2013.
Parque Europa is a celebration of European culture and unity. Or it's a money pit in the form of a second-rate theme park. Maybe it's both. Like the Euro Zone itself, Parque Europa is well-intentioned and ill-conceived. A mix of questionable financial assumptions, starry-eyed idealism, optimism, and corruption. It's an iffy idea trying hard to act like a great idea. It's also not too far from Madrid, so we decide to check it out.
The park's main attraction is a collection of scaled-down models of European landmarks: Rome's Trevi Fountain; Berlin's Brandenburg Gate; the Eiffel Tower. Euro-skeptic (and future Brexiter) Britain is represented by the Tower Bridge, and Norway, which isn't a member of the European Union, gets a viking boat that doubles as a fountain. As for all the Eastern European countries that are official members of the E.U.-- nada. I point this out to S. She shrugs.
"Name a famous Latvian landmark," she demands. I see her point.
Parque Europa is located in Torrejón de Ardoz. The town borrowed a pile of money to build the place according to a "build it and they will come" logic that may work in the movies when you build a baseball diamond in an Iowa cornfield, but doesn't necessarily work when you build a Euro-themed theme park in the far suburbs of Madrid in the aftermath of a financial crisis. Since the park opened, attendance has been disappointing. This despite the fact that you don't just find all of (Western) Europe's top tourist attractions there, but also: a dog park with dog-friendly playground equipment; a lake dyed toilet-bowl blue that you can roll across inside a giant inflated hamster ball; and the Cyber Fountain, a computer-controlled water jet and laser light spectacular that's synchronized to a Eurodisco soundtrack. Admission is free.
According to Torrejón's rightwing city council who spearheaded the project, Parque Europa has been breaking even since it opened in 2010. But critics claim the place is actually losing hundreds of thousands of euros every year. For S. and me, the bigger question is how the place managed to get built in the first place, right after the Spanish economy crashed. An economics professor we meet a few days later tells us that in Spain, no one ever says no to a construction project. Sometimes the projects get built. Sometimes they don't make it that far. The professor tells us that if you look at a satellite image of Spain, you'll see lots of failed projects: street grids and traffic circles built in anticipation of housing developments that were never completed. Those lines and circles are like geoglyphs. Like Spain's very own Nazca Lines. Future archaeologists or UFO buffs may one day ponder their significance, but we here in the present know the truth: Spain wasn't visited by space aliens, but by real estate speculators. read more