Traditional “old man” bars

September 2, 2023 / helenstasa / Leave a comment

One thing I love about Spain- particularly rural Spain- is the existence of what are termed “old man” bars. “Old man” bars are named after their clientele- they are generally populated by elderly men- and what could be called their “traditional” style. So, how can you identify an “old man” bar? And why are they good?

OK, to answer the first question, there’s a number of clues to look for:

The decor is “rustic” and hasn’t been renovated for 30+ years. Entering such a bar is like taking a step back in time. Think bulls heads on the wall and hand-lettering.

The coffee is torrefacto, and is served in a small glass. Torrefacto is a uniquely Spanish method of preparing coffee beans, which gives the product a rather unique taste (that’s putting it politely). “Old man” bars invariably serve torrefacto.

*Photo from https://travelwritechange.com/tag/coffee-shops-spain/*

The food is incredibly cheaply priced and (usually) incredibly good. Just like the decor has been stuck in the 60s, so have the prices. Go to an “old man” bar, and you are likely to find amazing food at really good prices. Often, the chef will be the bar owner or his/her partner.

*Menu from Casa Justo, Pozuelo de Alarcón*

The waiters are men in their 50s or 60s. One of the charms of “old man” bars is that the waiters are professionals. They come from an era where waiting was considered an honourable profession, rather than a way to make some spare cash whilst you’re at uni. Usually, the service is outstanding, and you’ll be called “usted.”
It takes time to become a regular. But once you do, the employees and the other clients will defend you with their lives. When I was working at Los Negrales, I started frequenting an “old man” bar near my school. After about 6 weeks, the waiter realised that I was a loyal customer, and we started to chat. He told me when he saw a TV programme about Australia; another client introduced himself and his dog; and if I ever had to leave when the waiter was absent, I’d just tell the other clients that I had to return to work and I knew that they’d make sure the waiter got the money.

So, now we get to the second question- why are these bars worth preserving? In summary, “old man” bars are SO much more personal than the dreadful chains. Yes, you need to make an effort, and I respect that. But once you cross that threshold (and it’s hard, I know), the rewards are very high. You’re a member of a club that doesn’t admit anyone; that depends on loyalty and trust; and that doesn’t care about trends.

And that’s something to be proud about.

Carnaval (and no, I haven’t spelt it wrongly!)

February 20, 2018February 21, 2018 / helenstasa / 9 Comments

One of the (many) things I love about Spain is the interesting festivals that are held here. I particularly like it when said festivals are accompanied by a public holiday, and a day off school…

But I digress.

Anyway, next week is Carnaval, and preparations are already in full swing. According to the ever-reliable Wikipedia, Carnaval is a “festival of the libido” which occurs before Lent.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, when I first heard the word “Carnaval”, I imagined Brazil, and scantily clad dancers parading down the street to the sound of Latin music.

But given that it was SNOWING in Madrid last week, bikinis are never going to be a part of the Carnaval here.

Instead, the carnaval involves getting dressed up in some kind of costume, and having a party. Costume parties seem to be extremely popular in Spain, and near my house, there is a very large shop which stocks all manner of disguises. Here’s a photo from today:

I’m assuming that it’s “supreme leader” Kim Jong-un, but I really don’t know. In a panda onesie. And gangsta sunnies. With a cocktail umbrella on the side. And hardcore arm folding. Plus a marijuana leaf lei. Talk about a bizarre combination…

(Aside- You’re not going to believe this, but the Kim Jong-un costume wasn’t even the strangest in the shop. That award was won by one of Mariano Rajoy, the Spanish Prime Minister, clad in a red lobster onesie, with a cigar in his mouth, and a skimpy shell bikini over the top. Dear god. The mind absolutely BOGGLES…).

Anyway, at my school, the Carnaval celebrations are (comparatively) tame. On Wednesday, the students have to come in a disguise, which is different for each grade. For instance, the Grade 4 group have to come as artists, and the Grade 5 group as firemen, fire, water, or policemen.

But, for me, the best part of the Carnaval is the appearance of the peluche. Every day, in the week before Carnaval, the peluche gives the children “homework.” This homework is typically a bit naughty. For example, on Tuesday, the peluche told the children to wear something silly on their head. On Thursday, it told them to wear their socks in a funny place, so they turned up with socks on their ears. And so on…

The problem with the peluche is that, umm, it isn’t young (that’s putting it mildly). Rather, it appears to have been hanging around in a cupboard or similarly salubrious locale for, well, 20 years. After a few days sitting on its seat, it’s not looking its best. Rather, it appears ready for a visit (or, more precisely, a permanent move) to the nearest garbage bin…

Another of the more interesting aspects of Carnaval is the ritual burning of the paper sardine. After the children have paraded through the school in their costumes, someone brings out this gigantic paper sardine, covered in hundreds of carefully constructed scales. Each of the scales belongs to one of the kids, and on the back, they have written something they would like gone from the world e.g. war, bullying. At the finish of the celebrations, the sardine is burnt, and the bad things are “symbolically destroyed.”

It always amazes me that this symbolic burning proceeds incident free. It would seem to be asking for trouble to set a giant paper fish alight amidst a crowd of small children, but perhaps I’m too much of a worrier.

And I suppose, in the end, there was always the kids dressed up in the firefighter costumes to put out any unintended blazes…

My neighbours (or sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll made real…)

November 3, 2017November 3, 2017 / helenstasa / 2 Comments

Aah, neighbours! The bane of everyone’s existence. Or at least of mine…

And this year, I seem to have struck the proverbial jackpot in terms of seriously unusual residents of my particular postal district.

My street. Neighbours not shown.

So, without further ado, here is a brief spotters’ guide to some of the “treasures” of La Latina. And let’s just say, this neighbourhood really does justice to the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll cliché…

1.The Strippers

Sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll?: Sex

Identifying characteristics: Two men. The first is a bearded fellow in his 40s, the second (who I assume is the first guy’s son or perhaps his partner) is a hairless man in his late teens.

Location: On the other side of my street, directly opposite my loungeroom window.

Claim to fame: I first became aware of The Strippers when I was relaxing on my sofa after a hard day at work. I opened the window, and was greeted by the sight of a middle aged, bearded man standing on the balcony opposite, clad only in his (very brief) briefs. When he saw that I’d seen him, he didn’t seem at all concerned, and continued to stand on the balcony in his undies, flexing his muscles and taking in the view.

This is NOT my neighbour!

This has since become a regular occurrence- I open the window, and am greeted by the sight of my neighbour in his tighty whities, “delighting” observers with his body. Although sometimes, my neighbour decides to take a day off (perhaps he’s washing his undies?), and a younger, trimmer man replaces him on the balcony, and goes through the same display routine.

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Alas, he is more like this…

2. The Smoker

Sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll?: Drugs

Identifying characteristics: I haven’t seen them, so I can’t say.

What I imagine my neighbour looks like

Location: The flat below mine.

Claim to fame: The Smoker likes to relax of an evening by having a few puffs of a joint. But the thing is, his/her landlord doesn’t permit smoking in the apartment, so The Smoker always opens their doors and windows to air the place out. This is all well and good, except that the smoke drifts into the foyer of the building, and then into the other apartments. And let’s just say, The Smoker is smoking some VERY strong stuff. Simply walking past their door is enough to make me feel lightheaded…

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3. The Patriot

Sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll?: Rock ‘n’ roll (if flamenco counts)

Identifying characteristics: I can’t say, as I’ve never seen The Patriot. But it’s definitely a man.

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Location: On the other side of the street, next to The Strippers.

Claim to fame: The Patriot has taken the saying “todo por la patria” to heart. His apartment is a veritable shrine to Spain. His balcony is festooned with a gigantic Spanish flag, with a number of smaller flags tacked up around his windows. Of an evening, he enjoys blasting the neighbourhood with flamenco music (I’m not complaining about this, although after a couple of hours, it does start to lose its appeal).

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Camarón de la Isla, one of the favourites of The Patriot

One day, when the Catalan referendum had stirred up a lot of passions, a passerby saw The Patriot’s decorations, and started hurling abuse from the street. The Patriot was absolutely incensed, and began screaming out of his window, using his choicest Spanish swear words.

swear

I’m not sure which of these three delightful neighbours is the best. All? None? But I guess if I find myself in dire financial straits, I could always sell tickets for a night out in my loungeroom, with high quality entertainment…

My favourite students- Part I

August 12, 2017August 12, 2017 / helenstasa / 4 Comments

I was reminded yesterday that I have been pretty lax in posting on this blog, though more from lack of motivation than from an absence of interesting occurrences. So, with this in mind, I decided to write an update. And not just any update. No. An update about a positive subject (Fear not, I doubt this will become a regular theme!).

A few months ago, I wrote a post about my three least favourite students, and so, for the sake of completeness, I thought I should write a post about my favourite students.

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Disclaimer- in some respects, I feel ashamed to admit that I have favourite students. It doesn’t seem fair or just. But this being said, I think it’s inevitable that just as I prefer certain adults to certain other adults (this is, after all, the difference between friends, acquaintances, and enemies), it’s probably not a surprise that I prefer certain kids over others.

But, let me just say, whilst I might like some students more, when grading papers or giving marks or asking questions in class, I am scrupulously fair.

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OK, with these caveats in place, I am going to write about my first favourite student, who I’ll call Matías.

Matías was in the (somewhat infamous) Grade 5 class (which also contained José Luis). I didn’t notice him at first, as he wasn’t particularly remarkable. He came to class every day. He wasn’t the best student. He wasn’t the worst. He was smart, certainly. But he wasn’t noticeable. He was just kind of, well, there…

But, about four months into my stint at the school, he approached me, and asked for my autograph. I thought this was a bit odd, and the class teacher recommended that I write something fake, lest Matías be up to something devious. So I wrote a dreadful false signature, inscribed “To my favourite student, Mateo!”

It was THAT bad. I didn’t even know his name!

But after this incident, I began to pay more attention to my “fan.” And I realised that Matías was actually a lovely kid. So I guess it’s no surprise that within a few weeks, he had become my firm favourite.

And he still is.

What I like about Matías is that he doesn’t worry about what others think of him. For instance, after the autograph incident, the class were doing a project on beans. They had four different types of beans- lima, black, green, and chickpeas- on pieces of cotton wool, and the idea was to guess which would sprout the fastest.

Let’s just say, the level of interest in the class was pretty low.

Except from Matías.

Every day, he would come to the teacher’s table, and see if he could water the beans. I’d ask him which was growing the fastest, and when there was a sprout, I inquired if he knew why one was growing more rapidly than another. Talking to Matías, I realised that, crazy as it may sound, he was seriously, genuinely interested in the beans. And when it was the school holidays, and someone had to take the beans home, I knew EXACTLY who to nominate…

But when Matías returned from the holidays, I was a bit shocked, because he had:

removed each of the little bean plants from the communal pot;
planted them in individual containers; and (my heart skips a beat just writing this)
tied them all up with tiny stakes, to give them extra support.

!!!!!!

I probably sound pathetic, because I can’t express myself adequately. But what I like about Matías is that he’s a total individual. He liked the beans, and that was all that mattered. If someone made fun of him, he didn’t listen, because he was too cool for that. And I don’t mean too cool in a “Wow, guys, I’m just WAY above this!” sort of way, or in terms of an attitude. He didn’t have an attitude.

It was just that he was interested in the beans, and if someone else couldn’t understand that, well, that was their problem, not his.

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I love this.

And I wish I had been like that when I was 10 years old.

One of my biggest worries is that as he grows older, Matías will succumb to peer pressure, and lose his appreciation of oddness.

But I am determined to do my best to ensure that he NEVER feels ashamed of his interests. If, after two years at the school, Matías is still the individual that he is now, all my time will have been worth it.