A Quick Glance of Spain

On my way to school, whether I walk or ride the bus, I witness many occurrences that reveal Spain. Sometimes Spain is the wisp of smoke, the dog crap on the sidewalks that sticks to my sandals, two women chatting with loud voices and lively gestures, the smell of fresh-baked bread, or the long line of cured pig legs hanging at a butcher shop. At other times, Spain is one of many teenagers' mullets, a flock of birds, the whine of a beggar’s violin, or the rhythm of the feet of pedestrians.

For me, Spain is the king of specialty stores and quaint mom and pop shops. There is an “-ería” for anything g you could image (frutería, panadería, pastelería, papelería, dime-que-quieres-ería), and very few monster superstores. There are large street markets where gypsies, Africans, and Spaniards sell every item under the sun. This includes exotic fruits: membrillos, jínjoles, chirimoyas, caquis [persimins], y granadas [pomegranates]. While the prices are reasonable, the problem is that you usually have to buy at least a kilo. It can be hard to carry all the food you are interested home, let alone consume it all. The non-food items you need to be careful with as they are probably from Morocco or China, and the quality is often poor. There is definitely a black market here in Spain. The salesmen offer their products (Gucci look-alike purses, movies, music CDs) on blankets and sheets. They tie a rope carefully around the blanket so that if they see the police coming they can pull the cord and the blanket will close up. Then, they can make a ran for it or try to meld within the crowd.

Part of Spain is poor and miserable. I see it in the people waiting in line at the doors of the government employment agency. Some carry babies (possibly for emotional effect when speaking with an agent), others sport Mohawks, and others dress like businessmen. They age from 18 to 60. I see it in the lives of beggars. One shook his money-cup frantically up and down with his teeth up because he was armless. There are drunks; one walrus-man passed out on the sidewalk, his enormous stomach pouring out onto the pavement.

The majority of the urban cities are anthills with cramped streets. I don’t know how the busdrivers can wind there way through them without accidents [correction: they don’t]. Navigating through an unvisited neighborhood seems like wandering in a labyrinth. There are supposed to be streets signs on the sides of buildings, but most of the time they are not available. Many of the smaller streets are not available on the map. Gratefully, the cities are so beautiful during the day that even if you are lost you end up in a place where you can enjoy yourself.

Spain is crowned with the arts. Everywhere there are cultural sites, monuments to writers and intellectuals, and museums to historical figures. The works of painters are collected in galleries like the Prado or the Reina Sofia. On the Gran Via there is a series of theaters and music venues. Add to that the many elaborate fountains, medieval fairs, and botanical gardens. Spain even protects the stork nests by placing fences around them on the roofs. Aesthetics and sports mix in the bullfights. It is a cruel art, a correct art in portraying the ser-en-lucha of existence that would satisfy Schopenhauer, but unnecessary in a life that already proclaims this message to the four winds. There is also the darker side of art here. Spain was a prostitute when I left her in 1997, and she still plays her role. Pornography fills the newspapers, and covers the shelves of gas stations. The book stores at train stops and in the streets all sell sex books with risqué covers. Even the advertising used by local pharmacies shows naked women to promote their products.

I emphasize that Spain is really a cultural passion; a mix of sensations and mental phenomena. She is not just a piece of land. I taste Spain in a gross yema [sugared egg yolk], I see her in a paella’s yellow, and I hear her in the sound of castanets. These rituals and experiences show me more of her organic history and delights than boundary lines on a map.