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The morning sun sang back at the birds, and the hostel began to smell like cinnamon. Perhaps someone was making cookies downstairs. Perhaps it was a perfume that I was just not familiar with in this part of the world. I did not know the names of the two lovers sleeping in the single bed next to mine, nor had I met them yet. They had come in late last night waking me up briefly before my eyelids drew heavy again. I cannot remember if they truly made love, since it may have been a dream. The young man, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three, or even twenty-four years old, looked over to me, his head still on his pillow.
“Good morning.” He said with a thick Spanish accent.
I nodded, “Morning.”
“What is your name?”
“Ben,” I replied. “You?”
“Fernando,” He said while touching his bare chest, “It’s very nice to meet you Ben. This is Alma.” Fernando continued to lock eyes with me, completely focused on the present moment.
“Hello Alma,” she barely moved a muscle when I spoke to her. Alma rested her head on Fernando’s lap, glancing over to me, then back to the ceiling where the fan spun the room. The two went back to speaking in Spanish, a language I had not mastered. In fact, I could barely put a sentence together. I could not understand anything they were saying, and they probably knew it, as they spoke in a regular volume. From the looks of it, she seemed very depressed. He talked a lot.
After cleaning up, I was ready to find a cafe. Madrid was a city full of buzzing energy. People think fast here, and speak faster in their native tongue. I imagine to understand them, but I do not. Not far from my hostel, I made my way down Plaza Tirso de Molina. Many of the buildings here boasted themselves with a rainbow of color, from blue to pink to yellow. Dogs stare down at you from their second floor balconies, noses punching through the iron fixings of the railing. You could sense them judging you because you were foreign. Not too far into my walk I found a small corner bakery. I claimed a barstool facing the barista, a well groomed, tall young man who carried around a stern, yet welcoming manner.
“Cafe por favor…y croissant, chocolate,” I said to the man behind the counter, as he nodded politely.
Yesterday, I spent much of my time getting into the city, finding my hostel, and landing on my stiff, springy mattress. I was hungry, and needed caffeine quickly. The breeze came into the shop through the raised outdoor coverings carrying the scent of fresh bread from somewhere nearby. The croissant I was eating tasted decent, but I was truly looking forward to the French pastries during my travels. The freshly brewed coffee lifted me up quickly, and was pretty good drinking. A local newspaper sat next to me on the countertop. I felt like a child leafing through the pages, only looking at the pictures.
An older gentlemen, likely in his eighties, entered the cafe, and sat two stools down from me. He wore a faded salmon colored sweater with khakis, and dark leather loafers. He propped his walking cane against the bar below his seat, then removed his flat cap. He looked chock-full of experience, of wisdom. I get the sense that he is a good man that led a noble life. I am sure of it.
The barista placed a cappuccino in front of the man. The two simply exchanged a nod, leaving unnecessary words out of the occasion. I want that. The simple, yet perfect relationship between community, fellows, and time. No bullshit. No frills. Just an understanding of each other. A congenial interaction of space dust that formed into that moment of joy for the man next to me, sipping his morning ritual.
“Adios. Gracias,” I said, laying some euros on the countertop.
“Goodbye sir, have a great day,” the Spaniard replied in almost perfect English.
I wanted the old man to look up at me. I wanted to see his full face. I wanted to remember him, forever. I wanted to steal the calming, yet commanding presence that he carried into the place, which had affected me. I yearned for his wisdom to become my own. He never looked. I had to find my own position here. I had to build my own sophistication.
I have three days here before I set out for Lisbon, and I want to see as much as I can. There is an awful lot to do. And there are a lot of strangers to meet.
*Copyright Aaron Massey - Steel Valley Productions, SVP, LLC
Greetings, from Madrid.