Every week I seem to be finding myself writing something about Spaniards and their die hard devotion to the, FIESTA. Well, why should this week be any different? The music has literally ceased to stop playing since Friday, there have been at least 3 fireworks displays, the pleasant aroma of sweets and the cringing aroma of sardines have been hanging around our apartment and the crowds of people in the plaza below have been as consistent as the fumbles in last night’s Vikings game. The culprit of this clamoring, never ending, organized chaos is actually a representation of the contrary, the Patron of Alcobendas, otherwise known as La Virgen de la Paz (the Virgin of Peace).
It seems like just yesterday (and it practically was) that we sat out on our balcony and enjoyed the parade of Los Reyes. This past Friday we congregated once more in the open air and watched as multiple marching bands paraded down the street. My senses should have told me that there was about to be another fiesta in Plaza del Pueblo, especially since the red and yellow colors of the spanish flag could be seen hanging from more and more balconies, some sort of stage was being set up in-front of the church and posters of a well decorated woman were being hung atop street poles and on the sides of buildings.
When we arrived home from practice on Friday night, we were greeted by the booming sound of fireworks. Once again we had enviable seats as we sat and watched the colors snap, crackle and pop against the dark backdrop of the night sky. Sara Castrillo’s bedroom is the closest room to the street and the plaza, which is why she quickly opted to spend the night at a friend’s house instead of spending the night with a pillow over her head.
Saturday was game day, so we missed out on most of the day’s festivities, but there were plenty more to go around on Sunday. On Sunday afternoon around 4:30pm I was walking home from the metro station when I caught a whiff of something so strong, it could have KO’d Muhammad Ali. I fought my way through the stench and upon rounding the corner into my plaza was confronted with a long line of people. They could not possibly be standing in line for free food, could they? But who in their right mind would want to eat something that smelled so vile? I passed a few people holding cartons much like the ones you would find at McDonalds. The contents, however, did not look or smell like french fries and I would be darned if they tasted like them either. Carton upon carton was stuffed with...SARDINES! There were a line of women working behind a couple tables. A few women were covering the scaly little fish with flour while others were manning the large vats of oil. To make matters even worse the people were carelessly discarding their sardine skeletons all over the plaza floor. YUCK. I abandoned the graveyard of bones, went upstairs and promptly spritzed perfume all over my room.
Following the fish fiasco there was a solid 3 hours of more marching bands. The powerful beats of the drums made the furniture in our house shake, literally. These sounds, however, were absolutely nothing compared to what we experienced around 9pm when I ran into the kitchen and flung open the balcony door to see what was causing such a ruckus. Smoke was swirling up from the ground and making its way into our windows. Sarah Crooks and I stood out on the balcony in absolute shock, words escaping us. Right beneath our apartment, behind a brick wall was a pile of fireworks and they were shooting up into the air at an alarming rate. We couldn’t help but hunch over as we looked up into the sky and thought for sure that the sparks would fall on our heads. Regaining consciousness we looked at each other in disbelief and at the same time spurted out a slew of words that basically summed up both of our thoughts, “this has GOT to be illegal in North America.” Perhaps I am a fireworks novice, but if you are doubting the proximity to which these things were exploding I will be more than happy to show you the video I took with my camera.
Today is now Monday and I am thankful to say that both Sarah and I made it through the night without being blown to smithereens. I thought the fiesta would have been finished by today, but I woke up this morning to the oh so familiar sound of drums. One glorious thing about today, though, was that the bakery on the edge of the plaza was handing out a variety of their melt-in-your-mouth sweets, in a gesture to symbolize the conclusion of the celebration.
Amongst the above paragraphs I did mention something about having a basketball game this weekend, believe it or not there is a bit of “work” mixed in with all of this play. We played against a team called Alvargomez. We beat them the first time around, but that was a home game and when you are on the road you just never know what’s going to happen. Sarah Crooks was still sidelined which meant that it was my job to defend a young woman by the name of, Alejandra de la Fuente Valdizan. Young she might have been, but small she was not. Standing at a modest 6’6 and weighing in somewhere around 230 pounds, I cannot brag about keeping her out of the paint. Luckily, the poor girl traveled almost every time she tried to make a drop-step. Trying to take advantage of the fact that I was faster than her, I ended up having my best game of the season thus far. Alcobendas finished the game with a 10 point lead.
Julie and Julia: Man, I am failing in this department. I am not much of a crab, lobster, cod, oyster type of cooker and so these Galician cookbooks are a bit intimidating, but I promise to give it a try some time soon.
Leslie’s Loose ends
A friend of Sara Castrillo works for the Alcobendas police force, so I went and took a tour of the police station this past week. As I was talking with her boss and co-worker they asked me if in the U.S. we have sherifs. Her boss thought no, but her co-worker promptly claimed, “Si, ellos los tienen! He los visto en las peliqulas!” in other words “Yes, they have them! I have seen them in the movies!” I have come across many people who have specific ideas about the United Sates due to what they have seen in the movies. This is just absurd to me because obviously “it’s just a movie” but to them, it is fact.
One of my teammates is auditioning to be a contestant on a television show. The show is very similar to the Amazing Race.
When spaniards are talking about someone who is not easily embarrassed, they will gesture by touching their face and saying that the person has “buena cara” or “a good face” Since observing the people in Switzerland, Italy and Spain, I have concluded that they each use many different physical gestures. When my teammates asked me what types of gestures Americans use to describe certain things, I didn’t know what to tell them. Any suggestions? Flipping the bird does not count.
I showed Marta Cobian the New Year’s card that my parents sent me and went on to ask her if people in Spain send out letters to their family and friends describing what their family has been up to in the past year. Marta looked at me and said “no, we call our friends and tell them!” Ha, she must have thought that the idea of sending out a letter was absurd and something very American.
5. Our president did in-fact dye his hair, fulfilling is promise, but it was a little disappointing. I thought he was going to dye it fire engine red, but in reality it is more of a dark maroonish color and looks quite normal. I told him the next time it had to be blue, yellow or orange.
I wish I could conclude this e-mail with another SKOL Vikings, but life doesn’t always give you what you want. The ride was definitely fun while it lasted.
Take care everyone!
Leslie
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