It's no secret that the thing I dislike most about New York is its frenetic pace. I'm pretty go-go-go myself, but I've learned being a go-go-go person in a go-go-go atmosphere is exhausting. Which is why I was so eager to move to Spain, the land of siestas and drawn out mini-meals. I hoped, no matter how ridiculously, that the Spanish pace of life would rub off on me, effectively changing a core part of who I have been for the last 28 years. Will it--has it--happened? Damned if I know. It's only day four.
(Somehow I am doubtful. For no matter how Sevilliano I look with my dark hair and pale skin, my speed-walk invariably gives me away as a non-local.)
What I have noticed however, is that the Spanish way of life is less languid than siestas and tapas let on. I was surprised to learn that siestas are quite real--part of me thought that it was just some romanticized notion over-worked Americans have of Europe, whose lengthy vacation times have been well documented--because really, how can any business survive when you and all of your employees call it a day, every day, at 2 p.m.? But they do and somehow it works.
Then there is the whole idea of tapas. I first pictured it as settling in at one place and ordering drinks and small plates all night long, but this is not how the Spanish do it. Instead, they are in for one beer (never more than two), a small plate of olives or meat and are on their way to the next joint. The whole process is often no more than 10 minutes. It seems so contradictory to the way everything else here operates. I don't understand the rush--with siestas in effect by mid-afternoon, where do they have to go? (Of course, this doesn't mean service is fast; just that the Spanish are better at getting what they want when they want it. Another lesson I need to learn.)
Sometimes I'm like a two year old, constantly asking why, why why. I need to stop over thinking it and just embrace it. Seems the process has worked here for the last 200 years--who am I to question it?
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