More Observations ...

I bought something this week that I’m not sure can even be found in Florida; a humidifier. Not knowing the word for it, I went to El Corte Ingles and asked for a machine that puts water vapor in the air. “Si, claro” she said and took me their selection of several different models. The air is so dry in Madrid that my skin itches all the time. Some models were quite expensive and I explained to the lady that I live in Florida and will have no use for the machine when I leave. She showed me a small unit for 37 euros, I brought it home, and have had it running ever since.

My final exam for my current level in Spanish class is this week, so I’ve been studying hard. Chris and I have been having supper together and not a whole lot else. I’ve shown him some of the places that I’ve written about and he’s shared his impressions of them. I took him by my stand-up breakfast bar for a cup of cafe con leche and pastry to show him Spain’s version of “cheeseburger, cheeseburger”.  A woman completely devoid of personality took our order at the counter, and Chris asked why I never mentioned the floor in my blog. Huh?  While I’ve never seen it that messy, I thought that he had a point and decided that it would only be fair to point the camera straight down this time. With the trash basket mostly full and litter on the floor all around it, I thought, this looks a lot like the pattern created by men peeing "in the direction of" the toilet.

Meanwhile, across the street at McDonald’s, people were snapping up American fast food at the ever crowded counter. “McMenu” and “McNifica” headliners were hawking Big Mac meals with fries and drink, and cerveza is one of the drink options. I guess it’s what constitutes a “happy meal” in Espana. It seems you can buy alcohol anywhere here.

There is of course, the ubiquitous Starbucks here as well. The first morning that Chris was here, he went down to the street to get some good, American coffee ... aaaah. He asked if they had “cafe Americano”. “Si, claro” and gave him espresso topped off with hot water. Barf. Yesterday, I went down and asked if they had American coffee that is perculated through a drip filter, not espresso with water. After all, Starbucks is an American coffee company, so I didn’t think I was being pushy by asking for a cup of American coffee. And neither did they. One thing I’ve noticed about Madrileños is that they are ever gracious people who are as accommodating as they can be. “Si, claro” and she pulled out two conical drip baskets that she put on top of individual cups and brewed the coffee right there on the counter. I shrugged: that works. And Chris and I enjoyed our first cup of American coffee since we’ve been here. Wanting to get to the bottom of this misunderstanding, this morning Chris went down and inquired further. He found out that they call watered-down espresso “Cafe Americano” and actual American coffee is called “American Cafe”.

While walking down the street, I snapped this photo of someone’s dry sense of humor stenciled onto a lamppost pedestal: "TU NOMBE AQUI" (your name here). Commentary on the over-commercialization of Spain? This could easily have been in the U.S.

And what blog entry would be complete without a snippet about the Puerta del Sol? The other night I took this photo of a bloodmobile there. Notice the “s” shaped cots inside. Maybe it’s my American sensibilities, but it seems that lying in Macy’s window in Spain’s version of Times Square would be a deterrent to giving blood ....

BTW, you can see Chris' blog about his experiences in Spain at: Cristóbol en España