¡Diga!

This old Spanish phone is actually on sale at www.ebay.es

“¿Dónde tengo que ir para recoger el talonario para la gente de tercera edad?”

“Creo que usted se ha equivocado de número.”

“¿Me podría usted ayudar?  Tengo más años que la cuesta de Álcala.”

“Hay que llamar a 0-1-0.”

“Tengo que marcar 1-0-0 ahora?”

“0-1-0.  Hay que colgar el teléfono y volver a marcar 0-1-0.”

“Aaaah, vale.  ¿Y qué más?”

“Solo hay que colgar y marcar 0-1-0 y una persona de la Comunidad de Madrid le va a poder ayudar a usted.”

“Vale.  Solo marco 1-0-0.”

“0-1-0.”

“1-0-0. Vale”

This went on for another 3 minutes.

“Es 0-1-0.”  ¿Tiene usted para apuntar?” (I could hear him shuffling around looking for a pen)

“Tengo bolígrafo.”

“Anote, 0-1-0.”

“0-1-0.  ¿Cree usted que me van a poder ayudar?”

“Sí, señor.”

“Muchas gracias, muy amable.”

The gist of the conversation is that a very old man called our office yesterday and asked where he could pick up his social security checks.  I told him he dialed the wrong number but after he told me he was older than the hill of Álcala, I told him to call 0-1-0, a 24 hour hotline dedicated to help residents of Madrid.  I basically had to tell the old man the three-digit phone number about 50 times.  I wonder if he was able to dial it in the end?  I wonder if he was able to get his social security checks?

I have learned to have more patience as the years go by.  (Really, I have more patience now than I did last year!).   

To be or not to be....LOUD??!!!

Cines Ideal - Original Version Movies

I have been on a movie kick lately, which is even surprising to myself.  I don’t have the best track record for going to the movies.  I get so comfortable and I am usually so exhausted that within the first 15 minutes of the film, I am out cold and to top it off, I usually start snoring.  My movie snoring is similar to my flight snoring according to my husband; it starts off quiet and works its way into a progressively louder sound of a growling bear.  In my slumber, I suddenly remember where I am and nod myself awake which usually produces an even worse snorting sound.  I have fallen asleep at the movies with my sister (Bridges of Madison County), with Joanna (Good night, Good luck!) and many, many more whose titles I can’t even remember.  I can honestly say that I haven’t really been to the movies much in the last decade, as I wouldn’t dare.  I thought of it as a waste of money to pay for a nap and I preferred to see it on DVD so I could pick-up where I fell asleep.  Since I haven’t gone to the movies much, I have missed many Oscar and Golden Globe nominated films as well as pretty much any other film.  But just recently, I have found that if I go to the movies in the afternoon after my infamous siesta, I make it through the entire film and the credits with not one yawn.

Ixma and I went to the movies a bunch in Tel Aviv that was like the olden days when a red curtain would go up.  When we went to see the first of the Lord of the Rings the movie reel broke so we were just sitting there for about 20 or 30 minutes with the red curtain covering the dark screen.  Since it was so hot outside and the AC was on full blast in the theater, we really didn’t mind.  I don’t fall asleep at action films.

My movie kick has brought me to see Eat, Pray, Love that was beyond awful despite the fact that I enjoyed the memoir.  I admittedly fought to keep the lids open during the entire movie and why I endured the pain of sitting there watching such an awful movie is beyond me.  I have seen the Black Swan, which was AWESOME, and The Fighter, which I thought was inspirational and Marky Mark looks almost the same as he did when I went to see him when I was 15 in concert.   

Now that I am past the “I fall dead asleep at the movies” phase, the only thing that is keeping me from going to the movies more often is the Spanish movie etiquette.  It is unbelievable. 

The Spaniards have a thing for their cell phones, talking in public, sending messages in public, making grunting noises in public, complaining in public, etc.  It is like they almost forget that they are in public and that the cell phone is a cordless, portable device; you can bring it almost anywhere and still communicate and if you opt to talk so loudly whether it be on your cell phone or to the person next to you in public, those around you will eavesdrop so, please, don’t look so surprised.  Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Spaniards and I LOVE Spain 75% of the time but EVERYTHING is so dramatic, the world is a stage, right?

This past Saturday, Ixma and I went to see The Fighter.  We bought the tickets online so all we had to do was rush to the movies, pick up the tickets at the machine, and order an extra large popcorn.  We try to do the timing just right.  Finally, we sit in our seats and we were both pretty psyched to see the movie.  When the previews were showing Ixma whispers to me in English,

“The people are going to be quiet, right?”

That is always the question when we go to the movies in Spain.  We went to see the second Lord of the Rings in Madrid at the Cines Ideal in Sol where I see all movies in versión original con subtítulos, Ixma actually had to turn around and tell a bunch of deaf kids to stop making so much noise and to stop kicking the seats.  My eyes still go buggy at that episode.

“I hope so.” I responded a bit louder than I should have of.

About 10 minutes into the movie, despite all of the meditation yoga, I was suddenly agitated and turned to the couple next to me after quickly deciding that English would be more effective,

“Do you mind?” I asked them.

They almost fell out of their seats.  Sure, my etiquette wasn’t the best, sure, I surprised them with my non-accented English, sure, I should have politely asked them if they could kindly be EXTREMELY quiet during the ENTIRE movie but after living here for almost a decade, I decided it was best to ir al grano (to get straight to the point) to avoid further disturbance.

Not a peep out of them for the rest of the movie but there was a HUGE disturbance a couple of rows back from ours which made my little disturbance seem like a pin dropping.

“ A ver si pueden dejar de hacer ruido y molestar.” A man says out loud.  He didn’t really address anybody in particular but simply stated for everybody to stop making noise and bothering the rest of the crowd but there were two women who were seated behind him and murmuring during the film.

Spaniards love to protest and generally speaking, like to have the last word.

“Hago lo que me da la gana porque pago mi entrada.” The woman informs the loudmouth that she can do as she pleases because she pays for her ticket.

The charade carried on and you can imagine what was being said.  Annoying.

I almost chuckled but finally, about 2/3 into the movie, the only noise in the Sala 8 was from the actual movie; the viewers could finally hear the film and enjoy it.

If you opt to go to the movies in Spain, you have officially been forewarned that some viewers can’t keep their traps shut while others think that the bright light from their cell phones from reading and sending texts during the movie doesn’t bother anybody.  If only there were ear plugs to block out the loudmouths and people actually turned off their phones as advised in the beginning.  I say, just sit back and enjoy the shows.

An Adam Fuss Exhibit all to Myself...

Adam Fuss - For Allegra, 2009

“HI!!!

SO!  in Madrid is a show that I helped work on and ship art to.

@ Fundacio MAPFRE,

Adam Fuss.

Please go.  He's a good artist.

xoxoxox”

This is an email that I received from a dear friend the other day; it has been a bit censored just like I was dictator Franco censoring all communication in Spain back in the last century.  I LOVE email.  I must say that I LOVE receiving posted mail better but as days go by, I am more convinced that many people have no idea where a post office is located in relation to their homes nor workplace and I suppose that adhesive stamps aren’t as fun as the ones you have to lick and put on the corner of the envelope.

But anyhow, I LOVE surprise emails, this friend somehow manages to send me the surprise emails all the time.  I especially love the emails that come from the States and that suggest something here in Spain; to go to an exhibit, a restaurant, a bar, a city or to try a wine, a tapa, etc.  My mom always manages to find little treasures in Spain such as this paper store, Depapel, that is absolutely adorable and extremely close to my office.  

My reply:

“Jajaja!!

It is right next to my office-i will go check it out!!!

xxoo”

Since I have a two hour lunch break, I am always looking for things to do that aren’t just boring old errands.  So, off I went to the Fundación Mapfre where they tend to have fabulous exhibits.  Some of their exhibits are so popular with such a long queue that many people never get in to enjoy them such as the Impressionist Exhibit and myself.  To top it off, the exhibits are free and as my dad always said, “If its for free, its for me”.

After I gorged my lunch at my desk, off I went to the Adam Fuss exhibit on a lovely day.  The exhibit is being held in the basement of the Fundación and is comprised of about 50 of his pieces.

I really didn’t know what to expect.  I browsed the Internet to find out a little bit about him but you never truly get a sense of what to expect.  He is a photographer and his mother was a model, his father died when he was young, he travelled between the UK and Australia, he resides in NYC, etc.

I took the elevator down to the basement and found that I was the only one there.  The guard was asleep with her cell phone in hand like it was a stun gun so I could just enjoy every single piece. I had the entire exhibit to myself. 

Picture me here, I had the entire exhibit to myself.
The guard isn't in the picture but since she was asleep, it doesn't matter.

I think that the quietness and the stillness of the exhibit were perfect for his works.  I found his photos to be quite stunning; some were eerie, some provoked thoughts of rain and peace, and some were just cool.  All of his works are very unique, a bit sexual, intriguing and quite lovely all at the same time.  I was trying to picture where they were taken or what was the photographer’s frame of mind at that moment when the shutter flashed. 

My email after seeing the exhibit:

“Dear friend!!

Was definitely impressed by Adam Fuss and I totally got to enjoy every piece at the Exhibit because I was the only one there!  I went at 14:30 when everybody is usually eating - I ate at my desk!  Really cool!!  Thanks for telling me about it!!

xxoo”

Her instant response:

“SO glad you liked it!!!  He's a really neat photographer!

xoxoxox”

A few days later, I receive this email (which will probably be censored):

“SOOOO.... Adam Fuss is standing right behind me right now and about 10 seconds ago i told him that you went and saw his show and loved it.  he smiled and thanked me....

JUST PASSING ON THE LOVE.

xoxox”

As my friend passed on the LOVE to me, Madrid always has a handful of free exhibits which makes the city loveable and always tends to reach out to the masses.  If you are in Madrid and like photography, I suggest you take a peek at the Adam Fuss Exhibit at the Fundación Mapfre.

Adam Fuss - Untitled, 1998

Fashion Week Cibeles

“Hello Ladies! Please let me know if you are interested in attending a catwalk.  These are the options and let me know which you prefer and I can give you tickets.”

I don’t think that I could hit the reply button fast enough.  I was so excited.  I LOVE fashion and I LOVE catwalks!  I looked up all of the designers on Google and finally opted for the designers Maya Hansen and American Perez, mostly because of the Spanish workday schedule which as a norm is 9:00 AM to 14:00 then 16:00 to 19:00, making it a long day with two hours for lunch.

My friend replied that I needed to send over a mensajero.  I think that my mensajero got to her office at lightening speed because in only a matter of minutes, I had my lovely tickets to see the catwalks in hand.  She shoots me an email, “Boy, you have fast mensajeros.”  My reply, “They are scared of me.”  She replied that she’s not surprised.  I like things done well and in a jiff.  I was thrilled.

The past week has been Cibeles Madrid Fashion Week.  The Fashion World in Madrid has changed a bit due to the new norms and due to the fact that the catwalks are no longer in Cibeles.  Since 2006, every model that is to participate on the catwalk is required to weigh-in as Spain does not support models that starve themselves.  I think it is great because the models are still tall and lanky but they don’t look emaciated so you can actually imagine yourself in some of the designer clothes.

So yesterday, my Japanese friend and I went to IFEMA which is located a bit a tomar por culo.  In about a half hours time and two metro trains later, we arrived at IFEMA.  IFEMA is the trade fair grounds located in northern Madrid near the airport.  It was my first time there and although the grounds and the buildings are crisp and new, it looked like a metal shipping yard and it most definitely did not have the glamour that fashion calls for.

In the past when the pasarelas were in Cibeles, models could be spotted all over Madrid.  The chicest women in Spain would be dressed in their finest and almost everybody would catch the fever of trying to carry themselves in that model stature and wear the latest.  The publicity was everywhere.  This time around, I noticed that the shipping yard was full of young kids with the latest reddish-orange lipstick on, not the chic debonair like before.

We got on queue for the catwalk at about 18:30 and it was a long queue of about 150 eager fashionites which if you are familiar with Spain, there is never exactly a line, yet a mass of people bunched together in a sort of line with others cutting the line by casually mushing themselves into the queued – waiting on queues in Spain always makes me feel like just one of the cattle waiting to be pushed into the pen. 

“¿Alguien tiene entradas numeradas?” an usher rushes up and down the queue and asks the people.

I look at our tickets and much to my dismay; we didn’t have tickets with numbers on it.  All of my excitement vanished because I knew in that moment that we weren’t going to make it in to see the catwalks.

“¡No puede entrar más gente!” Yep, the usher confirmed what I already knew to be true; no more people were going to be allowed in, not that any of us with a general entrance ticket passed on through in the first place.

What a disappointment.    

Please notice the VELCRO for easy access

My friend and I decided to hacer una vuelta.  We decided that while we were there, we might as well make the best of the situation and take a walk around.  We opted to have a free Nespresso café and try on MBT anti-sex shoes, which I don't think will ever be making a home in my closet, as they are fugly even though my mom swears by them.

I think that the high light of the evening was meeting Guadalupe del Río who is a friend of one of my friends who is from Soria.  She is an up and coming designer and had some really cool pieces on display.  Her clothes can be purchased at a store called Speed & Bacon. 

The second highlight of the evening was heading back to the center on the metro and eating at a restaurant whose specialty is setas – I love mushrooms, not as much as fashion but I do love them!  We lucked out and got a table right by the window.  We had a tasty Bierzo to go with the setas.

Despite the fact that the Cibeles Madrid Fashion Week was a total disappointment, totally over-crowded with chavalas with red-orange lips, I will always be a fan of fashion and I will always make the best of any given situation and I will always end things on a good note.  

ET GO HOME!!!

At 1:00 AM, the door jerked open and a rush of cold air made the room suddenly feel like an icebox.  All of us who were there turned to look, our jolly faces turned to shock.

In with the cold wind stumbled three couples along with their six kids.  The parents spent about 15 minutes unwrapping the little burritos and instead of using the coat hook, they stacked their winter gear on top of a stool.  The parents proceeded to take off their own coats and stacked them on top of the already enormous stack.

“Quiero ir a casa.” the pudgy little girl who was cringing her face told her mother that she wanted to go home. 

“Huele mal aquí,” she added with another cringing face to her friend. 

The other little girl who was flipping her hair with a certain air replied, “No huelo nada pero quiero irme a casa también.”  She couldn’t smell anything but apparently she wanted to go home too.

The bartender walks over,

“¿Qué os puedo servir?”  What would you like to drink?

I was still taken back by the initial shock but I just couldn’t help from listening to what they were going to order.

After they were served, the parents were perfectly content with their pints of beer, talking amongst themselves while their children seemed to take over the bar because they had zero parental supervision.

The noise kept getting louder and louder and at the same time my face, according to my friends, was showing more disgust.  It wasn’t the typical noise you hear in a bar at 1:00 AM but rather that of a day care center.  The four boys from ages 3 to 6 were suddenly playing tops on top of the bar stools and shouting at the other when they thought they had spun the top better than the other.  After boredom struck, they sat on the floor laden with popcorn kernels, peanut shells and dirty napkins in front of the ladies’ room to continue playing tops.  After that they started running around the crowded bar. 

The buzzed that I had so nicely achieved from drinking 2 pints of Magners cider vanished.  The habitual clients were starting to get pissed.  The kids were out of control.

At 1:45 AM, I couldn’t take anymore of the rowdy, overtired kids so we decided that it was time to go home to go to bed.  The kids and their parents were still there.  Way to set an example, folks, I thought to myself.

It is not that uncommon in Madrid to see children in a bar and it depends on how you define the bar.  The concept of a bar in Spain is sort of a lose term – most of the restaurants, like in the States, have a long bar where you order drinks and tapas.  Most have an aperativo in the afternoon at about 13:00 at a bar in the restaurant and they bring their kids.  Almost all of the kids I have seen at 13:00 are usually engrossed in their portable game players and barely even look up, much less acknowledge where they are.  I have never thought it out of the ordinary at 13:00 in the afternoon but at 1:00 in the morning?  Shouldn’t kids be sleeping?  I would never let me own young children stay out that late.

I have asked several of my Spanish co-workers and friends how they feel about kids in bars and they say it is “irresponsable”.  One of my bosses says the latest his kids have ever been out was 23:00 and he felt a bit awkward about it.  They went to eat out at a restaurant at 20:30 and the kids were in bed at 23:00.   He would never bring them to an actual bar de copas or any bar after 20:00.

Spain just went through a drastic change this past January; smoking in all public places has been outlawed so bars, restaurants, hospital entrances etc are now smoke-free environments.  Could that be why I have noticed more children in bars lately?  Even if the bars/restaurants are smoke-free should kids in Madrid be allowed in a bar past 20:00?  I don’t think so.  Kids should be allowed to be kids and adults should be allowed to be adults. 

Food Shopping in Madrid

Mercado de Puente de Vallecas

“¿Quién es el último?” I ask the group of people in front of the fruit and vegetable stand.

“Yo.” replies the woman with the bed head and dark tinted sunglasses. 

Every Saturday morning, Ixma or I have to do the food shopping for the week.  We take turns because food shopping is a daunting task that really stresses me out.  A lot of people tend to either get really dressed up to go food shopping or you find that the people have just rolled out of bed and have bed heads, like I usually do.  You have to ask to figure out who is the last on line because there is never an organized line, just a bunch of people in front of the stand.  I also get irritated because there are so many old folks who are obviously beyond retired on queue – can’t they do their shopping during the week?  Some stands have modernized and you can take a number but there are very few of those.  I can generally calculate how long I will have to wait till it is my turn according to the number of people ahead of me and the pinta que tiene (how they look).

Fortunately, we have a mercado de toda la vida just blocks away from our apartment. The traditional mercados in Madrid are usually under the same roof.  It is almost like a shopping mall only with food stand after food stand.  Our market was redone about 3 or 4 years ago so it looks nice and new.  It also holds a Mercadona where I buy the majority of my gluten-free foods even though most of them have sugar.

On a lucky day, the food shopping will take 20 minutes but that is rare.  Most of the time, going to the market is like going to a really boring movie or being in a really painfully, boring meeting because for many shoppers, going food shopping is like going to the psychologist for free.  Most can tell their entire life story in a matter of 15 minutes, the other day a lady in front of me was telling the fruit man about how she broke out in an awful rash and had to go to the ER – kind of takes your appetite away.

I don’t particularly like doing the food shopping because you have to ask for everything one by one and specify the weight.  I have never known how many tomatoes or apples are in a kilo, I don’t care how much the food weighs!  I am probably the only one who asks for a specific number when ordering my food.  I order almost the exact same food every week; 12 tomatoes, 6 apples, 4 sweet onions, 2 not so large zucchinis, a not too large egg plant, broccoli, squash, carrots, leeks, lettuce, mushrooms, asparagus, etc and whatever else is in season.  My coworker informed me that we are in the “epoca de mandarinas”; too bad I can’t eat mandarins anymore because they are really tasty, and they usually come from Valencia.  Alcachofas are also in harvest now and boy do I love artichokes.  Strawberries are up soon.  By the time I have placed my order, everybody on queue is staring at me.  I always feel like a complete moron that is on center stage who can’t remember their lines properly – “don’t mix up the words” is something I say to myself while I feel like saying to the open-mouthed crowd, “Sí, soy norteamericana y sí tengo un acento porque me quiere mucho!” (Yes, I am American and yes, I have a strong American accent because it loves me – get over it people!)  After I got that part done, I go to the meat stands – I order all that by the kilo or the number of pieces or slabs of beef that I want!  I usually pick what looks best, which my husband informs me, is not really the way to do it.  I like to make meatballs; I have improved immensely since my first fiasco when I used too much garlic, giving my albondigas the name ajobondigas (garlic balls).  I usually get a dirty look from the carnicero because I don’t like to get the already prepared minced meat.  I like to pick the red meat and pig I want, have them cut off all the fat and then run it through the machine that makes it look almost like spaghetti.  I only like it to go through the machine once, to top it off. 

I refuse to go to the pescadería because the man talks too much and tries to sell me the most expensive seafood they have.  Like the meat, I usually pick what I think looks best, which is really not the way to do it with fish.  You have got to look at the eyeballs and if they look healthy, the fish will be great.  The fish man’s large wife rings up the tab with her long press on nails as she is singing along to the MTV Latino that is blaring on the TV.  It is quite the experience.

We used to buy all of our vegetables from a man named Carlos but Carlos's veggies aren’t that fresh.  We started to notice that after only 2 days in the fridge, the poor veggies were wilting and according to Fruitcake, if it isn’t fresh, it isn’t for me.  It started to become a waist; we would buy the veggies and have to throw them out.  So, Ixma who has passion for food and booze took a stroll around the market and found a great stand. 

Our new veggie stand has great variety and they put all of the veggies in cute little brown bags.  The bags remind me of the brown bag lunch with the Sarah Bear stamp on it from my schooldays.  After they bag all of my goodies, I have them put everything in clothe bags, I am trying not to use plastic.  Most people go to the market with an old fart cart but I refuse.  I try not to buy more than I can handle.  I had an old fart cart in Israel and the wheels constantly fell off, making it more a hassle than comfortable shopping because the market is located up a hill so I would end up having to chase the wheel down the center.

The best market in Madrid is the Mercado de la Cebada.  It is located in La Latina. From the 15^th century up to the 20^th, it was a very important economic center.  You can find just about anything there.  Ismael and I go there on occasion to find fiori di zucca, baby corn and other yummy worldly treasures. 

Another mercado in Madrid is the San Miguel.  It is located right outside the Plaza Mayor.  It was just redone but they maintained its original structure.  It is quite lovely but it is no longer the typical market rather it is a place with fancy tapas and wines.  It is definitely worth a visit.

So, if you ever come to Madrid, make sure take a visit to a mercado de toda la vida, it is a very European experience.  If you plan to shop, make sure you bring a lot of patience and your old fart cart so you can fit in better!

Old Fart Cart

Teenybopper Books!!

I finished the first book of the Stephanie Meyer’s series during my lunch hours at one of my favorite cafés today. My friend, D, has all the other three novels to lend me but I just couldn’t wait to figure out when we would get together for some vinitos so we could make a book exchange and besides that, I am totally addicted, just like a vampire needs blood to survive.

So, I run through the square when the cafés is located and cross calle Genova and enter frantically into my favorite bookshop, Paisajes, which just happens to be only blocks away from my office, to buy the second book in the series.

I enter the store, almost flinging the door off its hinges, I hurry down the staircase to the “English” books section and I was looking for the books, my looking turned into desperation.

“¿Tienen ustedes los libros de la serie de Stephenie Meyer?” I ask the bookstore lady.

“Sí, los tenemos.  Están en la parte infantil.”  She directed me to the kids’ section of the bookstore.

“¿Infantil?!! ?”

“Sí, infantil pero no sé si vamos a poder encontrar los libros porque estámos con una mudanza.”

She must have seen the look of distress in my eyes.   The freaking kids’ section?  “WOW! I have hit an all time low…reading kids’ books and devouring them?” I thought to myself.

We walk back up the stairs and the orderly store was in upheaval.  She looked for a few minutes at all of the piles on the floor and finally asked one of her coworkers where the novels were.  They were probably the only novels left on the shelf.

“Aye, muchas gracias.  Es que no puedo creer que son libros infantiles.”  I said thanks and told him that I couldn’t believe they were children’s books.

“Bueno, más bien son libros juveniles y adultos.” He reassured me that they were books for teenagers and adults.

Despite the fact that I was rather humiliated, I shrugged it off, I even had great pep in my step back to work – I ask the door lady if she had heard of the books and her reply,

“¡Claro que sí!  Mi hija está leyéndolos.”

Yep, that’s it; her daughter is reading them as well.  I have always thought that there is nothing better than a great book and nothing worse than a crappy book that you are obligated to read for a degree.  Nonetheless, I cannot wait to start the second this evening and I will not cover it with a book cover for public reading – kids’ book, teenyboppers book or not!!