Beer Run

This weeks topic: Introduction to the Illicit Purchase of Beer (A Primer).

It's a warm night in the plaza and everyone is sitting in a circle enjoying a congregation of friends, but at some point all the cups go from being half full to entirely empty. No metaphor intended.... Someone has to pony-up and buy some more beer for the greater good, for conversation and for general well being. In most places this would constitute an obstacle after ten in the evening, when all the dispensaries of oat soda close their shutters, even though the night has just begun. But not here. Not in Spain. There are, in fact, several solutions to this problem.

But before the solutions, a little background. After the too-long-lived fascist General Franco died, there was a sudden outpouring of liberal youth culture in Madrid that produced a signature style of painting, film, literature and music, called the Movida madrileña. On of the favorite pastimes of the newly liberated young people was basically sit in plazas with a big bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage and share it with friends, a tradition which came to be known as the botellón (big bottle). Though the Movida is long gone, people still enjoy spending the night together in the open air conversing and avoiding the unreasonably high prices charged at clubs and bars. Sometimes there are even street performers and musicians to add a little ambiance. I've seen four piece bands consisting of guitar, violin, flute and accordion, jugglers that will toss around anything you give them, and even people offering five minute massages. Spending a few hours in one of Madrid's hundreds of plazas is a phenomenal way to see first hand what the locals do on a Friday night.

Now, back to the conundrum: the paucity of beer. Here are the ways this issue can be solved:


Solution 1: A Friends House - Often, when meeting friends, the plaza chosen is centrally located for all the participants so everyone lives near by, and much of the time someone has some bottles of beer in their fridge. This is the least imaginative answer to the puzzle because all it requires is for one of the group to scurry back to their flat and return with some of their reserves.

Solution 2: Street Vendors - Any plaza worth its salt will have a number of highly organized street vendors working the crowds in the attempt to make a few extra euros. Somehow, even though they spend all night in the plaza, their beer remains constantly cold, perhaps by some ancient trick of the trade not revealed to outsiders. If you look closely you will see other people from their clan keeping a lookout for police, indicating that this is most certainly an illegal activity. At the drop of a hat all of the vendors in a plaza might simply disappear at speeds that would put most ninjas to shame, signaling the arrival of the authorities. As soon as the police lights go away, the vendors slink back out from the shadows and continue their illicit trade. A sudden vendor evacuation is a truly amusing and awe inspiring sight to see if executed by professionals.

There are other species of vendors too. Some prefer to take the passive approach and let the customers come to them. They will stand on a corner and quietly advertise their wares to passersby. These are my favorite people to buy beer from because they often have some sort of magic trick which turns five euros into a six-pack of watery lager. Sometimes they will hide their hooch in a plant pot down the street, or under a construction scaffolding in a seemingly empty fast food bag. In most cases there is a certain degree of showmanship in watching them pull a cold six pack out of a top hat or from behind your ear.

Solution 3: The Speakeasy - I only know of a couple of these places, but they can be almost as fun to patronize as the previously mentioned street vendors/beer magicians. They are little convenience stores open late and you can spot one by the twenty year old canned goods and yellowed advertisements in the window. A lot of times it looks like no one has purchased a product in years, or on the other side, the shelves are almost completely empty and anything that was in any way edible was purchased while Franco was still alive.

When you ask for the goods, one of the proprietors of the establishment will go out front to keep an eye out while the other fishes around through ice-cream and frozen pizza to produce a couple of bottles of beer. If you want wine from them this is even more fun. It often involves climbing a ladder to move aside either cleaning products or Wheaties cereal boxes with Babe Ruth on the front, depending on whether you want red or white wine.

After you've payed you have to do some secret agent level smuggling (upon the insistence of the owners) and very conspicuously hide the giant liter bottles under your coat or hat. It would be mildly embarrassing if it weren't so ridiculous.

Beer fortress erected in Plaza San Ildefonso. The only qualification for entry was not wearing pants.

If you come to Madrid and want to meet some locals and experience the true madrileño night life there is no better way to do so than in a plaza. And if you run out of beer (which you inevitably will), you now have a basic idea of how to readily lay hands on more and have a little fun at the same time. The quicker you procure the black-market booze, the quicker you can triumphantly return to the circle, like the hunter back to the tribe, and continue your evening in the company of good friends. Which, in the end, is what the botellón is all about.

Things here are slow...

As many of you out there probably know, about a year ago I decided to move to Spain in order to teach English and do a little traveling on the side. As a freshman guiri, slang for white foreigners in Spain, there was a lot for me to adjust to in that first year. From the language which I knew very little of thanks to a lot of nap time in sixth and seventh grade, to  impossibly minute proportions of appliances, to the general pace of life, I was basically reduced to being an infant again. And the general pace of life thing... that is where I want to kick this off.

Anyone who has spent a reasonable amount of time in any major metropolis in the US knows that there is a typical bustling pace to everything. Everyone walks, talks, eats, lives, etc. at a brisk pace. I grew up in and around Chicago so I am no country boy by any stretch of the imagination, nor am I a true urbanite. Most of my formative years were spent in the vast stretches of suburbia that encircle the city. None the less, I am familiar with the accelerated life that prevails in America.

Whenever I am walking down the sidewalk I find myself overtaking everyone in front of me as if they were standing still, and, well... a lot of the time they are. If I had to describe the speed at which Spaniards walk I would call it a slow, aimless meander to a complete stop. Which, if you like to cut things a little close with your commute, can be a serious problem. Often, when running late to a lesson or appointment, I find myself cursing under my breath as I wade my way through a sea of knobby-kneed octogenarian nuns, push over dwarfs, topple strollers and maybe punch a kitten or two in order to make it on time. You have to do terrible things to get somewhere on schedule.

And it's not just walking. Absolutely every activity in the Spanish day is preformed at a sauntering pace. On my way back from a recent trip to Berlin I couldn't help but notice that out of the dozen airlines that were assigned to that particular terminal at the airport, Iberia, the principle airline of Spain, was not only the only check-in counter with a line, but the line stretched halfway around the terminal. It goes without saying that if you have to deal with the bureaucracy here, you have to enter some god-forsaken limbo of a ministry filled with stacks of inane paperwork and people who generally don't give a shit about their job, and it is here you can expect to spend the next eon or two.

Though this comes off initially as ragging on the Spanish lifestyle, it is meant to be more a cathartic moment for me. I just need to get this out of my system. In reality I think that this "take life as it comes" approach is a drastic improvement over the work-yourself-to-death mentality that causes so many Americans to have heart attacks and strokes and buy guns to shoot everything at their office each year. Perhaps it is no accident that many Spaniards live to superannuated stages. This year I need to learn to slow down a little. Who cares if I'm four or five or twenty minutes late? Most of my students could care less, so there is no reason for me to build up massive pit-stains in an attempt to appear "professional," or "punctual."

The title of this blog is meant to be a reminder to me to do exactly this... Slow The Fuck Down! It is a sort of saying here in Madrid... mañana. "Oh, you say that you need that ASAP?" mañana. "It's of critical importance, now is it?" mañana. "You think your having a heart attack and need emergency medical assistance?" mañana.

By the way, mañana means tomorrow.