Seven years. That was how long had passed since I last saw my roommate from college. Many friendships have come and gone over the past seven years, but this friendship is one that I have cherished and appreciated. You know you have a great friendship when after all this time, you both become better versions of yourselves, yet your core values have remained the same. You do not need to see or speak to each other on a day-to-day basis, but when you do see each other, you pick up where you last left off. If there was one reason as to why I sojourned in Europe to begin with, it was to visit him and his girlfriend. The trip to Europe so far had worked itself out in terms of where I went and how the events in those places transpired (largely thanks to “dynamic planning”). This final leg of my trip was no exception.
The afternoon I arrived in Madrid, my friend took me to a cafe that served a Spanish dessert pastry called torrijas. Torrijas are made of stale bread, soaked in sweetened milk, bathed in beaten eggs, fried in oil, and sprinkled with sugar and powdered cinnamon. Torrijas are mainly served during the Lenten season, which an outsider like myself found peculiar, because sweets are commonly given up for Lent, and torrijas taste pretty damn sweet. Later that evening, we met with his friends for tapas. I have found eating tapas fulfilling, as sharing small portions of many dishes with others brings an added dimension to a meal I did not find in eating an individualized meal with others. (Or perhaps the fulfilment came from drinking Tinto de Verano.)
On my second day in Madrid, my friend gave me a crash course walking tour on many of Madrid’s landmarks, as I learned about the history behind many of its monuments and buildings. I will admit, learning about a different culture’s history is not my strength, especially after employing “dynamic planning” in my trip. While I do not remember the stories behind all the monuments and buildings, I found Spain’s rich history fascinating and entertaining. From Queen Isabel II’s son Alfonso XII taking over as king, despite civil wars erupting because Isabel II was not acknowledged as a legitimate leader. To the reverence given towards Miguel de Cervantes, author of Don Quixote, and who is considered the greatest Spanish writer. To Francisco Franco ruling as a dictator for almost 40 years in the mid-20th century, before Spain became a republic once again to this present day. To the amusing views many Spanish people have towards the Romani people, locally known as gitanos (or gypsies). My friend and I saw a group of gypsies getting into an argument with another group of people at Plaza España, because they were establishing the area in the tunnel as their place to sleep that evening. Like the history of the United Kingdom, the richness of Spain’s history has had a lasting impact to many parts of the world. Being of Filipino descent, Spain’s cultural and religious influence have had an impact in how my family was raised. I joked with my friend during our time as roommates seven years ago that “his people” conquered “my people”. We spent the day walking around Madrid, reminiscing about our time in college and significant events in our lives since that time.
The following day, my friend, his girlfriend, and I ate at a bar for lunch. From the previous post, one of the cultural habits in Spain I had difficulty adjusting to was the time of day Spanish people ate their meals.
Here is a table I made to illustrate my point:
In Spain, it is not uncommon for stores to be closed in the mid-afternoon, as workers appreciate the benefits of eating a big lunch and taking a siesta. If Americans adopted siestas, I would be one happy man (for the time being, I will continue taking a quick nap in my car after lunch).
My friend, his girlfriend, and I found it funny hearing the waiter singing to popular American songs, such as “Just the Way You Are” and “Dilemma”, as he walked back and forth from the bar to the kitchen. I thought the waiter sang English songs pretty well for a Spanish person, and told my friend that the waiter may be Filipino based on how he looks and acts. After all, my Asian-type-discerning-skills* had been honed in my college years. My friend thought I was joking, until it came time to order dessert. When the waiter figured out that I could not fluently speak Spanish, he asked me where I was from. After telling him I am Filipino, he gave me a handshake that only kababayans, or “fellow Filipino countrymen”, can understand. The feeling was as if we both found a long, lost brother in a foreign country (meeting another Filipino person in America does not have the same feeling as it does in other countries like Italy or Spain.). Hearing him speak Tagalog to me, and then speak Spanish to my friends blew my mind. I was like, “Ano?! Que?” We exchanged contact information, in the hope of seeing each other before I left Madrid.
*Asian-type-discerning-skills refer to one’s ability to distinguish what kind of Asian a person is (Chinese, Taiwanese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, Vietnamese, etc.) based on how they act, look, and speak their motherland tongue, or what their last name is. I am a proud alumnus of the hilariously-nicknamed “University of Chinese Immigrants”, the place where my Asian-type-discerning-skills were mastered. One of the funniest questions I have ever been asked was, “So Noy Sauce, what Asian are you?”
Following our lunch, my friend and I toured more places in Madrid. Our tour that day was not as extensive as the day before, because we were pretty tired from walking the day before. We walked around Parque de El Retiro, the largest park in Madrid. That evening, we walked to Plaza Mayor, the central plaza of Madrid. Due to my Lenten dietary restrictions of abstaining from meat on Fridays, we ate at a restaurant that served calamares fritos on a bocadillo bun. Just add aioli (garlic mayonnaise). Talk about owning Lent.
On my fourth day in Madrid, we drove about an hour to Segovia, a city known for the Aqueduct of Segovia, which is an aqueduct made of unmortared granite blocks (there is no concrete holding the blocks together). Our trip to Segovia was delayed by 15-20 minutes, because of a traffic incident on the highway. Despite being half-awake, my friend mumbled the word “puta” as we passed by the traffic incident. My immature-self in my head said, “Hehehe…he said puta. I know what that word means, because puta means the same thing in Filipino!” We toured places, such as the Aqueduct of Segovia, Segovia Cathedral, and Alcázar de Segovia. We enjoyed a lunch of cochinillo, or suckling pig (also known as lechon in Filipino) for lunch. Touring the Alcázar de Segovia reminded me of the castles in Scotland, because the castles were essential to maintaining order in a territory centuries ago. I can picture the kings who inhabited Alcázar de Segovia centuries ago saying, “Los hijos de putas!” to their servants (I know, I have an odd sense of humor.). After touring the castle that afternoon, we returned to Madrid.
On my fourth day in Madrid, we drove about an hour south to Toledo. We met with my friend’s girlfriend’s friend (FGF), who toured us around Toledo and shared with me an unforgettable story about gypsies.
Seven years ago when my friend and I were roommates, our other roommate asked my friend about gypsies in Spain. Due to my ignorant impression of gypsies from watching Borat, I found the assumption of the gypsies’ tears ability to cure AIDS to be funny. In an attempt to educate myself about the gypsies during my trip, I turned to Wikipedia. Gypsy, refers to the Romani people, a group of people who descended from northern India over 1000 years ago. The term gypsy, or gitano (as Spanish people call them), is often used in a negative connotation when speaking about the Romani people. Gypsies are often nomadic, making a living through seasonal work, fortune telling, or scamming people. I failed miserably in being objective towards viewing gypsies, because my experiences in Madrid, Seville, and Rome (I believe the lady in the subway train was a gypsy), and the first-hand stories I heard, gave me a reasonable sample size to form an opinion of them. For the sake of consistency, I will refer to the Romani people as gypsies.
My FGF told me a story about a gypsy scamming her mother. FGF’s mother lent money to a gypsy who asked her for help. The gypsy asked FGF’s mother for money several times, and one time, even brought her daughter to ask for money. When FGF’s mother was going to give the gypsy and her daughter money, the daughter took FGF’s mother’s purse and ran. One day, the gypsy’s daughter went to FGF’s home to ask for money because her mother died. At a later time, FGF’s sister saw the gypsy at the mall, and when asked about her “death”, that gypsy said that her twin sister was the person who died.
(I know. Mind blown!)
We went tapa-hopping at different tapa bars in downtown Toledo, where I enjoyed even more tapas. That evening, we hung out at a bar, where we watched a Real Madrd-Sevilla FC soccer match as I ate jamón ibérico on a bocadillo bun (Iberian ham on a bocadillo bun). Even though I watched the game from a fan’s perspective, the eye test showed the talent gap between Real Madrid and Sevilla FC in terms of skill and athleticism. Poor Sevilla FC, they did not stand a chance.
On my fifth day in Madrid, my friend, his girlfriend, and I relaxed at their apartment, after an eventful weekend. I craved jamón ibérico from the night before, so we stopped by a sandwich shop that evening to get a sandwich. I should have brought jamón ibérico back home, but was concerned about declaring individual items bought to customs (turns out, the customs officers barely check if you have a US Passport and give them that Asian Persuasion smile). My friend, his girlfriend, and I visited my kababayan whom we met at the bar for lunch three days before. My friend, his girlfriend, and my kababayan tried to encourage me to move to Spain. While I appreciate their hospitality, I still miss my mother and clothes dryer. That evening highlighted a lesson learned: there is comfort having connections in different places, ready to welcome me with open arms when I visit them.
On my sixth day in Madrid, we visited to El Escorial (formally known as The Royal Site of San Lorenzo de El Escorial), a historical residence of the King of Spain about 45 minutes from Madrid. My friend, his girlfriend, and I toured the castle from top to bottom, appreciating the artwork by Goya, and the intricate details of the castle’s catacombs. We wanted to visit Valle de los Caidos (Valley of the Fallen), an underground church and tomb located on the other side of the town of San Lorenzo, but the place was closed by the time we arrived. It was time to head back to Madrid, where I had to prepare my belongings as my Europe trip came to a close.
The following early morning, my friend dropped me off at Madrid Airport, because it was time for me go back home and face reality (d’oh.). Other than purchasing Spanish-style Fanta soda at the airport, only to lose it in the plane, I knew my trip had come to an end. A friend of mine told me to have “contracts”, or commitments to visit a place or experience a moment the next time you visit the same area. My contract in my next trip to Spain is to spend more time in Southern Spain, indulging in chocos fritos, jamón ibérico, tinto de verano, and Spanish omelette.
Two weeks after returning from my trip, I continue to cherish those moments spent with my cousin, my cousin’s family, my cuz, my friend, and my friend’s girlfriend. Reminiscing those moments helped me get through my days, and put matters into perspective. My time spent alone in Rome showed me that sharing those moments with whom you love are what make the vacations and celebrating successes in life that much sweeter. The vacation was never about the money, but about sharing a part of me to foster one of most important forms of wealth: relationships. I would rather have a modest amount of money but have rich relationships, than have a lot of money but have no one to share my successes with.
Now that I am facing “reality”, one goal on my bucket list has now been crossed.
Take three week leave to travel Europe- Visit Bar Harbor
I guess eating clam chowder served on a bread roll at the coast of Maine is now next on the bucket list. Cheers!