christmas lives in vigo

ujjwal kanishka utkarsh

12/18/20214 min read

18/12/2021

you would have loved the dilapidated conditions of many of the buildings. You would have loved the facades of the buildings that were standing up with nothing behind them. Windows that people would have looked through, now becoming windows of the hollowness inside. You would have loved the traces and remnants of the buildings that are no more - onto the buildings it was surrounded by. They put a yellow paint on the walls adjacent to the one that was broken down. Probably it’s not just yellow paint but something which has more functionality to it to, than just being a marker. But the markers were so ever present in the city, it is clear they are really trying to rebuild the city, into this idea and imagination of the modern. The city boasts itself as the city where christmas lives. It full of lights, too many and too much of them. Light installations that seem that they are there just because the pressure to maintain the city’s own reputation as the city of christmas lights is too much. And this is something that needs to be done. Otherwise, there might be an identity crisis. There were sculptures and sculptures of Santa’s sleigh, of everything christmas, and many things not. Of a huge giant bear sitting, which was attracting everyone from all age groups to sit on it’s lap for a photograph. And suddenly you would see the police running in the streets with a very alert alarming whistles. And I was like shit what happened. They were clearing the way for the christmas toy train, full of adults, wearing masks, and no sign of enthusiasm. None of that young drunk partying college kids. These were adults, almost like in a public transport system. The cops kept whistling and running in front of the train to clear it’s path, the engine driver would give a couple of bells every now and then, clearly displaying his own ability to honk/bell the streets clear. Or just to remind everyone that christmas lives in vigo.

This was all part of the fiesta, the giant wheel which would light up in various colours and have almost strobe like effects (remember, it’s teh city of lights), the kids roller coaster rides, the merry go around s, the cotton candy stores. you told me that you couldn’t afford cotton candy as a kid, and now here we were, with really sticky sugary fingers, sugar filled mouths, of so much we ate, that all just dissolved into thin air. the paella that was so good insistingly served to me by the airbnb host. the airbnb host who was widowed and lived there with her daughter, renting out every room, nook and corner possible of the flat, to let the money come in. the dog that was so sadly locked into the room, so that ‘the guests’ wouldn’t be disturbed. and the nephew who would sleep in the living room and just not get up, depite our host really screaming her lungs out. all so lively, all so energetic, with so much buzz, kisses on the cheeks, with churrizos and with cheese, with regular bread and with croissants, with a packet of local sweet snack left on the side of the bed. and yet with so much heaviness in the air. of an absence, of these fleeting presence of strange people, of the young daughter who was in her room throughout our stay. of not being sure of what you do with the mask rule when meeting the airbnb guests, and not being sure of what to do with the mask rule when meeting the airbnb hosts.

Somehow it reminded me of the truck stop cities we have in india. transitionary places. of places which would end up not having so much of their own identity. was a port town like vigo also similar like that somehow. the port is visible and clear and forms a nice lovely view from various parts of the city. from the few remanants of a castle or a fort. you can see the port, you can see the town on the other side of the water body, which is almost like a backwater, you can see through offices where people are working on computers and have huge ass windows, and you can look at offices where there was no one right then. The building said buas festas. happy holidays. and then you can see the cranes. the cranes all pointing towards the future that is going to be, of a promise land of development, and all this construction is all towards building the future of vigo we want to see. a future visible in the train station already. of basically being a mall where you have the h&m’s, the mangos, the body stores, and of course you can pick up train tickets. of this neat clean white sanitized building which shouts out vigo in huge letters on side (which is lit like crazy in the evenings of course- it is the city where you come to see the lights after all). But what about the old man who spent two to three hours in the morning trying to fill up sand in between the tiles that had been presumably new laid out just on the porch of the swanky new train station. In this new clean improved city, you donT need to see the train of course, they are hidden in the tunnels, which form the basis of the train stations and the platforms there. but where will the remanants of the sand that is being put in the gaps of tiles go? or the person who did?

where will all these remanants go, of old buildings, of buildings that are no more. you can now access the fort through a series of escalators right from the street/road. and there was a marking for a cathedral. we couldn’t find the cathedral. we found some churches, we found lots of christmas, but somehow not the cathedral. maybe it was in one of the yellow painted walls.

1 Comment

Sarita narayan

25/3/2022 07:59:19 pm

बस्तियाँ उजड़ जाती है ,
निशानियाँ छोड़ जाती है ,
ये दस्तूर पुरानी है ,,,,
Enjoyed reading it