What's Popular in Madrid

Over a year ago (wow, how time flies!), I wrote a post entitled "What's Popular in Peru" (http://djwthisside.blogspot.com/2009/09/whats-popular-in-peru.html). Now that I've been living in Madrid for over 4 months, I want to create the Spanish version. Let's begin with...

Music:
1. "We No Speak Americano" by Yolanda Be Cool - During our 1st month here, Nicole kept telling me, "I hate that Moroccan-sounding song they always play here!" I would ask her, "Which song?" wondering how she could identify the song as Moroccan. Did it sound Arabic? She'd reply, "I dunno. The one they always play at the clubs. It's annoying and makes the same high-pitched noise over and over." I would laugh at her then because I doubted the song was specifically Moroccan (sorry, Nicole). I assumed it was techno. I ended up being correct because, several days later, Nicole shouted to me in a bar, "This is the song!" I laughed again while nodding my head to the absurdly-catchy techno tune. This song was played all autumn, an Australian techno remake of a 1950s Italian song. Check it out here:



2. What's on the radio in America - I didn't realize when I left the States that the same music would be waiting for me here. I don't need to look at my iTunes Store Charts to know what's the Top 10 in the States because it's what is popular here, too!



3. Kiss FM (pronounced Kees Eh-feh Eh-meh)- I listen to this radio station - based out of Madrid - every Wednesday and Thursday during my car ride to my school in the country. This station plays a 50/50 mix of music in Spanish and English, which I appreciate. Their song selection, though, must consist of about 50 songs because at the same time every week, I usually hear the same group of songs. Songs like "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield, "New York" by Alicia Keys, lots of Shakira and "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay. I like these songs, but, come on! Let's invest in some new tracks!



Clothes:
1. Boots - For girls here, boots are a necessity. Whether they are knee-high, Ugg knock-offs or ankle boots with skinny jeans tucked inside, you can bet 90% of the women around you are wearing boots. The only clothing item I've purchased in Spain are my fabulous black boots. Very smart buy.





2. Neutrals - Blah, Spain. BLAH. Couldn't you branch out a little? Try some color? Neutral scarves, coats, shoes, pants...everything, from top to bottom, lacks color! And you mix your neutrals, too! Forget the words of wisdom from mothers in the American South. Apparently, it's perfectly fine to wear brown, black, gray and navy together. A few "mix your neutrals" days are fine by me, every now and then. Really. It's quite fashionable. But everyday with every neutral in your outfit, to me, is just lazy. My 1st few weeks in Madrid, I thought, "European = tacky." Now, I'm less harsh on Spanish fashion, but I still can't get used to being the only colored M&M in the metro car's pack of brown. (Side note: Sometimes, people don't wear neutrals. They may have a Purple Day instead, and every article of clothing on their body is some shade of purple. Lord, help us.)



3. Coats - Women, stop with the long 'n puffy coats. After you've had a baby in Spain, you will be the only people with any body fat because the rest of the population smokes or hasn't had a kid or both. Even though you may have picked smoking back up, you shouldn't have bought that coat just yet...



4. Scarves - Also fashionable with the middle school skater kids in the States, everyone here wears the scarves that are more like a handkerchief. You make a triangle in front of your neck, take the two ends behind your neck, cross them and let them hang down in the front, like this:


I caved in and bought Savannah one for Christmas. But hers was purdy!

Hair:
1. Girls - You must have, in the words of my fellow auxiliary, Jeanette, "The straight-across, china doll, four-year old bangs." Most girls keep their hair a gorgeous, natural, espresso brown, but some venture into the dangerous bleaching zone. I always stand out with my long, naturally light-colored, no-bangs (or fringe, for my British friends) hair.



2. Guys - Dudes, just because Ronaldo (Pause: If you, Dear Reader, don't know who he is, just Google "soccer." He's who you'll see.) has a gelled mo-hawk, that doesn't mean you should, too. Not everyone can pull off metro-sexual. From my 1st graders to guys in their 30s, they're spiking up their hair in the middle of their head, and it ends up looking more greasy than attractive. Or, the males choose the classic rattail. Lovely. Even better is when they decide to make that rattail one big dreadlock. Perfect, chicos. Exactly what I had hoped for in a Spanish man. *sigh of disappointment*



3. Old women - Purple hair. Wine-colored hair. Red hair. All signs that you should stop buying a box at the grocery store and go to a salon. Or just go au naturale, please. Gray is better than Easter-egg lavender anytime.



Transportation:
1. Vehicles - Europe = tiny cars. Like Smart cars. Nicole, with her F150 sitting in her driveway at home in Maryland, squeals every time she sees a dinky pickup truck here. They're that rare.



2. The Metro - The best way to get around Madrid. I love the Metro! It's clean, reliable, easy to figure out, and ideal for people-watching. There are also taxis in the city, usually utilized after the metro closes around 1:45a. If you find yourself out 'n about like a typical Madrileño on the weekends, these are always around...or, you could just do what they do and wait for the 1st morning metro at 6. Whew.



and, finally,

Food: I had high hopes for Spain's gastronomy when I arrived. I had read the week before my departure in Newsweek that Spain was ranked #1 in the WORLD for food. Wow! Then I got here and started to buy what I could afford, meaning cereal, veggies, sandwich makings, and soup. The few times I go out to eat, the most I'll pay for a meal is 20€, but normally I stick to 10€. Here, though, is the food you´ll find everywhere you go:

1. Bread - It's a white, French loaf. Gets old reeeally quickly, especially when you prefer whole grain. Dang, I'm such a picky American!



2. Paella - Eh. Find it at a good restaurant and not at a chain.



3. Bready, cakey things - Spain loves these things, whether it's a plain cupcake muffin thingy with no icing, a croissant (with or without chocolate chips), donuts or Little Debbie-like foods. There's an entire grocery store aisle devoted to these, as well as digestive biscuits (*gag gag¨*) and tostadas.



4. Churros con chocolate - Right on, Spain.



5. Meat - It's everywhere!
a) Ham - Entire pig legs hang from hooks in many store and restaurant fronts. It's awesome...if you're a ham lover.
b) Weird stuff - The reason why I eat mostly soups, fresh fruit and veggies when I bring my lunch to school. I don't particularly enjoy Spain's wide meat selection like its people does. Blood sausage on toast? Calamari in its own ink? That durn ham leg? I've tried it all, liked most of it, but wouldn't eat it most meals like some people do here.



That's about it for now. I hope you're as amused by some of these bits of Spanish culture as I am! Ciao xoxoxo

One of My Favorite Poems

Mrs Midas by Carol Ann Duffy

It was late September. I'd just poured a glass of wine, begun
to unwind, while the vegetables cooked. The kitchen
filled with the smell of itself, relaxed, its steamy breath
gently blanching the windows. So I opened one,
then with my fingers wiped the other's glass like a brow.
He was standing under the pear tree snapping a twig.

Now the garden was long and the visibility poor, the way
the dark of the ground seems to drink the light of the sky,
but that twig in his hand was gold. And then he plucked
a pear from a branch - we grew Fondante d'Automne -
and it sat in his palm like a light bulb. On.
I thought to myself, Is he putting fairy lights in the tree?

He came into the house. The doorknobs gleamed.
He drew the blinds. You know the mind; I thought of
the Field of the Cloth of Gold and of Miss Macready.
He sat in that chair like a king on a burnished throne.
The look on his face was strange, wild, vain. I said,
What in the name of God is going on? He started to laugh.

I served up the meal. For starters, corn on the cob.
Within seconds he was spitting out the teeth of the rich.
He toyed with his spoon, then mine, then with the knives, the forks.
He asked where was the wine. I poured with shaking hand,
a fragrent, bone-dry white from Italy, then watched
as he picked up the glass, goblet, golden chalice, drank.

It was then that I started to scream. He sank to his knees.
After we had both calmed down, I finished the wine
on my own, hearing him out. I made him sit
on the other side of the room and keep his hands to himself.
I locked the cat in the cellar. I moved the phone.
The toilet I didn't mind. I couldn't believe my ears:

how he'd had a wish. Look, we all have wishes; granted.
But who has wishes granted? Him. Do you know about gold?
It feeds no one; aurum, soft, untarnishable; slakes
no thirst. He tried to light a cigarette; I gazed, entranced,
as the blue flame played on its luteous stem. At least,
I said, you'll be able to give up smoking for good.

Seperate beds. In fact, I put a chair against my door,
near petrified. He was below, turning the spare room
into the tomb of Tutankhamun. You see, we were passionate then,
in those halcyon days; unwrapping each other, rapidly,
like presents, fast food. But now I feared his honeyed embrace,
the kiss that would turn my lips to a work of art.

And who, when it comes to the crunch, can live
with a heart of gold? That night, I dreamt I bore
his child, its perfect ore limbs, its little tongue
like a precious latch, its amber eyes
holding their pupils like flies. My dream-milk
burned in my breasts. I woke to the streaming sun.

So he had to move out. We'd a caravan
in the wilds, in a glade of its own. I drove him up
under cover of dark. He sat in the back.
And then I came home, the women who married the fool
who wished for gold. At first I visited, odd times,
parking the car a good way off, then walking.

You knew you were getting close. Golden trout
on the grass. One day, a hare hung from a larch,
a beautiful lemon mistake. And then his footprints,
glistening next to the river's path. He was thin,
delirious; hearing, he said, the music of Pan
from the woods. Listen. That was the last straw.

What gets me now is not the idiocy or greed
but lack of thought for me. Pure selfishness. I sold
the contents of the house and came down here.
I think of him in certain lights, dawn, late afternoon,
and once a bowl of apples stopped me dead. I miss most,
even now, his hands, his warm hands on my skin, his touch.

Hugs and a Fist Pound

The winter darkness outside at 7:30a and a chilly apartment turn typically chipper, morning person me into a sluggish grump the mornings I have to wake up for school. As I leave my apartment and walk to the metro, I think, I'm living in a pretty neat place...but, dang, why am I up so early? All I want is to crawl back into my warm bed and shut the black-out curtains. On the metro to my school, I squint under the fluorescent lights, attempting to read my book (in English) or watch the news (in Spanish) so I don't fall back asleep, lulled by the rocking train. Eventually, I exit the car, climb several stories of stairs, and I walk to my school. Once I'm near, I begin to hear the shouts and laughter of children. Now I know why I'm awake at the crack of dawn. Mr(s). Grinch goes away for good.

At my Monday-Tuesday school, in the south of the city, I teach preschool, 1st and 2nd grade. Mondays always begin in infantil, so whatever grogginess I feel before entering this class, brimming with wide-eyed four-year-olds, leaves at the door. Many times, I'm greeted with a collective shout of my name, "Debon!" One tiny tot will grab their chair and place it on the reading carpet and sit down right beside it, he or she smiling up at me. I carefully work my way to my seat while the children grab at my legs and reach up to touch me. Nothing like an adoring crowd to make you feel like a rock star! The child to my immediate left and right encircle my left and right leg with their arms in tree-hugger fashion. Some others leap up for a kiss before their teacher joins the circle. How can I stay grumpy? They still have downy baby hair, for goodness sake! I read them a story in my librarian's voice and sing ridiculous songs with ridiculously dramatic motions. They look at me like I'm their favorite person in the whole wide world. The girls with their braids and bows say shyly, "Tu eres guapa." I reply with a big smile, "No, YOU are beautiful!" while reaching to give their little hand a squeeze.

Afterward, I leave the preschool hall and go to the 1st and 2nd grade hall, where the kids are just as sweet, but less like babies. I teach them about photosynthesis, the parts of the body, and the water cycle. But the best part (even though I love teaching) are the hugs! As they file past me in the hall, most can't resist breaking away to give me a hard squeeze around my legs. (Remember, their heads only come up to my waist!) Some will look up with smiles and laugh while saying my name. Some are serious huggers, holding me so tight that I start to lose my balance. Some children's hugs are so sweet and memorable that I'll list them here -

Virginia - A tiny dark-haired, dark-eyed girl in the 1st grade. Her glasses magnify her eyes to where they look like saucers on her tiny face. She never speaks in class unless called on, and even then she whispers the answer to herself. Since I've learned her name (and all the other children's), when I tell her "hello" in the hall, she will break from the group and give me a strong, silent hug.

Ionut (pronounced ee-o-noot) - A platinum blond-haired boy with striking blue eyes. His head has got to be bigger than mine, but he's so short! He's the loving type with all teachers. He grins once he sees you, shouts out your name, and will hug you until he gets in trouble -- in the middle of PE, science class, or when the line has moved on down the hall. He also insists on you leaning down, so he can kiss your cheek.

Wendy - in my 2nd grade class, I always play with her beaded, braided hair. She's a little...uh...fluffy, and she always wears a puffy coat. Her hugs are like hugging a cloud, and she, too, will get in trouble for giving long hugs. She also likes to wave at me randomly in class. The first few times this happened, I was reading aloud in science class, and I mistook this gesture for a question. When I asked her, "Yes?", she just shrugged and smiled.

Alejandro- a sassy little African boy, I loved him from the start. The day we met in his 1st grade class, I sang Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" to him each time he passed by. He'd scowl at me, stick out his tongue, then later catch my eye and laugh. He can be really bad - I mean, punching, pitching a fit, or flinging insults in Spanish - but, for some reason, I find it endearing. When he's not shoving someone, pouting, or crying after being pushed back (for once), he's sneaking over to hug me.

Rebecca and Rosa - at my Wednesday-Thursday school outside of the city, I teach all grades. In the 6th grade, my oldest group, these two girls are new to the class, and have never spoken English before, putting them five years behind the rest of their classmates. They are also grownier than most (as we say in the South). They dress like they're in their 20s, and when I have conversation practice with them ("What is your name?" "Where are you from?"), they insist on asking me what I do on the weekends, what bars I go to, and how can I sing just like Lady Gaga? Despite them being 13 going on 30, they always greet me with big hugs and will stroke my hair, comment on my outfit and beg for it to be their turn to talk with me. They always pout like my preschoolers when I can't speak with them.

infantil - these preschool classes deserve their own hug category. It's always en masse, causing me to stagger and sway. 25 little faces smiling up at you, saying in Spanish "you are beautiful" and "I love you" will undoubtedly brighten your day.

1A @ La Maranosa - This 1st grade class at my country school has five little girls who always tell me, "I love you!" in English every time they see me. If I have class with them, they get in trouble for getting out of their seats to hug me at random times.

And finally...
The bad boys - I give everyone fist pounds...when they're filling past me in the hall, when I congratulate them on completing a class assignment correctly, or just because I think I'm cool. These fist pounds obviously have gotten me on the good side of the bad kids (mostly boys) because now even they break from line to hug me. Just today, one "bad" boy in the 1st grade purposefully went to the back of the line, where I was walking. He looked up at me, smiled, held out his hand, and we walked with our hands linked, arms swinging to and fro between us, the entire way to the gym.