This past Sunday: me leaving the gym, standing just outside the door zipping up my jacket. A woman walks by, 20-something, pretty, South American or Central American by the dark shade of her skin and her features. She's followed by a man, same physical type, same age range. She turns to him as she goes by, indicating something ahead, smiling, he follows her around the corner out of sight. Then a boy passes, clearly their child, around 10, 11 years old. As he moves past, he gives me a tentative smile. I smile and say, "¿Qué tal?" He smiles a little wider, still tentative, says, "Bien!" "Qué bien!" I say, then he's past and out of my vision.
The kids here are beautiful and fun to watch. The Spaniards love their children and it shows, both in the look the kids have -- that of little beings who know they're valued -- and in the parents' comportment. I see adults with kids, proud to be out with them if they're little ones in strollers, walking hand and hand with them if they're older, smiling, talking to them. There's plenty of visibly rebellious behavior from the teenagers, lots of carrying on loudly, rambunctiously, lots of drinking and getting shitfaced. And with all that they appear to me to be good kids.
And I think that may be an accurate reflection of the Spanish people as a whole: good folks who at times tend toward loud, occasionally dramatic behavior. There's a Portuguese guy in my current intensive Spanish class, a fella named Pedro who's got a Spanish sweetheart and is here with her, looking for work. Bright, extremely funny, with a sunny personality. He talks a lot, gesturing and making faces the entire time, has the attitude of someone who enjoys his life and incites laughter from others. Fun to be with. We were talking about the difference between the Portuguese and the Spaniards -- there's a lot he clearly loves about Portugal and its people, but in comparing them to the Spaniards, he drew a portrait of a national type that tends to be a bit formal, a bit less open, a bit less prone to communicate easily. While the Spaniards are right out there with themselves. Like Pedro. He enjoys living in Madrid, prefers life in Madrid. No accident, think I. He fits right in. He and the teachers we've had this week –- two Madrileñas in their late 20's –- get along like a house afire, cracking each other up, talking fast enough that they lose me at times. But they have so much fun I can't help but enjoy the whole scene.
They're fascinating, these classes -– collections of people from all over the globe thrown together for a week or more, presided over by teachers generally in their 20's and 30's, often younger than the folks they're instructing. At times the only thing the individuals have in common is the language they're learning, which can be a serious limitation. Or not, depending on their level of ability. Sometimes the chemistry falls right into place or finds a comfortable dynamic as the group spends time working in the same room. Sometimes the chemistry never really gels and sparks fly. It's rarely boring.
In my class this week: Pedro; a Japanese woman named Hiroko, married and living here with husband and children because her spouse's job brought them here; Jan, a young German guy, 21 or 22 years old; and Ryan, an American from L.A., college age, though he seems younger. An interesting group, with less chemistry than last week's (a completely different batch of souls at a slightly lower level with the language). Pedro and our female instructors are the main source of the week's entertainment.
Hiroko: interesting, pleasingly gentle, gradually becoming more of a presence in the mix after a quiet, apparently shy start. Jan: hard to read -– not very outgoing, at times seemingly impatient with the rest of us, yet now and then displaying a nice smile and laugh when something particularly silly has happened between Pedro and an instructor. Ryan, the American, is the hardest one to get a bead on. His likes are clear -– partying, drinking, dancing, smoking dope. He may be the weakest member of the class when it comes to the language, he's far from outgoing most of the time. But I think he reminds me of a version of me at that age. It's interesting to watch him with that in mind -- I think there's a tender person in there who deserves space and slack.
Then there are the moments outside of class, capable of revealing all kinds of things. There are folks who clearly want to find and stay with people of a similar type -- age, nationality, social type, ability with the language. There are those who note another student's apparent level with the language and respond dismissively, even harshly, if the other student doesn't measure up -- sometimes producing a kind of social jockeying that can be strange to witness or experience. And there are folks who simply want to have a nice time in a beautiful city with folks from all over the world.
We're complex, we humans -– we bring so much to the blend, things both conscious and unconscious. It's fascinating to observe, to enjoy the whirling display of it all, letting the moments that feel less than great pass by to be replaced by other, more interesting ones.