The wooden door was surprisingly heavy as we pushed it back and made our way inside. Friday night in La Coruña and the lively, hole-in-the-wall tavern was an explosion of noise - the roar of a deep, belly laugh punctuated by scrapes of a chair leg on ceramic floor tiles and the chinking of glasses knocked together. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the light and see that it was bustling with people. Smoking; drinking; engaged in lively debate over plates of mariscos and pulpo.
A cackle of laughter escaped from the amply proportioned waitress behind the bar. Her kindly eyes framed by rectangular spectacles dissipated into crows feet as a smile lit up her face. "Jovenes!" she exclaimed, "you came back! 2 copas de Rioja! Quereis?" Before we had time to answer, she had a bottle in her hand, ready to pour. I found it amazing that in a bar crammed wall to wall with people sitting, standing and squatting, not only did she remember us from the week before, she also knew what we had ordered.
But then food and drink are a serious business here in Galicia and I feel as if everything and everyone is conspiring to encourage me to eat. From the plates loaded with roasted chicken, pork, or steaming hot callos that Angel's father sends home from the cafe each day, to this jolly lady refilling our glasses, it's impossible to resist the temptation. Good, strong, red wine; a platter of cured ham, queso azul and chunks of baked pan con tomate are all forces far greater than me.
I glance around, drinking in the scene. It's something like 1 am and there are some children shrieking as they chase each other in a game of tag across the bar. You have to hand it to Spain; in not many places will you see such a variety of ages come together under one roof on a Friday night. Mothers with babies in pushchairs; silver haired pensioners in berets; adolescents with over-sized pants... I would have been mortified going out to a bar with my parents when I was that age.
The fruit machine in the corner throbs out a repetitious jingle broken every now and then by a cacophony of coins dropping into a pile. A gruff-looking man propped against the bar thumps his glass heavily upon the counter "pongame otro!" he barks at the waitress as he pulls out a black cigar from his top pocket and lights up, letting out a hacking, phlegmy cough that originates deep from the bottom of his lungs.
Going out here is like going back in time; when you got home from the pub after a night out and your clothes reeked of cigarettes and your hair stank like an ash tray. I've done so much passive smoking since I arrived I almost want to start again and the abundance of cervezerias and quaint little tapas haunts are fueling my alcoholic tendencies.
So many of my friends have been asking for updates. It's not for lack of time or inherent laziness that I haven't revised my blog. It's just, well, I'm struggling to find my peace with the place. I've been overwhelmingly negative the past few weeks and I was always taught that if you don't have anything nice to say then don't say anything at all.
With the most aging population in Europe and 20% unemployment, the Spanish orgullo has definitely taken a blow. "Crisis" has become the word of the moment and it feels as if Spain's love affair with the EU could be coming to an end. When they joined in 1986, its people were among the most enthusiastic of Europeans. And with good reason; they benefited from generous investment and rebuilt their roads, railways and modern infrastructure. The country prospered from a sky rising property market and the boom was felt by all. But now its payback time and the deficit hangs heavier upon the socialist government's backs each day. There are more eurosceptics than glowing supporters and the infamous Spanish separatist tenancies are on the rise.
More for personal amusement purposes than a real desire to offend, I started a forum on a social networking website, provocatively stating that the young and the bold had long since fled this backwater town, and that it seemed that anyone with half a spark had emigrated, at the very least to the larger cities of Madrid or Barcelona. I received a multitude of responses, the majority scolding for my narrow-mindedness and encouraging me to get out more and discover the striking landscape, deserted beaches and unrivaled selection of seafood.
I had several recommendations of places to visit. On Sunday we took the car and drove along La Costa de la Muerte. An endless dramatic coastline of sandy beaches puntured with villages haphazerdly formed hugging the shore line. More eating, more drinking, a few cobwebs swept away. But still this nagging sensation that this is just not where I want to be; I pushed bak a little further on the forum.
Thanking people for their advice and suggestions and apologizing for my negativity, but not able to resist a chance to reiterate that it does feel inexplicably backward here. And the fiestas and markets and traditions may well be charming in their own right, but there is no attempt to embrace any culture other than their own. At last I received the type of deliciously wicked response I was looking for to cheer me up. I will just quote him directly as I don't think I can put the words any better than he put them himself. Here goes:
"I agree with Christina. After you have lived all over Spain you tend to grow tired of the little communities of people who wrap their own micro-cultures around themselves as an excuse to be ignorant. My god they love a bit of ignorance in Spain! Its not actually one country, more a series of mini-countries, each with their own particular way of cooking fish and their own kinds of fiestas. They tend not to like outsiders or other Spaniards much in a lot of these mini countries."
Harsh? Definitely. Fair? Well, I suppose that depends upon your point of view.
Sigh... so this is the part of the fence that I am sitting on for the present time. A little glass half empty but not beaten yet. And I will grudgingly admit that when I am not complaining about the people and the part of the earth they chose to live in, I am actually developing a new found appreciation for the simple pleasures in life...
Going to Carrefour and filling up a shopping cart to the top with a variety of goodies you simply can't get in the "third world"; Going out for a beer and getting free chunks of tortilla and pieces of ham; a good, strong coffee that always slightly burns the roof of your mouth; football - everywhere all the time; and cooking. Yes; cooking (or watching my boyfriend cook) has become quite a highlight in my otherwise incident free days. Planning and making a meal can kill quite a bit of time...
By the next installment I promise to have done the following things:
Joined a gym
Lost 2 kilos (pure jamon)
Lost this attitude
Started French
Made some friends
Gotten my web sites up and running. You can check out www.gypsyspirit.es if you're interested; there's nothing there yet, but slowly, slowly...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment