Operación Bikini

“Sarah, ya es tiempo de Operación Bikini,” said my workmate who I always refer to as Mr. GQ as he could be a model for the magazine.

“Buenos días”, I respond. 

“Hmmm, it’s already time for Operación Bikini?  Has a year gone by that fast?” I think to myself as I remove my wool coat and hang it in the closet. 

Next week, Spain celebrates the Semana Santa, Easter holiday, where all of the Catholics and non-practicing Catholics celebrate their Catholicism and sins with beautiful tronos for everybody to enjoy.  The tronos, or Saints, that are on floats, are carried by the members of a church, los costaleros throughout the cities that have processions.  There are only a few tronos in Madrid.

Los costaleros carry big floats with statues of Christ or the Virgin Mary, covered with candles and flowers.  These floats can weigh up to 3 or 4 tons and are paraded throughout the streets by the members of the particular church.  One of the best processions I have ever seen was with my mom back in 1997 when I lived in Málaga.  I was showing her the city and we just happened to go into the church there when suddenly it got really quite and then we heard, “thump, thump, thump, thump” and in came the procession.  It was breathtaking.

Around the tronos carried by the costaleros, are other members of the cofradia, dressed in outfits that consist of a robe with a cone hat.  Some say that the Klu Klux clan stole the idea of their outfits from the Spanish processions.  There are also drummers and as they beat the drum, the cofrades take their pasos.  It is all quite intense and worth a visit to Spain to see.

Along with the processions during Easter week, comes a few days off from work which usually means, too much eating, relaxing and drinking.  It is right after the Easter holidays due to the extra pounds put on during the holiday, that leads up to the when the Spaniards and all of the news feeds start spreading the word about Operación Bikini. 

I typed Operación Bikini into www.google.es and thousands of articles came up on how to lose the “Michelin”, Spanish for “the spare tire”, for bathing suit season.  There is even one article that states that Operación Bikini will make it to the school cafeterias with healthier foods to help control obesity in children.  The articles I found write about what to eat, how often to eat, how to prepare your skin for the sun, what exercises are best and all say to drink lots of water.  It all seems like basic health stuff to me.  The Spaniards actually become quite obsessed with this "operacion bikini" concept.  These are the times when I walk in to office kitchen during an on-going session of Camera Café and opt to eat something when a co-worker snickers that it is going to ruin the operación bikini and they like to know how often one goes to the gym.  I have even caught them comparing their cholesterol.  

I am an avid gym freak even though I have had to tone it down a notch; I go every other day for about a half hour to an hour and a half, but this is the season when I actually don’t like going to the gym because it fills up with all of the “get-ready-for-bathing suit-season” temporary members.

It may seem odd that I have chosen to write about two subjects that really do not go hand-in-hand.  Well, they don’t at all.  Nobody is going to go to an Easter procession in a bikini or swim trunks but perhaps due to lent and giving up the foods one loves or due to the fact that there are so many holidays in Spain that this is the prime moment when the media goes on a frenzy about diets and skin scare.  Holidays in Spain could be defined as a time to eat too much, a time to take a really long siesta after eating and drinking too much, a time to do absolutely nothing, the list could go on.  But my theory is, is that if you can’t pinch an inch after a holiday, then perhaps you didn’t enjoy it.   

For the body conscious and body obsessed, now is their time to shine, after the Semana Santa that is, and for those of us who don’t really care or who maintain a healthy well-balanced lifestyle all year round, we feel stuffed at the gym by all of the extras.  Needless to say, I don’t think that people should really need the “operación bikini” as an excuse to take better care of themselves but if it is an initiative, I say go for it – just don’t hog the treadmill. 

*Note: The photo of the woman in the reindeer antlers is courtesy of Juan Ignacio Garcia who took the photo while on holiday in the Canary Islands. 

"Te pega un eBook"

"Te pega un eBook," said Dimix. 

"Hmmm'," I thought to myself.  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement as I am still not sure how to feel about the new era of electronic devices to read books and I certainly don’t think that it suits me.

"No creo," I reply. 

"No?" Te imagino con el eBook en tu bolso y sacarlo con mucha sofisticación," added Dimix.

"Hay ciertas cosas que no quiero que modernicen."  I reply.  Although it may look sophisticated to pull one out of your purse, call me old fashioned but I prefer a book with pages and a cover and an edition and a particular smell.

I had to go on to explain that a book for me is like a newspaper for some.  I left out the fact that I can not stand newspapers as I find them dirty and really do not like getting that black ink on my fingertips; they make me feel like I just changed the toner of the photocopy machine or the oil of my invisible car.  Many people just need something tangible. 

I love going to read with my book at the Café Cerveceria Santa Bárbara in the Glorieta de Alonso Martínez where they have a long bench covered by a velvet fabric in deep red where I occasionally lift my head to people watch as there are mirrors above the benches.  I admittedly spill on my books constantly, but it is back to the idea of possession, it is mine and I don't think that I would be able to savor the time I spend at Spanish cafés without the books I savor.

I lug books with me almost everywhere.  I love to dog-ear the pages, underline words that I will eventually look up in a dictionary, underline phrases that I like or find insightful.  I even have to admit that I have torn out the last page that has nothing on it to write down some notes.  I remember in the movie Finding Forrester, a personal fav, when William Forrestor (played by Sean Connery) comments that it is disrespectful to do all of what I do to a book - well, I paid my rights by buying the book and I do all the damage in pencil so it can be erased at some point or another.

In Spain, I have observed that the majority of the people cover their books with some sort of book cover.  Every time I hop on the metro, I count at least 5 women with a book cover that is either made of newspaper or white paper.  According to the Barómetro of the Editorial Federation of Spain (Informe de la Federación Gremios de Editores), 58.4% of the readers in Spain are women while an article states that Spanish men do the majority of their reading in the bathroom.  

The book cover reminds me of elementary and public school when you had to cover the public school books that they loaned you for the year with the brown paper bags my mom saved from the supermarket so that you didn’t accidentally destroy them.  I remember how some class mates got really fancy and covered their books with book-cover paper that reminded me of holiday wrapping paper.

I have various theories as to why Spaniards cover their books, i) it has been loaned to them, ii) it is something that has continued on from the time of Franco during a time in which there was huge censorship iii) they like to keep their books looking like it wasn't read iv) my preferred theory is that they are reading total trash and don't want anybody to know!

Per usual, I decided to do a survey around my office.

I asked the Canarian workmate how she feels about the eBook and she said:

"El otro día vi uno en el metro y no me hace gracia a mí."  Well stated, she said it wasn't for her, I couldn't agree more.

The Ibiza Boss said that he prefers paper as he glanced around his office looking at the number of books and old maps he had in frames and collects, the Brainy boss who happened to be there, said the same and added that it is all about tact.

Mr. GQ in my office said that he "lee poco y menos en el ebook" - he barely reads and would read even less if it were an eBook.

Now for the opinion of a true gadget lover, the Boss who is the ultimate Hacker, I enter his office to find him engrossed by the computer and I interrupt his intense concentration,

"Qué opinas del eBook?" I ask him with a smirk.  He finds my surveys quite strange but I had to remind him once again that I studied letras and not econmia.

"De hecho, voy a comprarme el iPad." As his eyes widen like a child with the simple idea that they are going to have a new toy and meanwhile he takes his iPhone out of his pocket and shows me how many books he has in there already and how you can change the view of how it is read by tilting it one way or another.

"Es mucho más cómodo leer en la cama con el iPhone y con el iPad va a ser genial.  Bueno, te digo, también me gustan los libros de papel pero por comodidad, los libros electrónicos son mejores."

Like I said before, there are certain things that I just don't think should modernize.  Paper books are a classic and they can ideally deal with the five senses (I have never seen anybody eat a book but surely there are people who have or do).  And how is the eBook going to serve for blind people?  What if they don't feel like being read to by some computerized voice but rather feel the brail?

So, for some, the eBook may look sophisticated, may be more comfortable to read in bed, may give you the option of reading about 100 books at the same time, but I just am not for it.  How would men stand up to their image of reading the paper in the bathroom? How would I feel about reading in the cafés with an electronic device?  What would happen to the device if I spilled my coffee or tea on it?  And, what if the battery dies in a tense moment of the book?  You are totally left hanging, can't turn the page.  Ultimately, I feel that there are certain things in modern-day culture where the old just does not mix with the new and a part of history would be lost without being able to turn the page.

So, no eBook for me, just call me traditional and unsophisticated.

Yoga Mental...especially for those of us who are quite mental...

I went to my first Yoga class ever yesterday evening.  I went to a center where my doctor, who I always refer to as “Fruitcake”, goes to Yoga class and highly recommends.  It is called Shadak and the center is pretty much across the street from my office, quite conveniently located. 

I have, admittedly, been on a self-destructive path since July of last year.  I got excellent tests results in June which left my totally dry-humored Rheumatologist with his mouth open and it was enough to convince me that I could party like a rock star and that my diagnosis of a chronic autoimmune disease had well past.  Well, apparently, my mind and body are quite fragile and need to always be taken care of, nurtured and be full of positive energy, I have never had a green thumb so taking care of my body and mind is quite the challenge. 

I got tests done for the Rheumatologist just a couple of weeks ago because I hadn’t been feeling that great and I also have my 6-8 month check-up.  I went to pick them up and from the first glance; I knew that they weren’t good.  In Spain, you have to go with a slip from your doctor to a place where they do blood analysis and then you pick them up yourself which for some like myself, is not a good thing because I start browsing the Internet to see what I can auto-diagnose myself with and basically give myself an self-induced heart-attack. 

Shortly alter emailing Fruitcake the past 2 blood analysis and confessing that I had been partying like I was somebody important, my cell phone rings.

“Querida Sarah, has empeorado y estás empeorando.  Después del correo que me has enviado, muchas cosas tienen que cambiar si quieres mejorar.”

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK”, I think to myself.  Nobody ever likes to receive a call from a Doctor, slightly whacky, whose been making all his best efforts to help you, tell you that you are getting worse. 

He calls me into his office asap.  I got there and felt like I was at the Principals office, like the time after I did donuts with the car in the snow, but worse.  After a long talk and his psychoanalysis of yours truly, there are many things that need to be sorted in my life, psych wise, as I have not been very happy for a long time and according to Fruitcake, my well-being will start when I have found inner peace.  He said I must go to “Yoga Mental”.

Off I went.  I was quite nervous but noticed that everyone around me was mellow, so I relaxed and felt mellow.  It was strange but not as strange as the time I went to a session on how to line up the Chakras where no one in the room could cross their arms or legs and the monitors had to touch your feet and head to line up certain Chakras.  In that gig, the monitor kept asking us if we could feel the energy passing from one another, the only thing I felt was that the room was stuffy and the windows needed to be opened. 

But anyhow, at Yoga, we had to sit on the floor and meditate.  The Guru is named Ramiro Calle, an older man who is skinny as a stick and quite hairy.  He seemed to have a calm aura about him.  He told us the 3 phases of meditation and how to breathe.  I can’t remember the last time I took a minute for myself and actually could relax.  Later he allowed for questions and said some anecdotes.  It was great.

If and when I go to the Yoga física with the notorious Guru of Yoga, I will write about how inflexible and clumsy I am but at this moment, I am sticking to the meditation and start on the path to thinking with my positive side of the brain (can’t remember if it’s the right or the left side but it is working!)!!!

Don’t forget the stamp! Spanish Bureaucracy….ministro a ministro.

I am in such shock that I just had to write about my experience today on my blog! I got to work this morning at 10:00 AM after telling Boss 4 via SMS the night before that I would be late as I had to deal with Spanish bureaucracy to renew my social security medical card. He wished me luck and usually luck is what you need. In Spain, there is literally a paper for everything and in order for it to be valid, it must be stamped and duly signed. I find the stamp thing funny as there is no “official” stamp. Once a company or whatnot is created, the name approved, and the VAT number is received, you get a stamp made. That stamp needs to be stamped on everything for it to be valid – in my office; I am the “official stamper”!!

So, this morning, I woke up late as most government branches do not open till 9:00 AM and took a deep breath. Usually getting anything done within the Spanish Bureaucratic Systems makes you want to pull your hair out and yell at anybody who may interfere with the frustrating process. When Ismael and I got married, I think that we actually spent more money and time on getting the proper paperwork to get married than the actually wedding. We had a shotgun wedding so to speak, not because I was preggers or anything but due to date availability at the Civil Registry, or lack there of, our current residency in Tel Aviv, and my legality in Spain! To get married, all of my papers had to have The Hague stamp and then be translated by a traductor jurado, an official translator. The Hague stamp is actually quite nice – it is a raised golden or red seal.


To get married, we had to hand in my birth certificate, a police report, a medical report stating that I had no weird disease, the Spanish census certificate, a bunch of other papers along with a document stating that I was soltera. This document stating that one is “single” does not exist in the States – so yet another appointment, another line. I had to go to the US Embassy and state before a notary of the public that I was single. That costs about 70 bucks. The US Embassy actually staples a letter stating that such document doesn’t exist in the States, no wonder why those of the First Church (Mormon’s) got away with polygamy. Ismile’s paperwork was less extensive. Mind you, any “official” document in Spain is only valid for three months once it has been dated, signed and stamped which meant my mom had to get the police report from our local police station twice and get it stamped with the Hague Stamp twice, and FedEx it to me twice – now that costs even more money.

Once you hand that stuff in, you have to get a witness to state that you have been together for some time. We asked Carmina, Ismile’s mom, to be our witness. We were quite surprised as we were the only young couple in the room. Most of the other couples consisted of a viejo verde (dirty old man) and a foreign woman. Once that was done, you get a paper, with the stamp and signature; let us not forget that part, only then you can get married. By that time, your patience gets tested and you can see how your partner handles the situation and if all that work was truly worth it.

So, we said our sí’s, signed a document, it was stamped and then we were officially married. Once you are married, you are given a Libro de Familia, something that obviously lived on after Franco died and according to an article in El Mundo will cease to exist.

And once you have your libro, once again, lines and more paperwork to get my residency card which included finger printing. Unfortunately, my tarjeta de residencia expires this year on November 22nd. 5 years. I am now eligible for the “Permanent Residency” but yet, even that needs to be renewed in 5 years time. I already have a knot in my stomach just thinking about the entire process.


But anyhow, back to the bit of restoration of faith I had in the Spanish Bureaucratic system, this morning it took only 30 minutes to renew my social security medical card which entailed 3 stops at different Ministries; first I had to get a census certificate that verifies my address, then I had to ask for the renewal request at Ministry of Social Security by showing them the census certificate, and I had to show both the census certificate and the request at the outpatients’ department. The medical card will expire the same date as my residency and the woman behind the desk kindly explained that once I have the temporary residency card in November that I will have to file for a temporary medical card and that once I get the official residency card that I will have to reapply for an official medical card. I am tired just thinking about it.  At about 9:40AM, Boss 1 was texting me from inside an aircraft asking me if I could change his return flight that afternoon because the take-off was delayed.  So, off I went running to work to resolve the problem which as it turns out, I told him to get off the plane and attend the conference via phone.  If it could only work like this in Spain on a daily basis, everyone would be happier.

A currar....off to work I go!!!

Working in Spain is definitely different from working in the States. I have had several different jobs in Spain. The typical work day is from 9 to 2PM then 4 to 7PM with a coffee break at 11AM and the lunch hours leaves those who live close to their office time for nap. Most jobs in Spain are through enchufes and if you don’t have a contact, it’s difficult to get a job. My first experience in the working world of Spain was when I had two internships in Málaga as an undergrad. I worked at Flying Bull Viajes, trying to organize files that were from the time when Franco was dictator. The papers were yellow and they even smelled like a sour yellow. I also had an internship at the Ministry of Culture, writing about tourism in Málaga, the Capital of the Costa del Sol. My supervisor would take me out for coffees at fine places, talk about tourism, and introduce me to his friends – they were all old and balding. He would tell me that this is where I wanted to be seen, I think it is where he wanted to be seen with me. This internship called for me to work at the information booth in the center of town once a week and most tourists only asked where a bathroom was so I sent them to the Corte Inglés, the big department store in Spain at that time. I wasn't sure what to think about working in Spain. Most of the smaller stores close during the siesta, there were always bus strikes which led me to believe that public jobs were the way to go. I will talk about funcionarios in a separate blog.

Upon my return to Spain in 2001, my first job as a student was as a free-lance English teacher which I have always found humorous because if you've noticed, my grammar sucks. I would teach top Executives’ kids English for a mere 1200 pesetas per hour, that’s pretty cheap. When the peseta changed to the Euro in 2002, it was funny because each family did an exact conversion to the Euro which means I got paid 7.21€ per hour. The Euro penny is minuscule, perfect for playing Bingo. I must say I was in shock when the mother paid me the first time, can’t stand tight asses who like to divide the bill according to what they ate, makes it worse when you know they are filthy rich and refuse to shell out the bucks. I mean, 7.21€?, - guess rounding up to 7.50€ was not an option.

While I was writing my thesis, I started my second and third jobs as English teacher. I taught at CEDRO, a copyright organization, every employee there received an English class from me or one of my three friends – the students were very enthusiastic and very nice. My third job was working for a man named Edward who, should he be reading this, is a rather clever man, I always referred to him as the con-artist, he is also an actor. I have seen him in a couple of commercials and it is fun to see somebody you know on the tele. The con-artist could convince anybody that his English classes were the best, he even had me convinced. He sold us to many international companies because of the mere fact that students were getting the benefits of all the English accents and different vocabularies due to the fact that he was British and I was American. He has a law degree but found that being a lawyer in Spain was just boring and not enough money. So, he started his own corporate language and voice coaching which I was more than happy to be a part of. I got this job thanks to Ismile and Eli Bellie, my enchufes, Eli being one of his students and Eli and Ismile both working for a consulting giant. As foreign student in Spain, you can not work more than 20 hours a week and you have to hand in a letter to the Ministerio de Trabajo from your University stating that you have classes during such and such hours and that you are able to work. Edward kindly filled those 20 hours with beginners, intermediate and advanced learners.

I had fun teaching at the big consulting firm, which many Spanish students pronounced "Accentouray" and some other well-known companies in Spain, several students were and remain to be good friends to this day. I found that the students really wanted a break from their mundane tasks at the workforce and really wanted to learn, especially profane and sexual vocabulary which as we know, I have a boca de camionera and it was more than a pleasure to teach such useful vocabulary. I only had one complaint and it was from a girl who had decided she needed to learn French because she got a French boy friend. She always came late and unfortunately, she was in a class with one of Ismile’s dear friends who is hilarious and always asked the absurdities I had taught him like if she was going to "French kiss" and "get it on" with her boy friend after he "wine and dined" her which, while quite humorous for him and the other classmate, they weren’t funny for her.

Edward continues with his language and acting gigs and has also become a photographer, as well as a wedding photographer. His theory is that normal wedding photos are boring, which if you have ever had somebody whip out their wedding album, he is right. Sometimes sticking a needle in your eye would be more fun. His photos are quite unique and he’s won some prizes.

Shortly after I handed in my thesis in 2003, I went home to try recover from yet another illness and to find a job. I just wasn’t that into it. I can admit, I have never really liked working and if I had my choice, I would be a billionaire and I would work as a volunteer where I would surely be useful. Ismile had just been transferred to Israel and I felt like I just didn’t belong in the States. So, in February 2004, off I went to Israel to be with Ismael where I continued to teach many of the Spanish students I had in Spain.

When I returned to Spain in 2006, I got a job as a Program Coordinator for ACCENT, an American company that is an intermediary that coordinates study abroad programs for American Universities that do not have their own study abroad programs directly integrated in their school. My boss was a Cu

ban-American who remains a dear friend but he tends to talk a lot. This job was fun. I got to make up the study abroad program, go on the trips with the students and have the opportunity to be on the other side of being an actual student abroad. I wrote many articles for the students about Spanish culture, etc. Juani, also a Program Coordinator at the time, and I always managed to have a great laugh. One time, our boss, was talking a mile a minute and he tended to make his stories extremely LOOONG, I have the attention span of a 2 year old, suddenly, in my subtle American way and without thinking, I hold up my hand and start pinching my thumb and pointer finger and say, “¡¡Más cortito, más cortito, por favor!!”. Juani almost fell out of his seat! I had students ask me really weird stuff, I figure I must have been like the mother-hen, being the only girl on the staff. One student asked me what she should do because she hadn’t done “number 2” in 10 days. I, as a good Samaritan, told her she should go to Burger King and order a double whopper and a beer. Big smiles from her the next day, it worked.

That job was unfortunately temporary. So in September 2006, I was hired as a secretary/personal assistant/you will do everything for the Managing Director at a law firm. It should have been a sign to stay away from that law office when he asked me how many types of apples I could name and if I liked crossword puzzles during the interview. He spoke to me in a Dick Van Dyke pseudo British accent and he’s not too tall and too skinny. I have never been a fan of lawyers despite the fact that many of my friends are lawyers, but in the work force, they tend to get wordy and claim that there is always the elastic clause allows for bending of the rules, not to mention the fact that most charge by the hour and for phone calls. We will call my boss, Loopy. Just plane, Loopy – I mean, the guy was eccentric and nuts, but nuts to endless capacities. His house was right near the office and several times I had to go look for stuff that he mindlessly misplaced. Many times I had to look on his bedside table for things. I don’t think that is normal to have to go into your boss’s bedroom, crossing the line. He used to send text messages to my personal cell phone and ask me why I didn’t respond. I would turn off my phone when I went to bed, personal cell phone, HULLO?! Obviously, too cheap to pay for me to have a work phone. Well, he didn’t stop there. He would send me text messages while in meetings to go and pick up his things in one of the meeting rooms on the bottom floor. If I wasn’t downstairs to pick up his briefcase in 5 minutes, he would text, “Sarah, why haven’t you picked up my things?” I could hear the Van Dyke through the text. It was like the Devil Who Wears Prada without the Prada as they paid me peanuts.

After I picked up his brief case, I had to go through the papers and figure out what the hell to do with them. I used to have to print all of his emails at about 6PM and he would them cart them to his apartment which was just a stones throw away, he obviously had no clue about being friendly to the environment. One day when I was decifering his notes, figuring out what needed to be done, which emails I had to reply to from his emails that he had written in chicken scratch on the printed copy. So, one day I am going through the papers and I find a paper asking me to send a letter to Marks & Spencer and ask why they didn't make his undies anymore. To top it off, he had actually taken the time to cut the tag out of the undies, staple them to the paper and write me a note. I suddenly had a laughing attack and thought to myself, "Is this man on crack?" then that was followed by an angry attack. I stormed right into his office with the paper in hand and said, "Esto es una broma?" and his reply - "It's a pity! Will you write the note?"

I never did write that note.

I would have to air out his office when I got to work and then look at his modern aged thermostat to make sure his office was 23.5 degrees Celcius. One day, I slipped a bit, I forgot to close the windows on a frigid day and turn on the space heater that would hopefully heat up his office to the required temperature when suddenly, a fired up Loopy, dressed in a pink Hermés tie, a vest and his Madonna-looking blue-tooth ear piece storms out of his office and into the secretarial pool and screams, “Sarah, ¿qué quieres? ¿Qué me muera de neumonia? Te tengo dicho que la temperatura tiene que ser 23.5 grados.” I was red in the face and mind you, I would never actually wish pneumonia on anybody but a couple of sick, Loopy-free days, why not?

Stay tuned for Part 2 as my job with Loopy didn't stop there!

From the Sales Panic in Italy to Shopping in Madrid

I have been pretty lax on writing my blog – partially because I have been busy and partially because I am lazy and doubtful. Ixma and I just got back from celebrating New Year’s in Rome and it was a pretty good trip. Ixma lived and worked in Rome for 2 years when I first met him. Surely it was the way he spoke Spanish with an Italian accent that won me over. He lived in Campo di Fiori and we always try to stay around there as it is familiar and I think one of the peppier parts of Rome. We had a great time wandering the streets and this time we visited el Museo Capitolino. I loved it – I got to see the Lupa, symbol of Rome from the XVth Century. The trip was lovely but it was a bit different this time around because on all of my previous visits to Italy, I could eat whatever

I wanted. The smell of pizza and fresh made pasta still lingers in my nose and I promise you I could devour an entire pizza in 5 minutes myself.

Shortly after new years, January 2nd, the saldis began. I think I know the word for “sale” in many languages! As a dutiful capitalist, I set an alarm for 8:30 AM to go charge the streets at 9:30 AM as a shop clerk indicated that is what time stores open in Rome the previous day. I quickly wash my face, brush my teeth, get dressed and fly out the door. I had to have a coffee before I could start shopping to make sure that I was fully awake so I stopped at the local café and ordered a cafe lungo. I grabbed the mini-coffee cup that reminds me of the ones from my tea sets as a girl and tossed it back like it was a shot of tequila, paid and rush

ed out to the cold air at 9:30 AM. It was a minor disappointment when I realized that the majority of the stores didn’t open till 10:00 AM so I took a couple of laps around the block from the acceleration of the coffee. I finally bought a sweater I had been eyeing and walked in to a bunch of other stores and it suddenly got really crowded. I can hardly believe it but due to the wait till 10 AM, the laps around the block didn’t use up enough time so I had 2 more coffees, I ended up having a shopping-panic attack!! I went back to the apartment where Ixma was dead asleep. I decided to shower and pretend that I never actually went shopping. Ixma woke up – he could somehow tell that I had enough gasoline in me to fly to the moon in back.

I went back to one of the shopping streets where back in 2002, I spent a bloody fortune in about 45 minutes and managed to feel like Pretty Woman for a minute and where I had just been, to find that there was now a line to enter a shoe store I wanted to go in at 9:30 AM. I hate to admit it but as they say, curiosity kills the cat, I waited on the queue. There were some nice boots in the store but nothing that I couldn’t live without.

Later that day we went to Via di Corso, a main street that has a lot of stores and I bought a blouse and Ixma bought me a dress from Stefanel and Sisley because he thought it was cool which it is. I once again got a shopping-panic attack – via di Corso was a nightmare – packed with people, strollers, dogs, bags, more queues to enter stores; general European chaos. I can’t write if the shopping was great or not, perhaps my taste has changed or perhaps budget limits my spending habits. I must say that I didn’t find the way the Italians dressed as striking as I did in the previous years. (I have been to Italy about 7 or 8 times). However, people looked fresh, stylish and were sporting new shoes or boots or bags (I'll leave out these awful puffy jackets that remind me of black trash bags that seem to be the ultimate rage) on that particular evening on Saturday, January 2nd.

As I am back in my home-sweet-home, I will write about shopping in Madrid which can either be really great or it can really stink. I either find everything I want and love shopping or find absolutely nothing and hate shopping. Madrid has stores for every budget. My most favorite stores are Mango and Zara, both are chain stores located throughout Spain and most of the world. I believe the most recent Zara opening was in Russia. They both have semi-decent quality clothing at a fair price. You can usually find all of the latest trends in the stores shortly after it is seen in Vogue and on the catwalks. Whenever I go shopping I try to think Channel by day, D&G by night (this part was written prior to my latest trip to Rome), neither are on my budget but love, love, love their clothing. I don’t have a particular favorite shoe store as I love all shoes although I really do love shoes by Latouche I and have a couple of pairs of Gloria Ortiz. My company gave me a pair of Manolo Blahnik last year and they are really cool but not really practical. My theory is, if they fit, buy them , as long as they don’t hurt your feet. Shoes can make an outfit and make you feel fabulous. Unfortunately, there are no half sizes in Spain so sometimes shoe shopping is not as fun as it should be as I wear a size 6 and a half. Days when my goal is to buy shoes and I find nothing, I get depressed.

I am not sure what to say about Spanish style and sometimes I think, lack-there-of. Most Spaniards are totally set on trends and at the moment I believe that Hoss, Hakei and Friday’s Project are really in – mind you I could be totally wrong as I stick to the basics (Zara & Mango). There are many Spanish designers, for instance, my office gave me a mink scarf from Elena Benarroch, it's lovely. There is also Sita Murt. I think that Spanish women like to have the latest and sometimes don’t wear it right. Most Spanish women love Tous which I really can not stand and tend to match their shoes with their bag and if the outfit calls for a belt, that too. I really have no patience for that and although Vogue Spain at some point wrote an article that it was the way to go, I find it rather dull. I am not the biggest bag person – I use one black Lamarthe bag all week and on occasion, the fire engine red Luis Vitton that my office gave me one Christmas or the vintage Prada my sister gave me when we ventured out to the outlet in Tuscany one summer. A Spanish store that is in style for purses is Bimba & Lola, I, personally, don’t like to have the same bag as everybody else and I entered the store twice and found that it was over-priced and not that stylish.

Shopping in Spain can also be difficult due to lack of customer service. I remember when my cousin, Matt, came to visit and he couldn’t believe how the waiters basically toss your plate at you and have the theory the noisier the better, well, it is about the same in the store, God forbid you need a different size. Mango has improved immensely; the sales assistants now have a blue tooth wireless in their ear, so they can call down to the storage to see if they have the item you want in a different size. I think that all stores in Spain need to be frequented often as once a new item arrives; it disappears for the “gotta have it” theory.

I have had a couple of weird instances while shopping in Madrid. I once had a lady following behind me. It was kind of creepy. I kept turning to look at her and I must have given her one of my infamous faces because she then asked me if I was going to buy the jacket I was carrying around the store while browsing. I told her I had to try it on first and she told me if I was not going to buy it to find her in the store! I had a similar instance with an older, French man. I looked at a dress in Mango on calle Fuencarral and held it up to myself in the mirror and as I was putting it back on the rack he asked me if I liked it. I was kind of confused so I said “yes” and he said his daughter is about the same size and he was going to buy it for her. He really did buy the dress. It was black with cute little flowers and ruffles with a low-cut neckline. Wonder if she liked it?

I think the best places to go shopping in Madrid are calle Goya, calle Serrano, Sol, Gran Vía, calle Fuencarral and calle Agosto Figueroa where they have all of the shoes that are muestras that just happened to be in my size. I say avoid the rebajas, my dear friend Kim would beg to differ, and it is best to shop first thing in the morning when the stores are organized and less crowded. Rebajas start in two days being that the Reyes Magos is January 6th.

S-A-R-A con “H” mudo al final…

My name is constantly spelled wrong even though I spell it out and I, obviously, write it correctly in my daily correspondence. I received my first apology email ever from a Spanish secretary working in London. Her boss is Spanish and she emailed me to confirm a meeting with one of the three musketeers. Here are the emails:

“Good afternoon Beatriz,

Many thanks for sending me the confirmation; Boss 2 will meet your boss in the lobby of the Ritz on the 12th.

Kind regards,

Sarah Warden”

Her reply:

“Sarah,

Many thanks to confirm and apologies for the misspelling of your name.

Kind regards,

Spanish secretary in London”

My reply:

“No problem about the misspelling!! - I am quite used to it here in Spain but do insist on saying that I have "un H mudo al final".”

Her reply:

“Well done! H is quite a useless letter on the Spanish pronunciation / sound”.

Sure, her response was friendly enough but my name without the silent “H” is like walking around with just one shoe on. I always explain that it is from the Bible and it is a Hebrew name and almost all Hebrew, as well as Arabic words that end with the vowel “a” are almost automatically accompanied by the “H”. When I lived in Israel, I was asked a number of times by the airport security why I was named "Sarah" if I am not Jewish and as I was usually quite stunned by such a question, I alwasy ended up having lots of problems.

I am not sure why I let it get to me as the Spanish secretary in London simply stated that the “H” is a useless letter in Spanish pronunciation but my name is spelled wrong on a daily basis. I remember when I worked for ACCENT coordinating US University study abroad programs when one of my co-workers called me a “pija” (snob) for having the “H” mudo al final. Give me a break!!

The “H” in Spanish is semi-silent because when it appears at the beginning of a word, it does have a slight sound (i.e., huevo, Huelva, Hernández, etc.) and the perfect example of the slight sound is when Spaniards who are learning to speak English pronounce a simple word such as “Hello”, it sounds as if they are clearing phlegm out of their throats because they put such strong emphasis on the American “H”.

I decided to do a survey throughout the office about the letter “H”. Boss 3 just told me that he finds my questions perplexed; I had to remind him that I studied “artes”. He said that he doesn’t know much about the “H” as he studied math and that he prefers questions about the number five but he concluded that the “H” is useless. Another one of my co-workers, who writes “saraH” in his emails to me, just told me to eliminate the “H” from my name and to just accept the fact that it is useless. HELLLOOO?!!! Are we going to begin dropping letters from other peoples’ names and words that contain the letter “H” just because a letter has such minor importance in one language? I do not think so. Just think of the words that have an “H” without it. It is the eighth letter of the alphabet and there it shall remain.

My name looks naked without the “H” and I will forever be Sarah (with an "H") and I tend to agree with Boss 1 who stated that it was cojonudo, fantastic.