Yesterday, Sunday, I spent with Alonso and his brother, who stayed over for the night. We hung out in the apartment over an extended breakfast, but were basically moving in slow motion. We were all sore and tired from our hike the previous day, but enjoyably sore and tired. Since Alonso's brother speaks only Spanish, that has been the dominant language this weekend. For me excellent language practice, but now that his brother is gone, I'm going to try to give Alonso more English practice with me.
We all went in the car to do a major grocery shopping excursion in the neighbouring town, Mosquera, in a supermarket in the mall. It is called Exito, and is kind of like a cross between No Frills and Superstore. I covered the full cost of groceries, since Alonso has been paying my way almost everywhere else. Then we spent a couple of hours in a cafe that reminded me rather of Boston Pizza. I've noticed that often when people find out that I'm from Canada, they end up asking me about
French language and Quebec. So once again I spent a lot of time explaining in Spanish about some of our many cultural and political complexities.
By the time we got home it was after four. I had been planning on going for a walk since breakfast, but either it was raining or visiting and conversing with the two brothers would get too interesting. I was determined to get back outside on my own once the groceries were put away, but Alonso tempted me with grilled cheese sandwiches so I stayed another forty minutes. You could say I feel like a beloved hostage. Not complaining. And I finally did get out, but no solitude because the sidewalk was crammed with people. One fellow, about fifty, and I ended up walking and talking together for almost a kilometre. His name is Mauricio and he works for an import company. He says he'd like to learn English but doesn't think he has the time. He also appears very well-known and connected here in Madrid where he's lived all his life, saying hi to dozens of people along the way. I stopped in the church to hear part of the sermon. Some of it sounded okay but the priest seemed a little bit on the zealous side for pushing the Catholic agenda. They are not allowed to think outside the box.
On the way back I stopped in a market for some produce items. As I was selecting broccoli I tried to engage two of the workers in Spanish, but they just stared at me with the most godawful stupid look on their faces. The two young women at the cash were a lot friendlier. As I continued on my way I ended up talking to a young Venezuelan guy in front of a meat store. His name is Enrique, very warm and friendly.
Today I did a shopping excursion at a supermarket called Olympica. The lady behind me was carrying quite a load of stuff in her arms and the second time she bumped me I said in Spanish, Excuse me, please, and she just gave me a frightened look and otherwise didn't respond. But I have noticed that a lot of women here seem to fear men, and I really don't blame them, sad as this is. I was just holding two small items, so I invited her to put her things down on the conveyor belt, but I did have to ask the gentleman in front to please make some room for the poor woman, and he was very obliging.
In the afternoon I took a walk in the old part of town. I came across a Venezuelan family selling candy on the sidewalk where they were huddled. I tried to give them all my change, except for the two Canadian toonies Icarry with me. The husband asked if he could have one of my toonies as a remembrance, and then he rushed back to give me a Venezuelan fifty Bolivar note, also for remembrance, which I will treasure even if it has practically no monetary value. Later, on the way back, I asked them for their names. They are Leo and Malexa and their little boy is Moises. Please pray for them and the many other Venezuelan refugees here. And I have written their names on the fifty Bolivar note.
Something else happened that I am interpreting as a kind of sign or omen. I was taking a different route and was crossing a pedestrian bridge over the Subachoque River. I heard a little girl announce to her uninterested companions, Mira, garzas, or look, egrets. I would not have noticed the two egrets wading in the water had the child not said something, and I thanked her. I stood and looked, as another egret, and another, and yet another joined them, till there were six. I thought that there ought to be seven egrets, and then a seventh one came flying in, refused to land, then flew away and around and three or four times nearly landed in the water with its companions, but then it flew right over my head, and I knew that I had been there long enough. I am interpreting this as a kind of blessing, though for the life of me I still cannot understand it.
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