Siesta…Fiesta…in Spain

If there’s one thing that I love about Spain – other than being surrounded by Mediterranean hunks, it’s their siesta – the opposite of fiesta. I discovered on an afternoon excursion into a Barcelona Mall, that Spain’s ‘graveyard shift’ is 12 – 3pm. I thought there had been a power failure; there was not a soul in sight. Siesta is the time to eat and sleep and no exceptions will be made for anyone. My visits to Spain took me to Madrid, Barcelona and the Basque countryside. I felt like I was in 3 different countries. (I would still like to visit Andalusia in the south, which is famous for Flamenco and its strong Arabic influence.)

The Basques speak a language which is older than Latin and nobody has a clue where it originated from, until this day. In fact, if you are not born into a Basque family you can forget about ever being able to converse in the language. And if you don’t know an inkling of Spanish you can forget about conversing at all! Although all languages sound like Greek to some of us, and attempting to learn Chinese is like deciphering Hieroglyphics, Basque is even more unrecognisable and resembles no other language. This is the area between France and Spain, and for centuries these people have been trying to establish their independence, hence separatists like ETA. I was there during the spring of 2004 and felt like I had just stepped into a Tolkien chapter of “Lord of the Rings”: perfect green countryside; petite, homely-looking people in minute houses dotted alongside lakes and forests…

Barcelona was the ultimate contrast, however, the international epicentre of world activity! A typical night on the town includes club hopping (and dancing to American Hip-hop music, which unfortunately, the Spanish dance to but cannot sing-along to) in the most exquisitely themed clubs. In the interest of not trying to promote their already-booming tourist industry, I’ll just briefly mention that there are a hive of cultural activities and places to see. Barcelona looks like a scaled down version of New York with Gothic cathedrals and a beach (not a very impressive one for want of a good cleaning). Catalan is spoken here. I understood it because it seemed like a mixture of French and Latin, pronounced with a Portuguese accent! Yes people, Spanish is not the only official language in Spain.

That brings me to Madrid, my second favourite city to Paris. Okay, my boyfriend is from there, but you haven’t lived if you haven’t walked the streets of Madrid. If good people go to Paris after they die, bad people go to Madrid to live! And live I did, experiencing a myriad of tastes, cultures, and personalities. I spent the New Year there; it was not what I had expected. Spanish people have the most intriguing cuisine first of all, not to mention that I can’t keep up with them – they eat too much! And you’re so drunk at the end of the meal that you forget everyone’s names but start speaking fluent Spanish. There’s a wine to accompany the starter, a special wine for the main course, a wine with the snacks and another for dessert – topped up with alcoholic coffee! Some advice: just eat what’s on your plate and if you like it, great, you can ask what it was afterwards. I found out ‘afterwards’ that I had eaten pigs ears, blood sausage (onion fried with animal blood), sheep’s, ummm, you know what… It was all delicious, though, and Spanish people are remarkably thin in general. The key is non-oily food and taking 4 hours to finish your meal.

I won’t pretend to go on about something I know nothing about, namely architecture. Except, I must mention that I was stunned by Madrid’s beautiful buildings, squares and parks. Let’s just say that I asked to be photographed outside ‘that big white palace’. It was the Post Office, exquisite indeed; I wished I was a letter! Just outside the city we visited an ancient Renaissance city called Toledo. The streets are so narrow that you can actually stretch your arms out and touch both walls. Ask for some pig ears at a local bar with ‘Clara’, a very light beer, it’s divine. ‘Segovia’, another town outside Madrid is also an intriguing place. It’s at a high altitude and I couldn’t feel my fingers. I had my first experience of literally being stuck in the snow; the car, a BMW slid uncontrollably on ice. ‘Don’t worry, it’s normal’, they told me. Yes, but I’m from Durban and if you want to slide you go to the city’s only ice-rink!
Spanish people also have some interesting traditions: 12 seconds before midnight on New Years Eve, each person eats 12 grapes one after the other as the clock ticks, one, two, three…You’re now free for the rest of the night to party with friends at local clubs. The barmen are very generous, a single shot of any alcohol is the equivalent of a triple shot in SA. Now say ‘Gracias’ and flash your best South African tourist smile and they’ll make it a quadruple shot for your next round. I thought everyone liked Bruinou’s in Paris; apparently they do in Madrid too. Most Spanish people consider themselves mixed-race, which is either ‘mullatto’ or ‘mestizo’, the former being a mix of black and white. It is not surprising, as Spain has had a history of frequent invasions by other cultures, most notably the Arabs who ruled for centuries. So with all that mixing, racism is virtually non-existent, and inter-racial marriages the norm. Can you see how the world is eventually going to be full of Bruinou’s!

If there are two unforgettable words that I learnt while in Spain, they are ‘siesta’ and ‘fiesta’, in no particular order!