A Night in Chueca: Gay Pride, Thieves and the Job that Never Ends

Ah, gay pride week in Chueca… where to start. Could it be the wall of bodies that line the exit of the Chueca Metro stop as you emerge from the underground? Or the multiple stages playing live music, while a thick crowd bobs in unison, beer in one hand? Or how about getting smooshed on all sides as the crowd heaves in one direction, then falls back on itself as a reciprocal wave of flesh pushes back?

Whatever it is, it’s a full week long of celebration, located in Madrid’s “pink” neighborhood, the area of town I’ve heard referred to as “where the homos live” (as explained to me by a lesbian woman who lives there).

If you want to get attention, this is your day to shine. All you need is some butterfly wings, bondage gear and some glow-in-the-dark horns. Or a large professional looking camera (apparently). As soon as I pulled out my Canon, people were either: Parting the sea before me and giving me space or Jumping in front of my lens and demanding to know why I hadn’t taken their picture already.

I was happy to oblige.

Drew, my husband and part-time porter, was not given the same treatment.

As I happily snapped photos, Drew held back, carrying the camera bag, that held my lens covers, some gum and the apartment keys.  The crowd surged forward and a man with a jacket over his hand pressed against my husband.  Drew felt the man pushing hard into his side where the bag hung.  He tells me it took him a moment to realize what was happening, but by the time I heard him yell, “Hey!” he had already reacted.  I turned around to see my husband engulfed in the crowd, pushing his forearm across a man’s chest, “What did you get huh?”

Drew tumbled out of the crowd and the man disappeared in the opposite direction.  Holy crap, we just got pick-pocketed.

Of course we’ve been warned about pickpockets in Madrid.  We had purposefully left our driving licenses, credit cards and passports at home.  The amazing thing is that he didn’t get Drew’s wallet.  All he got?  A pack of gum.

We actually laughed about it, secured our belongings and headed over to the nearest vendor.  “Dos Tintos de Verano, por favor”.  If you have to learn a lesson about pick pockets, I’d rather have them steal my gum anyday.

The rest of the evening went smoothly, with some pretty good DJs and performers filling the air with techno-versions of American pop music.  As we ventured toward the second stage, we spotted the pickpocket again.  Drew took this opportunity to shout some more stuff at him, and because the crowd was so thick, we were awkwardly jammed in place.  Neither of us was going anywhere.  The guy was helplessly pinned a few feet away and made lame gestures.  It might have been that Drew was yelling at him in English, because apparently he forgets that we are in Spain when he’s mad.

If you think the job of protecting your wallet from would-be thieves is a never ending job, then you’ve never seen the cleaning crews at these large events.  The Limpieza guys wear green and yellow jumpers and have the thankless task of cleaning up the mess from the crowds.  Here’s a little tip:  When in Spain, if you are finished with your beer, just relax the hand that is holding the beer.  Continue, until you hear or feel something hit the ground.  That’s the sound of your trash going where it belongs.  Where the Limpieza guys can find it.

This year’s Gay Pride week is over, but if you find yourself in Madrid in early July, I would definitely recommend it checking out.  Just be sure to leave the passports at home.

All Photos:  Christine Gilbert