Upon arrival at our new apartment about two months ago, we all began to settle into our respective rooms. One afternoon when I was alone in the apartment, the door bell rang. At first, I thought it was rather strange because I wasn’t expecting anyone, and after all, we had only been here for a couple of days. Then, I thought to myself, “Wait a minute. That’s the actual bell to the door to our apartment, and not the door on the street.” I then realized that this was either our landlord or someone from within the apartment building. Little did I know the person on the other side of the door would become one of my most cherished and beloved Spaniards of all time.
As I slowly approached the front door of our apartment, the ringing continued. The bell would ring once. Then twice. Then pause. Then, ring, ring, ring! My interpretation of the ringing pattern was that whatever the person needed was urgent. I looked through the peep hole of the door, and on the other side was a small, elderly woman who appeared to be holding a few grocery bags. I slowly opened the door, and answered, “Sí?” She looked me up and down and replied, (in Spanish, but for the sake of the story, I’ll translate) “And who are you?” A little taken aback, I stated that we had just moved in a couple of days prior, and then I proceeded to stick out my hand for an introduction. She kind of glanced at it as if I was holding a dead animal. I quickly recalled that the proper introduction would follow with a kiss on both of her cheeks. So, as if the reconcile for my rudeness of a handshake, I moved in for the kisses. I told her my name, and stepped back, waiting for her next move. With her beady eyes, she looked me up and down again and said, “Where’d you come from?” I told her that we were four Americans and we were teaching English in Madrid. She nodded, and then said, “Okay. Well. I’m going up to my apartment now.” She pointed up to the next flight of stairs and said, “I’m up there, on the right.” I asked her if she needed help with her bags, which she promptly told me that she could handle, and she turned to walk away. I told her that it was nice to meet her, and she proceeded up the stairs and out of sight. I watched her go up the stairs for a couple of seconds, then went back into the apartment, and closed the door behind me. I stood there, trying to decide if that encounter had actually taken place. It had, in fact, and she would become a regular visitor to our door on almost a weekly basis. With each visit, she warmed up a little more, sometimes even touching my face and saying “Vale, guapa. Hasta luego!”
I told my roommates about meeting our new neighbor, and it wasn’t long before they had the privilege of meeting her as well. I had probably seen her about 3 or 4 times before Devon and Nicole were the lucky ones to answer the door. The story goes that she was stopping by on her way up to her apartment. She met Nicole, chatted for a minute, then headed up the stairs. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. Guess who? Evidently she had gone up to her apartment, spotted a single doughnut, wrapped in plastic, and thought “Those nice American girls downstairs would probably like this doughnut.” Well, whatever her thought process, that’s what happened. She came back down just to give Nicole and Devon a plastic wrapped doughnut, then turned and went back upstairs.
Now, in my room there is a window that opens to a small hole in the middle of the building. One morning, I was abruptly awaken by a noise seeming to come from my window. “Niña! ... Niña!” I stumbled to the window, opened it, and looked around puzzled. “Up here!” I looked up and saw, but who else, my favorite elderly neighbor. She wasn’t smiling, because in all honesty, she doesn’t have that many teeth. But in a very matter-of-fact sort of way she said, “It’s time to wake up...Okay, I’ll see you later!” I looked at the clock - 6:55am. I guess she was right. Suddenly, I realized that I would have a real live human alarm clock each morning.
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| From Blogger Pictures |
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| From Blogger Pictures |
I’m guessing that the window diagonally upwards from mine is her kitchen. This speculation is only because of the occasional banging of pots and pans that I hear and aromas of Spanish food that I smell. My dear Spanish neighbor has a very distinct voice. It’s rather raspy and her words cut the air as they leave her lips. Often I hear her when I’m sitting in my room, and I know exactly who is speaking. I learned that she had an elderly man living with her, who I assume is her husband. I’ve met him a couple of times in the stairwell, and he’s always quite polite. However, I learned of him on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Or, so I thought it was. I was sitting at my desk on my computer, when all of sudden I hear shouting coming from my window. Worried, I stood up and opened the window. I could hear my elderly lady friend’s voice and I looked up to see her window open. As I listened, I heard a man’s voice shouting as well. Concentrating, I tried to figure out what they were saying, but to my surprise, it was nothing vulgar, alarming, or even angry. It went a little something like,
Man: “DID YOU GO TO THE STORE TODAY?!”
Woman: “WHY YES I DID. I GOT SOME MILK!!”
Man: “OH OK. GREAT!”...”WHAT’S FOR DINNER?!”
Woman: “I’M NOT SURE YET!! WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE?!”
Confused, I tried to figure out if they were being sarcastic, if they were angry, something to explain the shouting. Coming up with no answers, I shut my window and went back to my desk. Over the course of the next few days, I realized that’s just the way the Spanish communicate. At times, Spanish conversations sound like argument, but in reality, it’s just the way they do things here. I’ve become quite accustomed to the daily conversations of the elderly neighbors, and I’m not alarmed any more when I hear them shout.
One morning, I woke up to the sounds of mens voices coming from my window. I opened my window, looked down, and found 4 men huddled at the bottom of the corridor studying something on the ground. Maintenance, I presumed. I didn’t really think about it any more, and proceeded to take a shower and get ready for the day. When I came back to my room, I continued with my routine. As I was putting on my bra, I realized something wasn’t quite right. It was then that I realized I had left my window open. At that same moment, I noticed the elderly neighbor man leaning out of his window, looking at me with his jaw dropped. I guess there’s not much else to say than, “Hide-y-Ho, Neighbor!”
Most of the time, seeing my Spanish neighbors isn’t that big of a fiasco, but it happens. For instance, from about 5 to 6pm, our elderly lady neighbor goes to the plaza nearest our apartment with her elderly lady friends and they sit and people watch. I learned of her afternoon outings as I was coming home from the grocery store one day. We recognized each other at the same time, and I walked over to the bench where she was sitting with her friends. I gave her a kiss on each cheek, and as she patted my face she told her friends about me. “This is my American neighbor! Isn’t she pretty?” I’ve seen her at this same spot a few times, and each time it’s the same routine. A quick wave, I’ll wander over to her, kiss, kiss, “This is my American neighbor...” It’s so endearing.
The combination of all of our awkward encounters, and the plethora that most likely awaits us, makes my elderly upstairs neighbor one of my most favorite Spaniards of all time.
