Looking over Plaza de San Miguel, Madrid
Today felt like a completely free day all to myself. The sun was out and there seemed to be a heightened pace and liveliness about the city. It was a Monday but there were tons of tourists wandering around and enjoying sitting for cafe or sangria in any of the city's beautiful plazas. One such plaza that I found myself in today was a plaza just west of the Plaza Mayor, called Plaza de San Miguel. There is a mercado (market) there, a big old church, and this cute little plaza had one restaurant which managed the outdoor seating space as well.
It's just an ordinary square, nothing fantastic or amazing about the place. Perhaps I liked it simply because it was unassuming. The sun was high in the sky, it was close to 1:00 pm, and I decided that now would be as good a time as any to sit and watch the world go by - one of my favourite things to do.
I sit down and order a sangria from the attentive waiter. All the tables around me are occupied. I stretch my legs out into the sunshine by putting them on one of the other chairs at my 4-top. I realize this gives my occupation as a "tourist" away, but in the moment I really don't care.
A couple of German women are sitting to my right. They appear to be mother and daughter, or a similar combination. They are overdressed and, in my opinion, snotty. Their strong "zzz" at the end of each word grates on my nerves. They order another round of sangria in English. They probably think that speaking Spanish is beneath them. I'm not sure of this of course, it's just my analysis. To analyze and watch is what I'm here to do, after all. I turn my cheek and decide not to focus on them.
Further across the Plaza at a table not too far away is a group of American tourists. I could tell they were American not because I could hear their accents, but because of the way they were dressed in their solemn colours and button up shirts. Their hair was trimmed straight and short above the collar, all of them, and to boot they all had big bellies which protruded over the tops of their belted chinos. They all had very serious expressions on their faces. I realized that this group completely generalized the American population, and I was momentarily saddened and disgusted. Like, for heaven's sakes! Do they have to look so obvious?? Heck, they maybe could have been Canadian, except at that moment I honed in on their conversation and one of the females in the group, the busty blonde with thick eye makeup and a bouffant type hair-do, said something like "... that rice dish....". Sheesh. She was referring to "paella". Couldn't you at least say the word in Spanish, now that you're here in the country, ya dummy? Ah, but I digress. Realizing straight away that this type of (lack of) fitness and fashion mirrored something inside of myself, and I decided not to pay attention to this feeling of discord any longer. This is my vacation and I am trying to get away from that all, thanks very much! I wrinkled my nose up and turned my attention away from this table, too.
But it was the Spanish couple sitting at the table right in front of me who caught my attention finally. They were obviously local. I couldn't hear all of their conversation without making it totally obvious that I was eavesdropping on them, but I could tell that they'd been dating only a handful of months, 3 or 4 at most. He was a roughish looking man, not dressed poorly, and she was... well, she was pretty. She had straight reddish hair and was wearing a bohemian halter top which revealed that she had nicely-shaped breasts as well. The rest of her was, well, she was a plump girl. She was wearing a skirt and boots that didn't match her halter top at all, but I understood immediately that she was trying to look pretty for her man, who she was obviously smitten with. Smiling at him and saying "vale, vale, vale" to everything he said. (Okay, okay, okay). I appreciated her femininity right away, and in fact I appreciated her as a woman who seemed to be doing whatever she could to support her boyfriend. They seemed to be having some serious conversation about many points of view, from work to the countryside, to politics, they were touching on everything. And he seemed to appreciate her very much also. I watched his eyes as he watched her get up to go inside the restaurant to use the washroom. I wanted to know what he honestly felt for her. I smiled as I watched his eyes soften with desire and pride as he watched her walk away. When she came back, in his brutish way he said something obviously quite charming to her, because her eyes lit up and instantly she moved in for a long, mushy, passionate kiss. As if no one was looking! She was saying something like "ohhh my love my love my love, don't you know how I absolutely adoooooooorrre you?!" Then I watched him blush, even while he kept his eyes focused on her. She had hit something inside of him, this pretty girl with the mis-matching clothes. Today was the day of truth, and he thought she was fantastic! I turned my head away just in case they noticed I was watching them, but only for a couple of minutes. I liked how I seemed to be incognito there in the Plaza de San Miguel, watching everything from behind my sunglasses, my expression giving nothing away. Now she was showing him a picture of "Pablo" on her phone... Pablo, I deduced, was a friend of hers. But her man didn't like it and he got jealous as soon as she spoke of her friend "Pablo". I was a little shocked at his childish behavior, but she wasn't turned off at all. She didn't back away or tell him to f-off like I would have, oh no. Instead she pulled her chair in closer and looked him straight in the eyes, saying "Pablo is a friend of mine, my dear love, he is only a friend". Perhaps it was the sunshine, perhaps it was the sangria, or a mixture of all of it, but that was all he needed to open up to her. In his gruff voice he proceeded to admit that he was jealous, but that it was because he was insecure in himself. But at the same time he didn't apologize for it. It was really sweet to see; this man who embraced and loved his insecurities. She just kept on smiling at him and saying "Vale". I could see he still doubted himself, but she planted another big lingering kiss on him again and then pulled back, smiling, connecting with his eyes.
And me? Well I guess I'm just a complete romantic fool, because I found this wishy-washy scene so touching and tender. An ordinary man and woman proclaiming their love for one another on a Monday morning in the centre of town, both of them imperfect and beautiful just as they were.
Now then, if this scene were to happen in Canada, let me first say that it would have been ruined by the fact that the couple also smoked liked chimneys. It seems to be the fashion here in Spain though and so the smoking seemed to add to their personalities, or at least I thought anyways. I did briefly wonder to myself how they could still kiss one another after smoking so many cigarettes.... but I let the thought go right away because those are my hangups and they were ruining the feel-good scene I was witnessing. I wanted the good vibe to last! Heck, they don't seem to mind one bit so why should I bother projecting? And second of all: public displays of affection aren't the norm in Canada, especially two people sitting so closely together and looking one another in the eyes. That makes most people squeamish. We're more apt to say something rude like "Get a room!", and then have a good elbow nudge with our friends. Oh brother. I'm a little embarrassed to admit such a predominantly red-neck attitude about love and affection. But for me, their act made me flustered in a good way. After watching this romantic scene for awhile, I decided to stay a while longer in the Plaza de San Miguel, and I ordered another sangria and a pincho of tortilla (small plate) to go with it. I stretched my legs out even farther on the empty chair, and I kind of giggled at how I was the only one in the Plaza who seemed to truly be wanting to absorb sunshine. Pfft! I must be a tourist! How uncouth! ha!
The Germans were still talking.
I thought briefly of my life back home in Vancouver. It occurred to me that I hadn't thought about my job and the stresses and irritations that come with it since I'd left Vancouver on Thursday afternoon. It all seems so insignificant now. I realize that the writer is coming out in me again, and that this scene, this time and space here in the sunshine watching people go by, is exactly what I'd asked for. I raise my face to the sun and soak in that awareness for a moment.
A Dutch man walks across the Plaza. How do I know he's Dutch? Aside from the obvious giveaway - he is wearing a tight fitting G-Star t-shirt that shows how hard he's been working on his lats - he carries himself with a straight back and has a certain look of cockiness and a twinkle in his eyes. That's how I know. "Ahhhh", I think to myself. "It's always so nice to watch a Dutchman."
Charleen xo
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