Jueves

Madrid is very sleepy today, and every day, now that I think about it. Most of the people have gone on vacation and the city is very calm and slow. I can't help but sleep in, my room is so dark, so again I miss having chocolate for breakfast and instead I go to the little deli down the street to see what they offer. I ask the woman if there is anything I can eat that is vegetarian and her eyes bug out and she basically says "no way in hell." I should have known better, her shop is filled with various forms of pork and ham... like every other shop in the city. I go to the fridge to pick out a juice box because I know they will have my favorite treat from Spain--zumo de piña (pineapple juice--in Spain the word for juice is not jugo, but zumo, pronounced with a lisp on the z). I plunk down my juice on the counter, clearly looking forlorn at the idea of just juice for breakfast and the woman takes pity on me and offers to make me a sandwich from the menu without the huge chunks of smoked ham... I still don't understand why it seems impossible for the Spanish to simply leave out the meat on something! So she happily makes me a sandwich with queso borgona, olive oil, and tomato, thinking she has just saved my life by inventing the first vegetarian sandwich ever.



I head back to my hostel to do some writing and eat my breakfast before I shower and get ready for the day. I eat the entire sandwich before I realize that the fresh tomato is pretty much going to kill me--but it tasted so good! I'm about half-way through my update from the night before when the tomato begins to attack me from the inside out. I should be smarter, should be, but apparently I'm not. I write as much as I can and start in on my reading, but soon just turn the lights out to take a little nap in hopes that I will digest better. I wake up at four. Ooops, there goes part of the day. I say part because really, it's only a fraction of the long long day that is possible in Madrid. My day can start at four and last until four am!

So I get ready and take myself out to find whatever comes my way. I say hello to the entire Calle de Cadiz and am invited back for dinner by everyone. I walk to Puerto del Sol which is one of the largest hubs in the city and is close to the Plaza Mayor. It's beautiful at this time in the evening, despite it being overcast when I went for breakfast. As I'm walking I hear arguing right behind me and scoot out of the way. One man is yelling at two shorter men and gesturing towards me. After the two shorter men sulk off, the Spanish guy walks up to me and explains that they were going to rob me of my purse. He tells me nicely that I need to be very careful in Puerto del Sol and always wear my bag on the front. Of course, I think this is mostly for show because I was in fact wearing my bag on the front, and turned inside, and was grasping it tightly because Puerto del Sol is where I was nearly robbed 8 years ago, and well, people don't forget stuff like that. But it was nice of him and I am even more careful after I thank him and take off for el Corte Ingles.



El Corte Ingles is the mother of all department stores. Take Bon Marche, add Best Buy, Sephora, QFC, Big 5, and every other store you've ever been to and smash them together. Then dump a whole pile of shoppers in with some abrasive lighting and bored sales people and you have a close estimation of what this store is like. It's completely insane, and one of my favorite places to shop, not just because I have never encountered a place in the US where I can buy Chanel and liquor in the same store, it's truly a wonder. I made up excuses to talk to a handful of sales people so I could practice my Spanish with native speakers. Everyone was very nice to me and I had a lot of fun looking at all the crazy stuff you can buy in a place with Nordstrom's interior decorating.

I eat dinner at a professed vegetarian restaurant called Maoz. It's the Taco del Mar of falafel joints and I can't finish the whole thing, so I carry it out and give it to a beggar. The little plaza in front of the shopping district at Sol is hopping, but not like the height of tourist season so I stop and take a few photos. There is a line of old men sitting and sweating in their old man polo shirts as if they have been on that bench longer than the fountain behind them. There's a man playing the bagpipes and no one is tipping him. I wander down the streets that branch off from the center, remembering the street performers from years ago who danced Flamenco and Tango late into the night. Instead today there are spray paint artists and immigrants selling painted fans for two euro. Perhaps the dancers come out later in the night, when the mood is right. I'll have to check back.



I go to say hello to the boys at Calle de Cadiz and sit to read my book for the seminar. Chicho, the italian pizza cook comes to sit with me and ask me questions about the U.S. He wants to know all about the movies and the night life. I have to disappoint him by telling him that in Seattle, the clubs close at 2 am. He cannot believe this and wonders what the poor Seattle residents do with the rest of their night. I joke with him about how different America is because of the strict puritan values... which takes us to the differences between European girls and American girls and the differences between European boys and American boys. He tells me he thought all American boys were like the guys from the movie American Pie... what a great and lasting impression Hollywood has made on the rest of the world! I laugh and he tells me that I have the same eyes as Stiffler--the moronic foil from American Pie--to which I take some offense. He tries to explain that he means I have "laughing eyes" and that I must always be happy and finding jokes in life. What I thought was awful turned out to be a nice compliment.

I think tonight I'm going out to find a discoteca, hopefully one with fewer Americans than those in my area. You can tell where the Americans will be because those clubs play hip hop from like five years ago. Apparently the real Spanish clubs play house music (techno, aka "euro-noise") and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Which is probably the very reason why the clubs with the out of date hip hop are pulling all the Americans; none of us like house. But to me I think it's worth going to see. If I hate it, I'll leave.

I keep planning to go to the big park that is nearby, but I haven't managed yet. I think tomorrow, after chocolate for breakfast, that the park will be my priority.

Besos a todos!