Amigos Nuevos

I charge the day with high hopes of making progress on my reading. I head down to Casa Rua to get a cheap sandwich and spend the entire walk there debating in my head as to whether I should get the bocadillo de tortilla española or the bocadillo de calamares. The dominicano is there and he remembers me, his face lighting up as he yells "Béisbol!" My decision is made for me because they have no tortilla today, so I order the squid sandwich and it's amazing. I wonder if I could have a combination of the two...

I hand over a bill to pay and when the dominicano brings me my change he asks me in Spanish, "Didn't I give you a postcard from here last time?" I say yes, I still have it. He hands me another and shows me where he's written his email address down, "Don't send this one!" he says. I laugh and tuck it into my book, grab my change, and scoot before things can get awkward--I would like to keep coming back to this sandwich joint, it's the best and the cheapest.

I walk across the side of Plaza Mayor and down the back steps. I know exactly where I'm going today. I have already posted the photo I have of the little plaza with the mural of the hanging vines. I decide to go there because I know there is public seating. Few of the nicer plazas have benches, which is a shame, and I certainly don't have a beach chair to truck around, so I'm content to take a seat on one of the bizarre wood and iron chairs in the shade below the mural. I'm sitting and reading for only a short time when a vacationing family comes to sit down and piles into the chairs next to mine.



"Estås de aquî?" the old man asks me (are you from here"?). I shouldn't be flattered because I'm just sitting there reading, he hasn't heard me open my big American mouth to speak Spanish with my big American accent... but I tell him that I'm from the U.S. and suddenly the whole family is chatting away with me in Spanish. They are from Venezuela, on tour of Europe and are only in Madrid for a few days. I explain to them why I am in Spain and also mention that I recently made friends with a girl from Venezuela. Of course, this makes us practically family and now I am invited without hesitation to come to Venezuela where they will take care of me. The mother jabs the father until he finally locates a business card and then insists that both the sons write their email addresses on the back. I give them my email address and then we all pose for photos together. The boys each pose individually with me and then the father decides he needs an individual photo with me too. There is some pushy, mother-driven discussion of me teaching the younger son English and then she invites me to come with them for their day touring the city. I politely decline because really, I have too much reading to do. They understand, having already grilled me about my studies and we promise to write each other and part ways with kisses on both cheeks all around.

The Venezuelans (minus one son)

I go back to reading for mere moments when a young man in a very yellow shirt sits down at one of the seats and asks me for a light. I shake my head no and he starts speaking to me in English (is it that obvious?) Sebastian is from Mexico, just outside of D.F. (Mexico City aka "Day Effay") but lived in Mexico, Missouri for a year or so during high school. I can hardly believe this when he tells me, considering how big of a joke my family's short jaunt through Mexico, Missouri was after I graduated high school. His English is great and he explains to me that he also studied and worked in London and is finishing up his Masters in Madrid. We're just starting to talk about politics when a very drunk African immigrant sits down between us and tries to butt in on our conversation. I've never actually seen someone as drunk as this guy. His hiccups practically lift him off his seat! Sebastian asks me if he can escort me somewhere else and I'm more than happy to leave. We wander down to the Plaza where the heart of last night's party was--now both miraculously empty and clean. We sit in the shade under the trees and somewhere behind us a three man band strikes up a beautiful Iberian polka and the afternoon just seems to blossom around us.

Sebastian and I continue to chat about cultural stereotypes and the struggles between Mexico and the United States. He's very well-spoken and incredibly intelligent. I want to take his photo because he looks like a much more handsome younger brother to Jason Schwartzman--the actor from Rushmore. I don't ask, because somehow it seems like it would spoil the conversation. We exchange contact information and half-hearted promises to run into each other at the fiesta tonight which is a total impossibility.

I walk back to my hostel thinking that I'll take a siesta when I run into the biggest distraction of all time: the three Brasileños, much like the three stooges, only they smoke a lot more. The two Italians are kind of grouchy today and so I agree to get food with the Brazilians, who, it turns out, really only want to drink beer while I eat lunch. I'm starting to learn some Portuguese, but it's much easier for me to understand than it is for me to speak. The accent and pronunciation is very different than Spanish, but it's fun to try anyway. At least now I can understand well enough that they can no longer talk about me in Portuguese when I'm there. I'm sure they talk about me when I'm not there, but I can't really do anything about that.

The Brazilian Trio

The Grouchy Italians

We part ways, but I may see them tonight before the fiesta. I head back to my hostel for the long-awaited siesta, but really I have too much stuff to do. The group arrives tomorrow evening so even though I'm planning on going to the big blow out night of the Fiesta de la Paloma, I want to get up early so that I can get some stuff out of the way.

I'm wondering how much my lifestyle I've created for myself is going to change once the group shows up. I'm already fairly certain that if I didn't have classes to return to I'd just find a job as a nanny and live here. Maybe not in Madrid, but definitely somewhere in Spain. Maybe someday!