Monday in the 'Manc

The next morning, we woke up early, hopped on the metro and headed for the bus station. I could not WAIT to show them around Salamanca. After a quick breakfast of pastries and cafés con leche and te con leche, we headed down to the platform and loaded our bags below the bus. When I showed the tickets to the driver, however, he looked very confused and flipped through his other stack of ticket stubs to compare. Yep, I had accidentally bought tickets for Tuesday instead. In my excitement and haste to purchase them, I had read the European calendar (starting on Monday instead of Sunday) wrong and mistook the “M” in Martes (Tuesday) for the “M” in Monday instead. Que verguensa (how embarrassing). Thankfully, there was no problem in swapping the tickets for the 10am bus an hour later that same day.

Arriving in Salamanca around 12:30pm, we made the thirty-minute walk to the apartment. When we walked in the door around 1:15, I was disappointed to discover that madre wasn’t home, only cranky old Luis and the maid. When I was informed that Ascencion was out getting her hair done, we dropped off our bags and planned to return in about an hour. As we left the apartment to walk around a bit, I couldn’t help but remember the confused look Isabel had had on her face during our conversation. Ascencion HAD been expecting us, hadn’t she? Peeking in and out of shops like Ale Hop, Calzedonia, and Mango, we slowly made our way to La Plaza Mayor.

 

We returned to the apartment around 2:20, hoping that this had given madre ample time to get home from her beauty session. This time talking to Isabel, I was sure that there was no extra food prepared nor had madre mentioned that we were coming. My heart sunk into my stomach, where madre’s famous paella mixta should have already been. But how could I be upset with the woman for being old and forgetful? I said goodbye and that we’d be back later in the afternoon to say hello. Just as we were leaving, however, madre made her grand entrance (adorable permed haircut and all) through the elevator door. Double kisses all around, we had barely finished the introductions when her never-ending rant began. She had thought I said we’d be leaving Madrid around 12 instead of arriving in Salamanca at that time. She thought we’d be coming by sometime later in the afternoon, not for siesta. Although she made her understanding of the matter abundantly clear, I still have a bit of a hard time believing she could have thought this since for over a week, we had talked about the siesta lunch we would have that day. She insisted that she whip something up anyways and that we stay for siesta. Of course I told her this was ridiculously unnecessary and that we’d eat out and come back later. It’s a fact that Spanish women are the feistiest, most stubborn creatures on the planet. She wouldn’t let it go. This prompted a near-yelling match between us (in Spanish, of course). The look on my biological mother’s face was priceless. Who is this girl arguing with this old Spanish woman and what has she done with my daughter? Somehow, I finally “won” and Ascencion conceded to us promising to come back later in the afternoon. I felt so badly and awkward at the misunderstanding, she must have said, “I feel horrible, I am so embarrassed” at least 50 times.

 

At this point, Ascension had gone into her room and I started to give my Meyer women a quick tour of the place. Not one minute later and madre was out in the hallway arguing with me again. She openly fastened the buttons on her Hawaiian moo-moo, allowing my mom, sister, and I a generous view of her large, white, lacy brassiere. Oh, Ascense. But she couldn’t accept defeat. We were literally FORCED to stay and eat siesta lunch. WELL OK, IF YOU INSIST. We had Spanish tortilla, tomatoes, bread, fried Merluza (fish) with lemon juice, melon, and chunky monkey Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Despite madre’s incessant apologies about not having ample time or ingredients to make her paella, the food was delicious as always.

 

Lunch over, Ascencion offered us places to lie down for the expected siesta naps and further hoped that we would be sleeping in the house that night as well. What a woman, I tell ya. Kindly declining the offer, we exchanged gifts instead. Mom had literally filled an entire suitcase with gifts from the States for Ascension and the fam. I hope I am half this wonderful and generous someday. I beamed as I presented the Georgetown sweatshirt for Isabel, Guirradelli chocolates and other candies, Biscotti, Starbucks coffee, and mug for Luis, Barbies and Barbie outfits for Lucia and Yolanda, and sheets, towels and serving tray for madre. The entire time I wasn’t sure what Ascencion would do first: start bawling or faint. She told me to tell my mom she was crazy and that she shouldn’t have brought all these things. Once again, she was so embarrassed when she presented my mom and Bekah with fashionable black and white long chunky necklaces and an extra set of Salamantino earrings for my mom. I couldn’t believe she was embarrassed for giving US gifts in her own house.

 

All told, the visit was a grand success. I got a great deal of practice translating and it was clear that my two madres really loved meeting each other. What I probably will never understand is how cute and sweet Luis seemed to Bekah and mom. They legitimately liked him. During lunch, Bekah made a comment about an attractive man on the TV, to which madre replied in Spanish, “Well, if you like the handsome Spanish men, then you’ll love Luis!” HA.

 

As promised, we left to do a little shopping for Rebekah’s sake, but not without stopping at Café del Arte for cafés con leche first. I was thrilled to see my bartender welcome us in. Almost immediately after introducing him to Bekah and my mom, he proceeded to tell my mom (obvi in Spanish) that I’m a bad girl who always comes into the café to drink whiskey and hard liquor. Nice, bud. Good thing they can’t understand Spanish. He continued to say that of course he was only joking and that I’m a great girl and he only serves good people in his café. I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW WE BECAME BEST FRIENDS OVERNIGHT.

 

We spent the remainder of the afternoon walking past the cathedrals and Puente Romano over the Rio Tormes. I showed them where I take classes at the University, Casa de las Conchas, the wall with the Salamantino frog, among other semi-famous sites. The visit wouldn’t have been complete without churros and chocolate at Valor. An obvious hit, we returned to the apartment to grab our bags and hail a cab to the bus station for our 8pm bus home. Almost immediately, madre presented us with a huge packed lunch to take with us, very concerned that we would otherwise be missing dinner. It was complete with 4 pieces of fruit and 9 small “brick bocadillos” from Gil, the pastry shop next door. Like I’ve said before, a heart of pure gold. 

Walking home off the metro around 11, we stopped in a café to pick up a bottle of wine. Mom walked in and immediately began asking the bartender about his wine selection…in English of course. He, along with his various barstool customers, only responded with blank, confused countenances. Yes it had been a long and tiring day for Kay, but I’m not sure she ever fully conceptualized that by being in Spain, people actually speak Spanish, not English. Once the mother duck, always the mother duck I guess. Sarah to the rescue again, we brought the 12-euro bottle of red Rioja back to the hotel where I enjoyed the most expensive (by far!) bottle of wine I had ever and likely will ever drink in Spain.