I’m back in the big city. I’m so happy I think I’m going to come down with a renal colic. You don’t really know what a traffic jam is until you see a mayor of a major capital city claiming that he has decided to solve the pollution issue. The number one cause of poor air quality in the world is bad smells, and no one seems willing to fight it. The city is so full of things that stink that the smell of exhaust fumes is almost a relief these days. The mayor seems concerned about air quality, but the air is more concerned about the quality of the mayor.
Pituitary psychology should dwell on the causes that make the smell of gasoline so fascinating to us. If it were a little cheaper, I would exchange my delicious Issey Miyake cologne for a good bottle of unleaded gasoline, or even premium diesel. Without intending to, a couple of days ago, I managed to spray a geyser three meters high from the fuel pump at one of those self-service gas stations where the big corporations force us to handle flammable liquids without fireproof suits, or a hose handling license, or fire insurance, or anything else.
Oh well, everything that sprays up must rain down, so the gasoline ended up soaking me, but for the whole afternoon nobody told me: “You stink of gasoline” or “Take a shower.” They all sniffed me deeply, only to confess later their secret passion for the smell of gasoline. And honestly, if the price of fuel continues to fluctuate, the amount Issey Miyake sets me back for a giant bottle of perfume will become an irrelevant anecdote.
Smells aside, another seductive aspect of the big city is the irrational haste. It differs from rational haste in that there is no reason for such urgency. I’m talking about how people run down the street while talking on their phones and dodging traffic signs without being chased by a pack of cannibalistic Aborigines. They are driven by inertia. Yesterday, walking up Alcalá Street from Cibeles Square, I saw so many people in such a hurry that I thought I was at the finish line of the San Silvestre long-distance race. However, most of those guys were not even sweating, which is always appreciated if we are all firm adepts of the clean air cause.
So-called noise pollution is another kettle of fish. It is the name politicians use for what we normal people call “f*ing noise.” To me, city noise annoys me, unleashes my anxiety, and makes my mood tense. I resent the noise of cars and motorcycles. I hate with all my soul the guy who honks his horn. unless it’s to avoid an imminent fatal accident. And it seems to me that shouting in the street should be punishable by machine guns. But since they still haven’t found a way (I hope) to blame noise for climate change, nobody gives a damn that I can’t get any sleep.
Otherwise, whatever they might say, the air in Madrid is extraordinary. At this time of the year, it smells of fallen fruits, roasted chestnuts, hot coffee, and neighborhood liquor stores. I don’t see a single cause for concern about air quality in any of the great capitals of the West, and yet I can’t say the same for the rest of the world.
Still, the fight for air quality obsesses many cities now. If they were really concerned about it, they would start by deporting all dirty people. Then we could move on to cars. Usually, if you drop a sledgehammer of sufficient weight on an idiot’s car, he gives up trying to practice his democratic right to drive. Especially, if at the time you drop the sledgehammer, the guy is inside the car. Try it and I’ll be the first to bring you flowers in jail.
READ MORE by Itxu Díaz:
Escaping Politics to the Serene Countryside … It’s Too Cold
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