No part of me could pass for Spanish. I’m tall, pale, and of course rubia (blonde). The Spanish people have staring problems anyway, and my height is not helping me stay under the radar.
But there is a lot of the Spanish culture that i’ve immediately taken too. For example pintxos (tapas), olive oil and wine.
I’ve been dousing a majority of my food in olive oil, going through a baguette a day, eating logs and wheels of rich creamy cheeses (Camembert, goat cheese, whatever looks good in the cheese aisle at the moment in mercadona), and spreading nutella on bread and cookies (but not on cheese. yet.). I also get patatas bravas, fried bacalao (cod), and large greasy mushrooms anytime I am out on calle Laurel for pintxos. And of course I pair it with whatever wine they have that goes at a rate of 70 centimos to maybe 1.50 a glass (pure joy).
So speaking of not making any sense…even though I don’t have a scale, the fit of my pants tells me that I’m losing some kilos. I don’t know if this would work in the U.S, but i’m accepting this magical anti diet as I accept the rule of no personal space.
So as the tall, blonde, sticking out like a sore thumb person that I am doing paseos all around, I will tell you about the magic coat.
I decided to buy this camel pea coat type of coat that has a hood…and it’s just adorable in my opinion. This was post buying art books, and pre sheets, and towels. So I was having retail therapy for lack of computer. I’m better now 🙂
I’ve worn it three or four times now and every single time I’ve worn it, I’ve gotten asked at least one question about directions…or just unknown things in Spanish because I don’t understand when people speak sooooooo fast– because they think I’m Spanish suddenly. I wish that just one of the times I’d had somewhat of an answer. I eep out my “no se” and then they are like ahhhhh VALE. and speed away thinking what a foolish mistake they have made by thinking I had a clue.
I don’t think that my magic coat would have helped me in San Asensio though. It’s a pueblo about half an hour outside of Logrono, and one of the bodegas was having a little fiesta where you could take a tour and smash grapes with your feet. The population is 1300 and they knew that I was NOT one of those 1300. I’m going to be on the lookout for their brochure next year because I’m pretty sure i’ll be in it with all the pictures that were taken of me…
It was one of my favorite days here so far though. I sampled some wines, got purple grape feet, got a tour of the wine cellar, listened to the wine making process, didn’t understand the process, drank more wine, ate chorizo, more wine, had to buy wine, hauled my tipsy self plus box of wine back home and had a siesta.
“Si al mundo vino y no tomó vino, ¿a qué vino?” – If he came to this world and didn’t drink wine, why did he come at all?
I’m not sure who said that, but they just treated all the haters who say you can’t go to a bodega at 10 a.m on a Saturday and drink to your hearts content.