my family, we eat pularda.Today, driving through this area on Christmas Eve has something desolate about it.Next week, I will walk through some area that resists being sold entirely and gives me back Christmas.Source ABCIt seems like a ghost town, empty, uninhabited.In fact, there was a certain pact with the municipal police because no fines were issued, and cars would drive up onto the sidewalks and form double rows in the squares.It was a neighborhood that knew it was important without having to say so.Today, however, the appearance is desolate because one can find space wherever they want.Now, in contrast, the Christmas lights are switched on on sidewalks that are too clean, too silent, as if they had washed away not only the dirt but also the memory.The families in these areas of the city have sold their houses to foreign millionaires who either spend Christmas in their other house in Paris or New York, or rent them out to large businessmen or to that 'vacation' concept that so annoys the four neighbors who resist as if they were the last in line.Umbral said that all the doormen in the Salamanca, Chamberí, and Retiro neighborhoods were right-wing, because they read the ABC newspaper, which they devoured after it had already been read by the owners and 'the ladies,' as the incomparable Paco used to say.Some veteran neighbor, with a checkered scarf and the air of a retired inspector, still comes down to take out the trash at seven o'clock sharp, as if their punctuality keeps the old routine of an old Madrid standing.Instead of old cafes, cities like Madrid now see a proliferation of private clubs.Even so, there are those who resist.Some even left a bottle of anis wrapped in craft paper for the doorman, who would receive it with a ceremonial gesture, as if receiving a municipal award.Related news standard If The end of tertulias: the new trend of not showing up Alfonso J. UssíaPerhaps what is truly unsettling is not that they have died out, but that almost no one misses them anymore.There was a constant murmur, like that of a beehive or a food market: the smells of the fishmongers' shops would meet the wool coats, and the children would off-key Christmas carols while dragging bags full of wrapping paper.It has always been said that sea bream was the perfect dish.