Skip to main content

Time in Talavera de la Reina, 1980

A favourite expression in Spain in the early 1980's is 'manana', tomorrow. Want to go to the movies? Sure, how about 'manana'. You call the plumber and he tells you that he'll come by, 'manana'. Or worse, he might say, 'pasado manana', the day after tomorrow! Why aren't you working? Oh, I will, 'manana'. When will I see you?  'Manana'.

Time has different meanings here in Talavera de la Reina in 1980. Things don't begin on time, things don't end on time. Things somehow just happen, and continue to happen for as long as people want. Let's go to the Prado manana. Okay. What time?  En la tarde. In the afternoon. Yes, but at what time?  That's when you get the shrugging of the shoulders and the hand waving deftly in the air. What a silly question to be asking. What time?!

Everyone hangs out at the Prado in Talavera de la Reina. There's a nice duck pond and lots of benches with old men sitting on them. They just sit. That's all they do. Sit and talk. There are also young mothers with small babies. They just sit as well. They all just sit. They all just sit and talk for hours and hours and hours. Business men from the banks and offices stroll by and just sit. In between puffing on their cigarettes they talk loudly and wave their arms about. In the end, however, they too just sit.

I try to do the same. Just sit. I sit down on a bench in the Prado and watch the ducks, watch the people. After twenty minutes I'm feeling guilty about doing nothing. I keep looking at my watch. I wonder how banks and offices function when the people behind the desks are all sitting here in the Prado.

Time becomes blurred in the morning sun. There is no specific time to do anything. The only thing that matters is being able to do nothing any time you want.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sensory Pleasures – Rota, 1972 E BOOK

From Monday to Friday I was busy teaching at the bilingual school in El Puerto de Santa Maria. When I wasn't teaching I was studying Spanish and practising new vocabulary and verb tenses with the two Spanish teachers I lived with. Week-ends were completely different for that's when I got out and about and mixed with other foreigners.  On Saturday afternoons I made my way to Rota, to hang out with the Americans who worked on the Naval Base. There were also people from Australia, Great Britain, New Zealand, and Scandinavia who were travelling the world, just drifting around. It was bit like meeting characters from James Michener's book,'The Drifters', and I felt intrigued as if my nose and ears were tingling with sensory pleasures. There was the smell of Brut after-shave, Head and Shoulders shampoo and Dial soap as well-showered faces greeted guests, ready to entertain and be entertained. I couldn't tell the difference in accents between the Australians and

Ole to the ban on bullfighting

The following is one of several of my articles published at Powder Room Graffiti, an online magazine. This has since been taken over by different people and the name has changed to In the Powder Room.  They seem to have done away with the original articles, unfortunately. The articles were to be short, around 500 words, which was a challenge, as well as a good learning experience. Ole to Banning Bullfighting What honor? What choice? by Sandra Staas (Mon Aug 02, 2010) The recent ban on bullfighting in Catalonia was based on animal welfare grounds. However, those against the ban state that the reasons are actually political. They believe that the ban on bullfighting is simply a means for Catalonia to show Spain how different it is, and how one day they may actually acquire full independence from Spain. Catalonia does indeed consider itself separate from the rest of Spain as can be witnessed from the tendency of the people to insist on speaking in Catalan to Spaniards from diff

One Giraffe and a Movie, Rota, Spain, 1972

You never know how an evening will turn out. You can start off alone watching a movie, then all of a sudden, boom, things change. It happened a lot in Rota. Things simply evolved, right before your very eyes. If you lived in Rota long enough you soon learned that an evening wasn't complete without a visit to the outdoor movie theater. It was a popular place for teenagers, children, grannies, old aunties, for anyone just wanting something different to do rather than sit on their balcony or patio. It was always hot at night. Even with all the windows opened in your apartment, the heat never really dissipated. You might as well be out and about for it was difficult to sleep what with mosquitoes biting you just when you would be about to doze off, and the blaring of  "Baby, don't get hooked on me" emanating from nearby bars. The American sailors frequented these bars. You could see them strolling along, tossing their Vantage or Winston cigarette butts onto the dirt r