Fashion and grocery stores

Well, I only saw 2 fur coats so far and both of those were in Salamanca, so I guess the season for them has passed. However, it’s still the case that few Spaniards leave home without a scarf/muffler and, oh my, do the women still love their footwear! Since it’s not winter, only every other woman (hm, maybe more) is wearing boots. The up-and-coming style seems to be knee-high (or higher) boots with shorts and tights, but you do see a lot of them with miniskirts or just a long sort of shirt. Otherwise they’re worn over skin-tight jeans—sometimes it takes a second look to tell if they’re pants or tights on their legs. There are still plenty of ankle boots, especially on older women. And if it’s not boots, it’s eye-catching high heels: Stewart plaid, pointy toes, elaborate designs in black patent leather on white, etc. I rarely notice anyone’s shoes at home, but here you just can’t help but look at them.

And it’s not just the footwear, fashion is just a way of life here. Paula (G’s “flatmate”—British English is, of course, more the norm here) was talking with me about it just the other night. “De moda” is just like air to them; they can’t imagine what it would be like not to be involved in the twists and turns of the latest fashions. Even the women in their 70’s and 80’s out for an evening stroll are dressed in fashionable suits and heels (much lower and thicker, of course, than the ones the younger women wear). Coming from the Pacific NW and being kind of frumpy even for that casual a fashion culture, I’m sure I really stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.

The sidewalks are still impeccably clean, too…well, at least litter-free. Every block or two you see a streetcleaner—they’re hard to miss in those ugly green uniforms. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen one idle; I don’t know if they even take breaks. Every time I’ve ever seen one, s/he’s been industriously sweeping, scrupulously collecting stray cigarette butts, or exuberantly spray-washing.

Grocery stores are interesting. Yes, the eggs are still unrefrigerated, as is the milk. The background music is all in English. Somehow it just doesn’t seem right to be standing in the checkout line humming along with “Tell Laura I Love Her” or Wilson Phillips’ “Release Me” with my little wheeled plastic basket containing ingredients for cocido. (It’s apparently such a common dish even now that you can buy all the meat products you need packaged together: tocino, punta de jamon, chicken leg, morcilla [blood sausage], chorizo, beef marrow bone, and I forget what else.)

In a culture in which most people do not own cars and parking is incredibly difficult to find, I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that the grocery stores routinely deliver…for free. They ask you at the check stand. G says there is a minimum order (30? euros or about $40) and that if you have frozen stuff, they package it separately and keep it in a freezer until delivery time, which is within the next 2 hours. Nice, huh?

Well, we’re leaving at midnight for a weekend in Barcelona. We’re taking the bus down, traveling most of the night. We’re due back in Madrid at 0345 hr Monday morning and I have to be at the airport about 0730 hr to fly out, so I made sure I stopped at La Mallorquina today to get my last napolitana de chocolate and from my “favorite” counterman, of course. Mmmm, they are so rich. I’m really glad they aren’t available in Seattle.

I’m ba-a-a-ack!

And lovin’ it! Of course, the best part is being with G, since I haven’t seen him in over a year. But, it’s also fun and comfortingly familiar to be back in Madrid. It just seemed so normal to be traveling on the Metro again and I recognized the stops and the way to his apartment like I’d never left.

I came in on Friday, which was a holiday. It’s St. Joseph’s Day (or San José as they say here), sort of the equivalent of Father’s Day. Here it's the start of a 3-day weekend and apparently lots of people travel home (to whatever other part of Spain that may be) to celebrate with—you guessed it: dad.

When we got “home” from the airport, G introduced me to a friend from Vienna who had arrived in town for business, but (long story omitted) ended up having to stay at his apartment Friday night. G had to work Saturday morning and I figured I’d get up and do some shopping, etc. before he got back, but ended up catching up on my sleep (jet lag + short nights finishing an end-of-quarter project). We had talked about going somewhere this weekend—possibly Salamanca—but I was surprised when I got up to see G and his friend busy with his cell phone and new netbook, making reservations. “We have to leave in 15 minutes to make the bus,” he said. We each stuffed a toothbrush and a couple other items into a small bag and went racing out the door. Made the bus with 5 minutes to spare. Two and a half hours later, after traveling through rolling farmland, we arrived in Salamanca.

It’s a picturesque town with the oldest of Spain's existing universities (12th century), convents, churches & a cathedral, etc. Almost all of it is built from a golden-pinkish sandstone quarried nearby. (With all those huge buildings, I'm sure there's a plain where there used to be at least a small mountain.) As with most medieval towns, I suppose, everything historical is within walking distance, so we spent Saturday evening and most of Sunday just wandering among the crowd of locals and other visitors, eating at outdoor cafes, climbing up inside the cathedral towers, taking pictures, and other touristy stuff.

The architecture is pretty interesting and the incredibly detailed carved stonework on many of the buildings is something to behold. Apparently if you can find the frog that’s carved in one of the ornate facades of the university, you’re supposed to have good luck for the following year or, if you’re a student there, that you’ll pass the course. (Yes, we found it…with a little assistance.)

It’s spring and the weather’s mild, so I only saw two fur coats Sunday afternoon. (That cathedral was still rather chilly inside.)