If you know anything about me, it’s that I have a lethal sweet tooth. Or, if you’re ever in serious need for gum, I’m probably the first person who comes to mind. Let’s be honest. I better be the first person who comes to mind. I’ve worked hard to build the reputation as a gum addict/dealer! I’m pretty sure my love for sugar will be the death of me. And, if it’s not my sweet tooth then it’s the other most important factoid about me: I can’t walk in a straight line. So, if you see someone with a lollipop zigzagging down the street while listening to her iPod and staring out into the ether completely in her own world, then you see me! Or maybe it’s a doppelganger. If you also happen to be in Madrid, then there is an extremely high chance that it is me and I’m about to stumble into your personal space. Or, it is me and I’m about to jaywalk through what, unbeknownst to me, is the middle of the street. Maybe you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor and grabbing my arm to make sure I don’t actually step into the road. If you do, I promise to give you two pieces of gum…
Let’s get to the point because I can’t imagine strangers read this and most of you already know about my candy/clumsy shortcomings. Coming to Spain seemed like a godsend because the foods I love are located along the Northern and Eastern coasts of the Mediterranean and, along those same lines, the sweet foods I love don’t exist here. I mean, when I think of the major components of Spanish Cusine, I think of olive oil, jamon, paella, and tortilla. Of course, those foods are amazing but they aren’t my personal favorites. So, I thought, I can come to Madrid, have some access to the foods on which I binge (mainly Greek, Turkish, Israeli, etc) and then major access to food I enjoy but not enough for them to be problematic. Then when it comes to sweets, they have flan (gross) or churros (amazing but only for 5 minutes because they are quickly followed by feeling ill from eating fried dough). And drinking? Beer and wine are cheaper than water and gas. It’s more economical to drink yourself to warmth than it is to turn on the heat or take a hot shower. Spain is mainly known for red wine, to which, thank goodness, I’m allergic! So, needless to say, food hasn’t been at the forefront of my mind as a major part of my life here in Madrid. I know some of you out there are judging me right now but I’m hoping you get over your judgments and read on. I do love it…I just have a more complex and deep love for some other foods.
One innocent Sunday afternoon (there have only been 2 thus far), I went to have tapas with my future classmates. We go to our first bar, a cute place off La Latina metro stop. It’s small (as most of these places are) and it feels like I’ve just walked into a cigarette steam room. Turkish baths must find bars in Spain to be major competition. Tons of people in their late twenties and early thirties are packed in, smoking (obviously), drinking sangria or beer, and having a grand ol’ time. It seems that the traditional 2 hour siestas must have been built in to help people recover from the night before and not because, as Harvard claims, a mid-afternoon nap helps the brain retain the information from the first half of the day better. I know this isn’t some eye opening remark but I always just thought the Spaniards like to relax. Now I’m realizing it’s a perpetual hangover from which they are trying to recover. Most of the young people here dress pretty well. Many girls have very blunt haircuts. There appears to be an unusually high number of hippies with dreads and hemp clothes. It’s possible, however, that I’ve just been exposed to an unusually low number of hippies in the other cities in which I’ve lived/traveled. So, we snake through the crowd and place ourselves in one corner, have some cañas, and a plate of jamon with olive oil. OK great, perfect. Totally to be expected on the food and drinks front. Let’s move on. We go to the next bar for more tapas.
A few breaths of fresh air and we’re already in the next tapas bar. Mind you, I have no idea what any of these places are called. This one is smaller than the first and not as refined on the surface but with far more to offer than the last place. It’s square shaped, with the bar and food counter on the left, a middle standing area and then some counters for eating on the right. It can’t hold more than 40 people comfortably, but it’s hard to tell because it’s so smoky that seeing people is proving to be a challenge. In no time, however, we have found a nook, ordered 5 tapas, double servings on some, making this quite a hefty serving of “finger food.”
This was when I first realized: Spain is going to be a massive problem. We had jamon, squid, bacalao, eggplant, pork, and tortilla. Any and all fish dishes are always at the top of my favorite food lists. Pez a la Sal, for example, is my favorite fish dish of all time…it’s Spanish. Any monkfish dishes are also really high up there…they have lots of those here. Seafood paella is generally amazing…turns out, they serve that in Spain. I mean, fml. 2 plates of tapas amongst 6 of us later, I was more full than I’ve been in a super long time. I mean, painfully full. I dragged myself home, to bed, and did my best to sleep it off.
The following morning, the sun rises with big smiles and energy, it’s a beautiful day, my roommates are up and getting ready to head to their Spanish class, and I’m overjoyed by the mere fact that I’m no longer full. It’s a new day! A Monday! And I’m going spinning! With Pilar (Kike was no good)! Here we go!
I’m not sure what I’ve been doing between the moment I landed and that Monday but clearly I wasn’t paying attention. Awake, alive and ready to soak in Madrid, I walk outside, look to my right and realize that I’m actually living right next to a bakery. I look to my left and it’s a candy store, which neighbors another bakery. Is this a joke? So, I walk to the gym. On the way, I walk by a dried fruit and nut store, 2 more bakeries, and 3 more candy stores. A few hours later I walk to school to print some things and realize that I’ve walked by another 2 bakeries. At this point I’m a little bitter there is no candy store on my walk to school. Then I walk to my friend’s apartment and see an Austrian bakery, a honey store, a specialty food store with baked goods, a diner type restaurant with more pastries, and maybe 3 more candy stores. I take the metro home that night only to find there’s a candy store in my metro station. Honestly, I didn’t go into any of these places but the sheer volume and proximity to it all made my teeth hurt and my anxiety go through the roof.
Sorpresa! Of course I have a sugar addiction problem! This is where I was raised. How did I never see this before? Spain is surreptitiously the country of sweets. So far as I can tell, they aren’t known for their national sweet staples but the Spaniards love their sugar and, according to my passport, I’m a Spaniard.
As the realization that diabetes is actually a possibility in my future begins to sink in, the lower part of my body comes to a sudden, jarring halt and my upper body continues “walking” forward as I slam into a solid metal, round, small pole protruding from the street that I had never noticed before. Frustrated by the pole and by my oversight, I look down to make sure I fully walk around it only to realize said pole is not a pole whatsoever and it is actually a little old woman taking a stroll on this peaceful Monday evening. Gasping at my blind clumsiness, I open my mouth to apologize but before I even get a word out she has already moved on, swerving her way down the street and not even noticing that I nearly ran her over. What? So, as I turn to finish my short walk home, I nearly hit a mother walking with her daughter. I stop myself short, wait for them to walk by and then slowly complete my mission to my final destination. If only it were that easy, right? Right. There is one person walking in my direction and I decide to focus on walking straight and staying on my side of the sidewalk. My competitor is on his side and I can’t tell what he’s looking at. He starts to walk in a diagonal so I start to speed up. I know this could be the 3rd collision of the night and they do come in threes. Just as I think he’s about to straighten out, he does one final swerve and almost loops back. I open up my body so that I’m facing the street instead of just walking up the sidewalk and let the dude walk past me (instead of into me). Never once did he blink or really seem to acknowledge my existence. How had I never noticed this before? No one here can walk in a straight line either! I’m assuming it hadn't dawned on me sooner because I was just swerving alongside everyone else.
Coincidence? I think not. Pay attention tomorrow? No, no thank you. I think zoning out is best. Health insurance? Yes please! Anything! Now is the perfect time for all that paperwork to come through….
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