Sunday in Spain . . . ahhhhh . . .
The day begins roughly at 8:30am (for this American anyhow). Simply the usual routine for starters: shower, dry hair, put in contacts, eye liner and the list of little morning routine intricacies carries on until around 9:30am when I, accompanied by my roommate and two other down-the-hall mates walk down to the reception, the mini flight of stairs, and through the automatic doors to the cafeteria, which is only heated during mealtimes. Luckily, weekend breakfast begins at 9am and so the several hundred square foot dining hall has by this point reached a habitable temperature.
Breakfast has become my favorite meal of the day because it is plain and consistent. No strange gray meats nor identifiable stews here. Just whole grain cereal, an apple, plain yogurt, and a small cup of black coffee.
The pace of the day escalates from there. We leave the residence at around 10:30am, catch several lines of metro to arrive, roughly an hour later, in the heart of Madrid: the Plaza de Sol. Everything in the city essentially emanates from this central location so it's a favorite meeting point for friends, tour groups, etc.
Meeting up with two more friends who live in the downtown (and it's not as crazy expensive as you'd think: anywhere from 400 euro for your own room and 500 euro or more for your own bathroom to boot; I've seen several such student apartments and they're much nicer than my double room shared bathroom situation for way more . . . we won't even get into that here).
Then it's off to El Rastro, the almost 400 year old Sunday morning (here, "morning" signifies any time before 3 o'clock in the afternoon) tradition: hundreds of vendors spread out over several streets of the city and sell everything from blankets to scarves to prepackaged snacks to watches to toys to jewelry (lots of owl themed stuff here, not sure why exactly) to shirts to knock off iPad and kindle covers and the list goes on and on and on.
So do the crowds! Thousands of people wander and mill about the stands, laughing and chatting, carrying foam cups with steaming drinks (it's still pretty cold here in the mornings--upper 40's and then there's wind too) and pulling coins from purse and pocket alike to buy small treasures.
Up and down the sloping streets we walked, keeping our group of six together as best we could, careful to wander off only in two's or three's because it was far too easy to become completely lost in this veritable sea of people.
Around 2pm everyone started feeling hungry so, at what we would find to be the wise suggestion of one of our friends, we found our way to a chain called Mondanito's, which on Sundays and Wednesdays only, has an "everything for one euro!" menu. Perfect for college kids on a budget.
I bought three bocadillos: tiny versions of sub sandwiches, about 3 inches long and 1 inch wide (although sizes can vary slightly depending on where you go) a cesar salad and a bottle of mineral water. For the bocadillos, I indulged in a shrimp, tomato, and lettuce combo, a chicken and guacamole, and a tortilla filled one. Tortillas here are eggs with chunks of potato. This sandwich had a slightly spicy red sauce on it as well. Mmmmmm. After 3 hours of walking and a chilly wind that was especially unwelcome in the shady portions of the street, a nice warm meal (for an excellent price) and a cozy table nestled in the center of the crowded, popular little restaurant, served our group exactly the refresher we needed to continue the Sunday adventure!
Across town now, back through Plaza Mayor and then the Plaza de Sol, a pit stop at Starbuck's (I had a bit of a sore throat and their spearmint green tea was calling to me . . . even though it was double the price as back at home) and then on to the Museo de Prado with the international student group organized by our university.
We spent an hour and a half walking throughout the extensive gallery open to the general public (there was another, but it cost quite a few extra euro so we skipped that exhibition). I suppose I'm cultured now, having seen several of the greats: Rembrandt, Goya, Velasquez, Rubens, and El Greco.
I definitely took several pictures--yes I know that's a huge taboo in an art museum--but I'll have you know that I respectfully turned off my flash. And only got two pictures anyhow before a curator came up, tapped me rather roughly on the arm, and said, "No photos!"
In my best American accent and with the wide innocent eyes of a tourist I said, "Lo siento!" ("I'm sorry!") and pretended to hastily stuff my camera back into my purse as though terrified of the consequences. I'll post those two pictures soon; they were of this amazingly ornate mosaic table. Absolutely gorgeous.
We arrived back at the residence around 8:30pm, exhausted but satisfied. And isn't that the best kind of satisfaction?
It is interesting that we seem to accept a definition of "cultured" as one who appreciates the things such as art, music, literature, fine wines, plays, gourmet dining, and so on, that require the most talent, skill, and hard work to produce. This definition seems to have been set out for us by those people who are like that. But in reality each of us is cultured in a separate petri dish, and our particular set of bacteria may include a taste for art, music, reading materials, foods and beverages, and performances which don't fit into this definition at all. I submit that such persons are not uncultured, but differently cultured.
ReplyDeleteEstoy de acuerdo, completamente. :)
ReplyDeleteExcellent observation. It is not for anyone person, nor any group of individuals for that matter, to say who is "cultured" and who is not. The word culture itself has such a vast potential for interpretation that simply by using such a vague word, the argument for one being "cultured" is a logical fallacy.