San Isidro (also known as the marching oboe post)

A few weeks ago, this appeared in our mailbox:

It was a species of the weekly governmental missive, the one that tells us about the wonders of our city (Alcobendas), assures us that the pinwheel graffiti doesn't mean we have active Nazi gangs, lists weekly events, features photos of our growing youth, and so forth. But what was on this particular cover? An absurdist can-can dancer? An advertisement for drinking, gambling, and androgynous PeeWee Herman lookalikes in high-water pants?

The words on the flyer didn't help; we didn't know most of them, and a trip to Google Translate-land was unhelpful: "The schottische in a tile, the rest, in all the track."

From what we could gather from the inside (more on that later), the flyer seemed to be announcing a 2-week festival named after San Isidro, the patron saint of Madrid. We took our friend the absurdist can-can dancers' friend, and attended many of the offerings. Here are some scenes. 


Part I: The Fair


This particular festival came with an old-fashioned carnival-type fair. We took all three kids over several nights, to mixed effects.


Seth's eyes were bigger than his stomach -- or so we infer from the fact that he'd beg excitedly to go on a kiddie ride, look worried when it started, crumple his face when it got going fast, then sob loudly until the burly carnival worker pulled him off.  The worst was the baby bumper car, where he seemed to forget that he controlled the actual car and almost ran himself off the road, weeping and wailing.


Nathan found his heaven in the form of a giant hamster wheel that turns on water:

And Nora got to drive the big-kid bumper cars. Don't have a picture of that one, but her face said "This is the BEST THING EVER. I'm SO DOING THIS when I'm a teenager!"  the whole ride.


Mommie and Daddy were intrigued by the civic culture on display -- not just lots-of-women-dressed-up-in-Flamenco-costumes, but hundreds of little stalls selling not tzotke, but instead, beer. Not in a bad way -- in fact, it looked like each beer stall was sponsored by a different civic organization, perhaps as a place for their members to hang out or a way to make money (or both). Robert Putnam, ditch Italy and study Spain; apparently, nobody bowls alone here.


Part II: Actual Saint's Day


One of the pleasures of living in Spain is that the Spanish have lots of holidays, and they take them seriously. And they take them wherever they fall -- there's none of this "move the day around to fit the corporate vacation schedule" kind of thing. So if the holiday happens to fall on a Tuesday, for instance, you're going to observe it on Tuesday. And Monday. Because there's a fondness for creating "puentes," or bridges, between mid-week holidays and the weekend.


In any case, San Isidro's day fell on a Tuesday. My sister (Carrie) and her boyfriend (Colin) had just arrived back in Madrid from their ramblings around Spain, so they were in the mood to be entertained. Actually, no wait -- Colin woke up quite sick and went to the ER with Jon. But that's another story.


So Carrie, the kids, and I went off in the morning to enjoy some park time in the cool of the day. Our friend the absurdist can-can dancer had also mentioned a parade at 11, so the plan was to make our way back from the park and enjoy the parade. Our friend the roulette-topped dancing can also noted that a) the parade would take place in the Piñar de San Isidro;  b) buses would be available, because there's no parking in this particular Piñar; and that c) following the parade, they'd be serving a local treat. A three-fer for the Starhills, who love treats, parades, and bus rides, in that order.  Jon googled Piñar de San Isidro, and to our delight, it's apparently this very large man-made hill that we overlook from our apartment. So we took the bus back from the park at 11:00 to find....nobody. Not a soul around. Definitely not a parade.


We walked back up toward the center of town, hoping to locate said parade. And as we came up onto Montes, there was a giant bus with about 100 senior citizens clamoring to get on. The sign on the bus said "Piñar de San Isidro," so we ran for the bus (me carrying Seth) and hopped on. 

The bus took the scenic tour of Alcobendas, then it took the scenic tour of the road to the airport, then it took the scenic tour through some actual farmland. I was starting to get nervous: on a bus with three kids, no idea where we're going, no food, 100 seniors and my sister (Carrie loves to chat up random seniors, which usually required intervention on my part, as her Spanish was sketchy). Plus I had a 1:00 meeting. Would we end up in Madrid? Carrie maintained that the parade was there. Would we end up deposited in the middle of nowhere? Possible, because that's where we were.  Would we end up a casino named San Isidro in Barcelona? Given the average age on the bus, I couldn't rule that out. 


As it turns out, it was option (B). The bus pulled over next to a farm, let everyone out, and we commenced following everyone up a very long dirt driveway to the Piñar, which turns out to be a picnic ground with lots of pine trees and a tiny little church. We arrived to find this in progress-- the town band, complete with marching oboe section:

Now for those of you who don't know, I played the oboe in high school (and a bit in college). I still have nightmares of breaking my reed on the music stand just moments before a solo, turning to my reed case, and finding only duds. A scarring experience, replayed a few times a year right before dawn. I imagine that marching with the oboe would only be more nerve-wracking. But perhaps there's been some new reed technology in the last 20 years. 


Following the oboe section were some folks dressed up and carrying various artifacts, including a statue of the baby Jesus.

They proceeded to the church, held a service, and served the treats. As a measure of how exhausted the Starhills were after all this, they actually declined the treat to go wait in line for the next bus home. In the line, predictably, Carrie charmed the 80+ crowd. 


So the lesson here, and this is an overarching lesson for our year in Spain, is that the unofficial motto of the place (and especially of our erstwhile guide, the absurdist dancing can) should be "Whatever happened last year, it'll happen that way again this year." There doesn't seem a need to do anything, for example, like provide directions or tell people exactly where events will occur, because most people here have been there/done that, and why waste the ink?


Part III: Children's theater


OK, I promise this one will be short. In the US, we've taken the kids to see a particularly excruciating children's band. The scenario goes something like this: seven young adults, dressed up as robots (or mice, or whatnot), playing too-loud rock music, elaborate set, some plot involving outer space. Jon and I have no idea how any of these adults make money off the show, given their numerosity and expensive sound equipment/set.


On a day that the big kids + Jon were out of town, I took Seth to a children's show here. The scenario went something like this: eight young adults, dressed up as rat robots from outer space (I kid you not), a trampoline (on which bounced a very buxom rat-robot), loud rock music, and plot involving the smelling of cheese. Which they did, admirably. 


Part IV:  Orchestra Blue


So after departing from the children's theater, Seth and I decided to wind our way home via the main drag in Alcobendas, which consists of a plaza outside of the Montes bakery. There, our little absurdist dancing can friend had promised that there's be "Orchestra Blue" performing at 8. So we pulled into the square, and it looked a lot like it does during the day -- seniors all lined up on the benches around the square, except they're all squished in because their wives are actually there too, rather than home cooking lunch. 


The orchestra starts playing. They look remarkably unlike an orchestra. In fact, they look like a rock band:

And in fact, their first song is a roots-rock American tune. 


The good citizens of Alcobendas sat still on their benches, impassively staring at the scene. I wondered what they'd do next. Continue to be polite but non-expressive? Ignore the band and start to talk about politics or futbol? Get up and wander off? Riot? 


Nope. They got up and danced:

The music did eventually turn to Spanish standards, which only encouraged more to come out.

So that's San Isidro, 2012. And the long-promised marching oboe section post. Next up: the Wildflowers of Spain. Don't laugh -- they're very, very beautiful. You'll see.

 

The Montes brothers

I walked into the store the other day, and all three were there. I took it as a sign from above and got them to pose for a picture.

 

Not the best picture, but I didn't want to push my luck. The one on the left (Antonio) is one who seems to be in charge of the shop. The brother who has a habit of arguing with the seniors is on the right.

Notable

We are winding down the school year as well as our stay here. Jon and I are both in denial -- I convinced him that we could easily pack and clean the entire apartment the day before we leave, so that we don't have to disturb our otherwise perfect lifestyle with suitcases and the like. I STILL owe our loyal readers (i.e., the grandparents) a long story about the local marching oboe section. However, before getting to that, here's some more scattered thoughts about our last couple weeks/last week here. Sort of organized by theme....

Things I am proud of:

- I managed to memorize neither my cell phone number nor my home number this year. Little slips of paper with these things written on them = wave of the future.

- Our kids speak Hebrew with a Spanish accent

- Our kids speak Spanish. It is like a miracle to me, I swear, every time I hear them chattering on with their friends. Seth can't conjugate a verb to save his life and has a Texas accent, but he can at least get by and the other two are regular locals. Our Spanish friends have in fact gleefully commented "No accent!" about the older ones. Which I take to mean "Not only no American accent, but none of that terrible South American accent either!"

Part of the miracle is that our kids now know how to do something that we have had very little hand in teaching them, and they are in fact far better at speaking/reading Spanish than either Jon or I. I feel lucky to have reached this point so early on in our kids' lives.


Things I will miss
- Montes bread. And the occasional verbal brawling that take place between the owners and clientele.

- Being able to order beer with breakfast. Not that I do, but it's just strange to me that neither Dunkin Donuts nor Starbuck's has beer on tap. All the similar institutions in Alcobendas do.

- Loooonnng social gatherings. Some friends organized a picnic for us a couple weekends ago, and it was just a lovely day -- feed kids, watch them play in mud, sit in shade, talk, eat, talk some more. No wonder Americans never feel like they never get a chance to know people -- we don't spend enough time together doing nothing.

- The generous and wonderful Jewish school community. Especially upon leaving, it's become even more clear that we've been so lucky this year to land in a fabulous school, one where everyone (teachers, aides, office staff, principal, parents) have been so kind and thoughtful toward our family and children. Just as an example, Nora was sick for 4 days last week, and she received numerous emails and phone calls from friends and teachers. There's also been many parties and presents for kids leaving the school, which is very touching.

- We've also been impressed by the quality of instruction at the school. There's nothing like reading the Torah (or listening to oral stories) to get your kids thinking and talking (and occasionally debating) about important issues. The math, as well, has been particularly strong -- Nora's book is well-designed, conceptually grounded, and even (I think) challenging for her, in terms of requiring some out-of-the-box thinking. Nathan has flourished as well, we think because the teachers have seen that he's far ahead in some subjects (especially math, where he occasionally likes to try Nora's homework) and met him where he's at.

Miscellaneous

- Seth can't seem to keep his girlfriend straight. There's a few blonde preschoolers at the pool, so it's easy to see how difficult a task this would be for a 3-year-old. Carolina, the object of his affection last Friday, appeared at the pool a few days later. Jon pointed her out but Seth shrugged, commenting "That's not Carolina, that's Olivia." Carolina speaks Spanish and Olivia speaks French, so they're kind of hard to confuse, but oh well.  Seth went back to playing with the boys, ignoring Carolina even when she came over to talk to him. Maybe this is how he's chosen to mend his broken heart (see last Seth-related post).

- So upon hearing some friends talk about scheduling something for the "afternoon" -- and it being already 3:00 PM, I finally inquired about what constitutes morning and afternoon here in Madrid. Morning = before 2; afternoon = what my parents could call a Late Dinner -- perhaps 6 PM.

- We have a new observation to place in the sociological/phenomenological category titled "Why plan ahead?" School lets out on a Wednesday--tomorrow, in fact. Our kids have after-school sports on Wednesdays. For weeks, we asked the kids' after school teachers what the last day of after-school would be, and for weeks, they replied "The last day of school, of course." Last week I thought I'd give it one more shot, and asked the director whether we'd have class on the last day of school. Here's what transpired:

Me: Do we have class next week?
Andy: Of course!
Me: But it's the last....
Andy: Oh wait. Wait here.
[Goes into office, comes out 5 minutes later]
Andy: No after-school sports next week

This was decided, by the way, AFTER Seth and Nora's classes had let out. So there was no proper picture-taking or whatnot [though Nathan got one done for his class].

- In a similar vein, we got the graduation notice about 2 weeks ago. Just a note saying there'd be graduation, where it would be held, and that's pretty much it. Jon went up and engaged in extensive intelligence-gathering ("are we supposed to come?" "What goes on at these things?"), which led to the conclusion that the whole school is supposed to show up at said graduation. If we'd been better at writing on the blog this year, there'd be a whole entry on city- or school-based social events organized on the premise that "things are the same this year as they were last year, so we're not providing details because you should already know." This seems to be a common occurrence here. 

- As an aside, a few days ago the graduation time was actually moved to a bit earlier -- Spain is playing in the semi-finals of the EuroCopa, can't have anyone missing that.

- Speaking of the EuroCopa, I mostly haven't been watching the broadcast, but can always tell when Spain scores, because for a few minutes it sounds like I'm sitting in the middle of a soccer stadium. A loud cheer rises in unison from the city, followed by honking horns, hollering, fireworks. Why pay the big bucks for a ticket when you can watch on your large-screen TV and get pretty much the total experience at home?

Town band

So it's 9:30 pm, and I'm sitting in bed after a loong Saturday with the kids. Thinking about going to bed early. When out of the blue, I hear (we all hear) booming song, apparently coming from the nearby park.

We rush to the windows but can see nothing, because the other part of our ubanizacion is in the way. Nora conjectures that some folks are singing the Eliyahu, but Jon notes that it's pretty unlikely that there's a group of Jews gathered in a Madrid park for Havdalah services.

So I venture out and here's what's going on:

No, that man second from the left isn't wearing a kippah, that's just a reflection of light off the iPhone lens. No, this is actually the town band, with a chorus backing them up. I can tell because we've seen this conductor with his flock at every parade in Alcobendas (by the way, I owe you all some pictures of the marching oboe section).

Sound check was at 9:30. Concert started at 10. Here's part of the song that Nora thought was the Eliyahu -- I'm sure Nana can ID it for everyone who's interested. Some American composer, no doubt.

The pool is open!

Our urbanizacion's pool opened yesterday, much to the delight and excitement of the kids of the complex. We went down around 5, and by 5:30, the place was teeming with the under-10 set. Major happiness.

In particular, one of our children was especially thrilled:

Seth has a girlfriend. Her name is Carolina.

He spent the whole evening making googly eyes at her, playing with her, mooning around after her when she went to visit her parents, and teaching her how to use his toy squirter (in Spanish!). Here they are in the pool:

 At one point, they joined hands and promenaded down the entire length of the pool deck, stopping only briefly to grapple for a toy like the preschoolers they are. Once that spat was resolved, they continued their stroll:

When it came time to leave, Seth asked me whether he could hug Carolina (yes), then asked Carolina's mother whether he could hug her (yes) and then asked Carolina. That didn't go so well:

The good news is that Seth has a couple more weeks of pool dates to try to convince her for that hug.

In other news, Nora looks better in my glasses than I do:

Nathan was recently Harry Potter in the school play:

We have discovered a giant species of dandelion here in Madrid:

I'm sure our neighbors are hoping those seeds don't sneak across the Atlantic.

Fitting in

Not enough time to write -- we are getting ready to leave, which means the to-do list is mission critical. Throw in some travel and computer problems, and that's pretty much all the time I have. But here's a few thoughts on fitting in, after almost a year in Spain.

1) So at some point this spring, boys of Nathan’s age started carrying around futbol (soccer) cards from the Spanish, and more recently, European Cup leagues. It turns out that when these cards are stacked to 2-3 inches high, they act like magnets. Nathan will be walking along from school, pass a boy with such a stack, and the next thing you know the two are nose to nose, stack to stack, flipping through their decks like experienced Wall Street bond traders trying to close a deal.

The problem is that Nathan is an innocent. There have been many weekends when he opens a pack of cards at the store, screams with joy (“I got a SuperCrack for Ronaldo!”) and proceeds to crow about it all day. Then Monday comes, and he comes home from school sans Ronaldo—and all of his other good cards. This has been repeated for weeks on end.

There’s other disadvantages to the trading scene at school. There have been rogue traders, boys who take a great card and promise  to get “the card I left at home," and then don’t deliver. Then there’s the Federal-Reserve-type kids, who are willing to let their friends see their stash but don’t trade.

Mommie’s opinion about this situation has been that such experiences will give Nathan a deep and authentic understanding of the free market. Through such deep and authentic understanding, he will learn better how to operate in the real-world context. Daddy’s opinion has been that Nathan is losing all his good cards. Finally, while Mommie was gone on a business trip, Daddy broke down and provided direct instruction on how to keep the cards that are important, and trade up the chaff. We’ll see whether the direct approach means the Balon de Oro he got last night is intact later today.

2) Spanish word of the day: Ladron (thief)

So some of you may remember that Seth has a fondness for the caps on magic markers. He has spent a lot of this year spiriting them out of his classroom in his coat pockets, often adding comments like “Reina (his teacher) got two of them, but she didn’t get this one.” Now, perhaps because his teachers are searching the pockets more thoroughly, here’s what transpired today.

Seth walks out of the school, all sunny and happy to see Daddy as usual. When he gets past the perimeter of the teacher surveillance area, he reaches into his SOCKS and pulls out two marker caps. And some playdough. 

Unfortunately, Seth has no special love for the marker caps (or playdough) when he gets home – which means he’s not motivated by love of the object itself. Instead, it seems to be the thrill of the steal that drives his behavior. In 15 years, he’ll be the guy taking the SAT for every rich kid in town.  

3) So after almost a year here, we think we have finally figured out how to relax, Spanish-style. This was all sparked by a weekend daytrip down to our friends in Aranjuez*** which, to these Americans at least, was pretty much the height of social perfection. We met our friends and some of their friends, then played in a park*, saw a kids’ puppet show about starving kids in Africa**, played some more, went for a long lunch while the kids played soccer, went for coffee in a park while the kids played soccer and Uno, and then went to a street fair to collect dinner and see the fire-stoking iron man (let’s just say on this topic that there was iron in several senses of the word). Total elapsed time: 10 hours.

So this, in the 40-something American experience, is totally unheard of. We’re lucky to schedule an hour coffee date with a friend, much less spend a couple hours at their house for dinner. In fact, 40-something Americans may be somewhat freaked out by the idea of spending that much time in one social location. But here it’s actually pretty common (as far as we can tell), and there’s a lot to recommend it: when your kids are bugging you, it’s not like you need to choose between tending to your kids and talking to your friends, because you can do both. The combination of several families means there’s big kids and little kids, and they all play together, mostly nicely, leaving adults to conversation. Conversation is interesting because, well, you’re in España and people have interesting things to say. And best of all, this feeling of “I’m really doing nothing except enjoying the day” comes over you, which is pretty unheard of in 40-something America. And highly recommended.

Jon and I have discussed whether we could potentially import this custom back to Boston -- and I think the answer is no. Even if we were willing, there'd be a shortage, no doubt, of friends willing/able to wander around Arlington/Cambridge with us on account of everyone's crazy weekend schedule. Another reason to come back.

* The only downside to the day was that our friends’ daughter fell off the swings at said park and broke her collarbone – in two places. She wept a bit at the park, went to the ER, and came back pretty much her normal self – happy, smiling, and asking whether the 3-week ban on sports included playing goalie (her Mom: Yes, that includes goalie.). She didn’t complain once, which is either a tremendous personal accomplishment for elementary schooler, or a cultural difference, or both. If our kids (well, some of our kids, anyway) broke a bone, we’d be hearing about it for years afterwards.

** Mommie napped during the puppet show. Even better. 

*** Aranjuez is a kind of Spanish Ann Arbor -- college town, adorable and vibrant downtown, restaurants, good public transportation. Oh, and a royal summer palace.  With peacocks, whose name translates from Spanish as "Royal Turkeys."

Congrats, Noah!

In honor of cousin Noah's high school graduation.... Congratulations, Noah!