I’ve
heard Vallecas called ‘The Bronx of Madrid’ because it’s a clean-cut analog for
a Tri-State Area native to latch onto – it’s on the outskirts of town, seen as
‘dangerous’ by those living in outlying areas and historically, economically
poor.
When the words ‘Vallecas’ or
‘Miguel Hernandez, on Line 1’ leave my mouth, I’m often met with nervous
giggles, a sardonic
lo siento, or the
expected, ‘
es considerado The Bronx de Madrid,’
which I’ve come to hear from about four to five unconnected sources. Working
and commuting into the neighborhood near daily for the past several months, I
know what it’s considered and it’s a lazy point of comparison.
I’ll
summarize what I’ve gleaned about the neighborhood through anecdotal
information and some first-page-Googling. Located in the southeastern corner of
Madrid, Vallecas is broken up into two districts, Puente de Vallecas and Villa
de Vallecas, brimming with 300,000 inhabitants. According
to a co-worker, the neighborhood was at one point comprised of fields and tents
– shantytowns, really – for working class immigrants. Vallecas is still known
as being largely immigrant-based, with growing populations hailing from Latin
America, Asia, and Africa. It was also a notable hotbed of anti-Franco
sentiments and has
generated conflict due to these views as recently as 2012. Vallecas is also home to a kick-ass La Liga football club, Rayo Vallecano, which is a middle finger to the well-financed Real Madrid and Atlético de Madrid clubs – there’s about as many red-and-white Rayo jerseys represented as there are Ronaldo ones in class.
Of
course, this isn’t what people see. What they see is a neighborhood overrun
with gypsies and crippling poverty; knock-off New Balance sneakers, misprinted
clothing and puffy, FUBU-esque jackets; old man bars that have never seen
renovation; on the whole, a place to be sneered at. And of course,
articles like this one don’t help the neighborhood’s perception much either.
What
I can offer, though, is my experience within the neighborhood, which has been nothing
short of expectation shattering. As with any school, there’s a fair share of
troubled kids, but the majority are some of the harder working and friendlier young people I’ve ever met. They dream of going to college, moving to New York City and smoking lots of pot like most high schoolers do. A bad grade in my older classes is an occasion for swearing in Spanish and frustrated tears. Vallecas is an extremely close-knit neighborhood,
one where neighbors can rely on one another to watch after kids and help those scraping by in any way they can - we’ve had an on-going drive at school to raise
money for a family of Syrian refugees to help them get on their feet, learn Spanish
and find employment. This type of neighborly interdependency, at least State-side, vanished sometime in the 1970s, and is still lamented by our grandparents' generation.
So before judging Vallecas, at least come by my school and watch a volleyball game, speak with my fourth years, or fight your way to the front of the cafeteria and order the students' favorite sandwich (bacon, BBQ sauce and shredded mozzarella - it's a test of your GI tract's resiliency). It has a lot to offer.
