Magazine - summer 03 - St. John's College

{Johnnies Abroad} 17
bellows invitations to sample fruits that are so delicious
she can’t believe it herself. Driving her calls louder are
the building traffic and the accordion player’s rendition
of “Besame Mucho.” Each morning this city melody mingles
with the metallic, salty aromas from the seafood
stalls to awaken me to another day in Madrid.
In obedience to the Spanish morning ritual, I mix a
strong espresso off the stove with hot milk and sugar. A
staple of café life and social invitations, the café con leche
has become an indispensable part of my mornings. Without
it, I can’t imagine how I would brace myself for a day
composed of exhausting attempts at communication. The
robust, bittersweet brew seems perfectly fitted to the air
of the people who lay their claim to it. If I am to have any
prayer of matching their inexhaustible gift for gab, my
first cup will not be the last.
Properly caffeinated, I can embark upon the day. While
it is easy to get lost in the graceful architecture of curling
garlands and wrought-iron balconies overhead, it must be
cautioned against. The Spanish pedestrian is considerably
more focused on a conversation or a shoe in a storefront
window than on the other people on the sidewalk.
As a result, a certain nimbleness is required on the part of
those who don’t want to be the victims of collisions and
scowling faces. Perhaps the most abundant and treacherous
obstacle is the ceaseless flow of little old ladies
pulling their grocery carts. Prone to sudden stops and
nonlinear trajectories, they served as my first introduction
to the importance of staying alert. To tangle with one
of these seemingly harmless teetering forms can mean
bending under the force of one of the sharpest and quickest
tongues in the country.
In Spain everyone is beautiful. At the neighborhood
market, undiscriminating greetings from the men behind
the rows of hanging hams and pyramids of vegetables
are bestowed upon their patrons in praise of their beauty.
“Hello, beautiful,” is reciprocated with, “How’s it going,
handsome?” And perhaps this familiarity is part of
the shadowed Spanish tradition. For in the new supermarkets,
frequented more by the youth than the traditional
markets, the reserved dryness typical of modern
business has replaced the intimacy that is prevalent in
neighborhood shops and cafés. But it is this intimacy that
allows one to experience a sense of belonging in a culture
that is built upon secrets and mysteries inaccessible to
foreigners.
Work takes a back seat in this country, where recovery
from and preparations for the next social engagement are
the priorities. Leisure and pleasure are held in the highest
regard, and the evidence is apparent each afternoon.
Between two and three o’clock, the shops lower their
metal gates and they will not raise them again until the
late afternoon, giving everyone an opportunity to eat and
nap. I am actually somewhat suspicious if the lunch hour
ever ends, or if it just blends into the evening. For when I
return from teaching a few English classes, it seems as if
nothing has changed. All public spaces remain occupied,
from badly lit fluorescent cafeterias displaying wide
arrays of mayonnaise-drenched salads on stainless-steel
counters, to park benches, and elegant umbrella-topped
tables attended by uniformed waiters.
In the evening, groups of friends that have gathered for
after-work cocktails spill out of the bars, restaurants, and
cafés and occupy the table-lined avenues. As the streets
buzz with chatter and activity, the sunlight that has
blazed throughout the day is replaced by a bluish haze
from the cigarette smoke in the air. And when dinners
come to a close right before the morning hours, and those
who will continue their visits have moved indoors, the
city begins its resistant farewell to the day. Everyone’s
cheeks are kissed, everyone’s backs are patted, and we
return to our homes to gather the energy to make it to
lunch tomorrow. x
{ The College • St. John’s College • Fall 2004 }