Pilgrims from Hong Kong, China, cheer as they and hundreds of thousands of others walk to the Opening Mass of World Youth Day in the center of Madrid.
I wrote yesterday of the wonderfully warm nature of the volunteers that welcomed us into our home-away-from-home in Velillas de San Antonio, but that story today expanded.
This morning we got a late start, heading out on the bus around 10:30 a.m. following breakfast. When we arrived in Madrid, we headed directly for the Plaza de Cibeles, where the opening Mass was to take place at 8 p.m. this evening. It was a large, open plaza completely cordoned off already from traffic, and as we arrived stands were still being erected and large screens placed.
In a shady spot on the north side of the plaza, we set up camp and dispersed into various groups for the day. Some pilgrims visited the Prado, the large and famous art museum that, during World Youth Day, is hosting an exhibit called “Images of Christ.” Others sought Eucharistic Adoration, and a few went to sightsee and perhaps do a little shopping. Fr. Eric Nielsen stayed behind on our little grassy spot to stake it out in preparation for the Mass.
Five of us set out to find food, which is available for WYD pilgrims with their book of tickets. For breakfast, lunch, and dinner, pilgrims can present these tickets to participating restaurants around the city and receive a generous meal. Several of the sites offer take-out versions and a very few (generally the larger ones) allow sit-down.
We located a small cafe on a side street and were welcomed by the owner, who came to speak with us (our Spanish combined with his English made for a fascinating, if marginally comprehensible dialogue) and take our orders. We took one of the lunches back to Fr. Eric, who had been left by our distinctive Wisconsin “cow flag” and the guitar.
After lunch, I was on a mission to receive my press pass to allow me closer access to the large events, but by the time we got there the line was to the street. I must admit that the organization of this WYD, that I have seen so far, has not been perfect and often seemingly last minute. After two hours in line I received accreditation and we departed to meet up with the Camino group, which was expected to reunite with us at Plaza de Castillo in the north of the city in order to receive their pilgrim information.
Fr. Eric Nielsen was waiting in the plaza (he had entrusted the flag and spot on the grass to a helpful group of pilgrims from Houston, he said) to meet with the bus with the Camino group. He would take them back to Velillas and provide them with the metro passes to get them back downtown for the Mass.
And here is where our paths diverged, not to reunite until much later. In the meantime, Paul and I found a small cafe where we had coffee and a snack to help us hold off for dinner. Unfortunately, when we came out we were completely turned about and unsure how to get back to the metro station to catch the underground. A passerby seemed to notice our distress, for she immediately came over and asked if we were looking for something. When we admitted needing to find the metro to Sol, a stop on the underground, she said she was going to the metro herself and took us in hand. Up to the moment we parted in the underground, she was chatting with us in her broken English and our broken Spanish, sharing information about the city and her life there.
As we were on the train, I noticed another incident which impressed me. A pair of pilgrims were struggling to understand the metro map, speaking in Italian. As they continued to puzzle over where they were supposed to get off the train, a woman turned to them and, with a smile said, “Which stop?” When they told her, she said, “I go there, too. You leave same time as me.” She was true to their word, and the pilgrims disembarked happily at their intended stop.
Paul and I had intended to change trains at Sol and head towards the plaza where Mass was being held, but it was quickly apparent this was not to be. Upon reaching the platform, we discovered that some hundred or more pilgrims were intending the same thing. Train after train came through, disgorging none and taking only a handful more. In this cacophony of voices and the pushing that inevitably happens, security guards were firm but friendly as they helped the disabled find a spot and answered questions from a few of the crowd.
Deciding we had better walk, especially as stations close to the plaza were one by one being closed, we went up to the surface. As we exited, we fell into step with the delegation from Ghana — about 43 strong, one of them told me — singing and shouting their songs and occasionally pairing it with dance as they made their way down the street. More and more pilgrim groups joined us as we got closer to the plaza, but soon the streets and sidewalks became thick with pilgrims. As we neared the plaza — still about half a mile away, the flow slowed and started to congeal. Paul and I were swept up in a current and ended up penned in a corner, completely blocked by barricades, a WYD tourist stand, and buildings.
Still with the vague and distant hope of perhaps finding the diocesan group or, at the very least, finding a place to stand that was not accompanied by near constant shoving, we stepped into another slow stream making its way for a break in the barricades to cross the street. This stream was worse than earlier, with pilgrims desperate to stay united with their groups and desparate to find a place to go. Pilgrims, mostly young men, stood guard like a line of football guardsmen, protecting those who were sitting from the shoving, swelling stream.
In the middle of this stream, though, I had a problem. I had apparently not eaten enough nor drank enough water for my pregnant state, and now was feeling the effects. Paul saw my panic and quickly acted, and volunteers rushed to help me, guiding me out of the stream and into the median, where I could sit. A police officer came quickly, as well as paramedics, and volunteers and other people offered bottles of water and food within seconds. I was lucky. Others who had fainted from the 36-degree heat or lack of water were carried from the crowd to a recovery area. I was able to sit and drink water for a while.
When I had recovered, we thought it best to get out of the crowd and find a place to eat and a way out before the crowd at the Mass dispersed. Two police officers escorted us through the crowd, going beyond the line of duty to help us find a place to eat and our way to the metro station. They accepted my humble and inadequate thanks with a smile, a salute, and a “mucho gusto” before returning to their posts in the crowd.
On the metro, I was to be treated to even more kindness. One of my fellow passengers, as it was clear I still wasn’t feeling well, asked if I were OK. When I explained, one woman supplied me with water, a tylenol, and a soothing ointment I could I apply to my temples and the back of my neck. Her husband refilled my water bottle from his own.
At the bus station, we were reunited with the Camino group, which had about as much success getting to the Mass as we had, and took the bus back to Velillas. The main group of diocesan pilgrims, even now close to midnight, have not arrived back. With the crowds at the plaza, this is not surprising.
The day, then, was chaos. Disorganized, stressful, and hectic. But, perhaps unsurprisingly, it is on days like this when we find the hope in our fellow man: the love for our neighbor that dwells in all of us, waiting for an opportunity, with God’s grace, to show itself in action. I have discovered this in many of the Spanish people I have been in contact with. So we embrace the chaos of these days. It helps us to focus on the purpose for our being here: to discover the love of Christ and to see his face in the faces of all we meet, no matter what language they speak or nation their heritage.
Update: The group of pilgrims who had been with Fr. Paul Arinze for the Mass began to filter into Velillas after midnight. Because of the lateness of the Mass and the difficulty of getting out of the city center, the pilgrims as a group arrived at the bus depot too late to take buses back to Velillas. They were forced to take taxis (the only other mode of transport to the ‘burbs after buses stop running at night) and a few of them got lost. All made it back, though, and everyone got at least a few winks of sleep. Tonight shouldn’t be so late a night.
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