Going Outside

It’s been about one week since I moved out of the hostel and into my room here. I have six flatmates and we share one kitchen, one washing machine and 1.5 bathrooms. Never would I have guessed that I’d return to something very closely resembling dorm life at the age of 27. It’s been nice getting to know my new neighbors and begin cooking meals for myself, but with my small bedroom as the only personal space I have to relax, I have started to feel cramped and restless when I spend too much time at home.

Fortunately, the cultural shape taken by outdoor space is much more accommodating here in Spain when contrasted with the United States. Here it is the norm not just to be outside, but to pass time outside among peers, friends, rivals, mentors. Resonating from playgrounds are the laughter and screams of children. Plazas are bustling with people gossiping on the phone, playing music and enjoying the weather. Even in a smaller town, it is impossible to walk a single block without seeing somebody with their recently purchased goods, walking alongside a friend. The thought that has stayed with me about this relationship is that the space outdoors is another arena in which one’s life is to be lived, oftentimes among others, as opposed to simply being someplace one must pass through in order to get to their next (indoor) responsibility.

With a larger proportion of my time being spent in public where I must necessarily cross paths with other people, I have been fortunate to stumble upon a number of novel and enriching social interactions. My thought was to lay them out here and give you all a taste of the daily goings-on of life here in town.

On my first day, I had a chance encounter in the phone store while setting up my Spanish number. As it turned out, there was another American purchasing a phone plan at the same time; we introduced ourselves and immediately discovered that we are both in the NALCAP program. Since that day my friendship with Luke has grown, and we have shared in that very particular bond which can only form between eccentric, hilarious and intelligent baristas-turned-writers. 

While spending time together one night in the plaza, we witnessed a nebulous game of fútbol materialize before our very eyes, fifteen or so children seemingly emerging from the shadows and organizing themselves into unspoken but perfectly-understood teams. There were no coaches and no referees; even the boundaries of the accepted playing field were undefined. It was as if this was the natural progression of the environment, like a flower turning to light, a caterpillar understanding at a chemical level that it must prepare its cocoon. Luke and I got caught up in a topic of discussion - probably women - and we looked up a moment later to realize the game had disappeared just as imperceptibly.

I’ve been out for drinks and watched a man walk by with his husky, howling and crying, refusing to pass by the bar until his friend (a waitress working inside) came out to greet him. I have been reading on a bench in the park, only to discover minutes later that this particular bench was the nightly concert venue for a guitar-bandurria duo, who were presently setting up beside me. I have been relaxing at la Pizzeria Piccola (not as good as the one in Wauwatosa) while a nearby theatre production finished, and observed in awe as the majority teenage staff scampered to handle the hourlong rush. A band literally came by and began to play at the cafe as I write this! This is all to say that the world outside one’s door here is an active one, just as full of connection as the ones inside the home or workplace.

In contrast, the time outside I have spent in the urban United States (mostly STL and Chicago as of late) is usually just watching cars go by, or watching people walk to and from their cars. Comfortable places to relax or just escape the elements are hard to find at best, and actively discouraged at worst (we all know why the bench at the bus stop has an unusual railing in the center). This is not true 100 percent of the time - go out to any of the transplanted ‘walkable’ commercial centers and get a taste of what a city could and perhaps should feel like - but the bulk of my outdoor experience has been in a land neglected.

My readers may not be perceptive to this observation, on account of the fact that they themselves might only be passing through the neighborhood in their climate-controlled personal fast travel machine. This is not intended to be a judgement on individuals, but rather the geography of the urban landscape that is, ultimately, a design choice. Whether this choice is made consciously by citizens or on our behalf by real estate developers is a different question.

It brings me comfort as a human to recognize that I am part of a larger scene currently under production. I think this was one of the reasons I loved working in a coffee shop: I knew that every day I would be surrounded by people, all drawn to that space for their own reasons, all of them carrying out their own stories. In spaces shared with others, we are more readily drawn into encounters with the peculiarity of life, and the meaning and connection that is borne out of it. Here in Spain, it has been refreshing to recognize the scenes at play all around me, just waiting for me to step out the door and onstage.