Quiet. Man, it's quiet out there, at least in this corner of the neighborhood. And cold. Which may account in part for the quiet. Cold enough to discourage anyone from hanging out in the plaza. I hope los Reyes Magos brought winter gear 'cause this is the single briskest day I've experienced since getting back here five weeks ago tomorrow. (Hmmm. Briskest? Most brisk? Most briskest?)
A gray, chilly morn, still bearing damp traces of overnight rain. When I stepped out of the building around 11:15, it looked for a moment like a scene from a 50's Fellini film. Everything gray and hushed. Four people visible, all middle-aged men in dark clothes/dark hats, all walking away from me at varying distances. Completely silent, as if someone in the projection booth had neglected to turn on the sound.
Turning the corner onto la Calle de Pelayo revealed signs of life up ahead -– people walking in groups, talking quietly; two city street cleaners sweeping up trash. Out on la Calle de Hortaleza, the main drag hereabouts, more people, all silent. Passing buses produced the only noise, slipping by in a rush of sound and exhaust, fading with distance. More silence.
And then I opened the door to the Cafetería Vivares and crossed into sudden technicolor. Conversation, lights, colors, laughter, sounds of activity in the kitchen, the clink of coffee cups against saucers, noise from the TV over the doorway (first ads then a cartoon: voices, music, sound effects). Like stepping from a vacuum into a greenhouse, from somewhere airless into an atmosphere rich with oxygen. Talk about a contrast.
Unlike the café/bakery near my current language school where they know me and get a cup of café cortado going as soon as I step in the door, the man behind the counter at Vivares knows me, smiles, says hello, but never presumes, always waits for me to say what I want. Sometimes it's high-test, sometimes descafeinado (decaf), sometimes with churros, sometimes without. Usually, there are two or three trays on the counter heaped with sweet rolls, croissants, churros. None of that this morning. The traditional a.m. fare on el Día de los Reyes Magos is a sweetbread baked in a circle maybe a foot in diameter or an oval, maybe 18 inches long. Baked to a rich, dark color, topped with sugar, candied nuts, jellied fruits colored bright red or dark green. Hugely popular. Bakeries (pastelerías) have been cranking the suckers out for the last couple of weeks, and this morning they ruled. People on the streets carried them in square bakery boxes or in bags, they filled the front windows of the couple of bakeries that were open, lines of people waiting inside to pick one up.
My café arrived, I worked my way through it. The owner of the joint appeared to my left, talking to someone to his other side, a tall, meaty gent nursing a brandy over an open newspaper. At some point, the proprietor looked over at me, we said, "Hola." He asked me how I was ("¿Qué tal?"), I answered, "Bien." A moment passed. I must have looked a bit blearier than I felt because he looked at me more closely, with just the slightest concern, and said, "¿Bien?" "Sí, sí," I assured him.
Back out on the quiet street, I headed down to Gran Vía, picked up a copy of today's El País. (Let's see: bad news, bad news, bad news. Right, where's the sport section? Ahhh, the Lakers aren't doing well? That's better.) More people were about, hands in pockets, collars up against the cold or wrapped in puffy coats, carrying plastic bags filled with gift-wrapped presents. Back here in the neighborhood, activity had picked up, a few small tiendas had opened their doors, some restaurants had menus for the day's meals posted out front. Still quiet, but waking up.
Holiday dinners were being prepared –- cooking odors wafted from one or two buildings as I walked past. A canary sang its heart out from a piso three stories up, the French doors facing out toward the piso's balcón open just the tiniest bit, allowing the intensely sweet melody to float clearly over the narrow street.
A short time ago, the gray sky gave way to radiant sunshine, a few white tattered clouds drifting from west to east beneath a canopy of blue.