Monday, October 12, 2015

Bilbao and Enjoyment

Something that drew me to my husband is his ability to "Enjoy," as he says. In fact, that is one of his most frequent words to me, one of his most constant reminders. If it is a moment to enjoy, just live it with full concentration until it is over. Enter into it with all your energy and forget about everything else.

You need this time of enjoyment to have the energy for the "everything else" of life.

If it is a sunny day this means lunch on a terrace, with dessert and then a coffee added to extend his time, so that he can properly enjoy the sun and return to work refreshed. One of his frequent rants against anglo-saxon culture is its tendency to sit in front of a computer at work, eating a sandwich and a bag of crisps for lunch. "That is inhuman, and I am sure it is bad for the mind and terrible for the digestion."

I remember one of the first times I had Sunday lunch with his family. They started gathering around 2PM to snack on olives and almonds. 3PM brought the entrance of lunch, and at 5 we were still sitting around the table.

I was getting ancy around 2:30, so by 5:00 I was about to spontaneously combust. What are we DOING? Why are we sitting here? Don't we have things to DO? I don't understand this.

But, just enjoy. Enjoy sitting with nothing to do, talking about whatever comes up, laughing at ridiculous things. The work week is coming, so prolong the enjoyment as long as possible.

This past weekend we were in Bilbao for two days. What a beautiful city.




 It houses the Guggenheim Museum,




It is a city of incredible bridges,



And it even has a giant dog, made out of flowers,




We were there for a reunion of Marcos' old classmates to celebrate fifteen years since they graduated from their MBA program. These people studied together for two years, have kept in contact for the past fifteen, and their sheer excitement at spending time together was just lovely to see.

We began to convene at about 2:00, outside a bar in a beautiful square in Bilbao. We had some wine, chatted for about an hour, and then meandered five minutes down the road to the restaurant. Lunch started at three, was seven courses, and ended at 6:30. By now accustomed to the Spanish weekend lunch, this didn't phase me, but I was absolutely ready to get going and "do things." 

Namely, go to Massimo Dutti and buy the leather jacket that has stolen my heart.

....And perhaps go for a brisk walk to feel better about the monumental lunch I had just consumed. 

But no.

The next stop was a cocktail bar about a five minute walk away from the restaurant. We settled in there for gin and tonics. By eight PM, things seemed to be wrapping up, we started gathering our things, and I started to plot the quickest way to the shops, only to be pulled up short by another stop at a bar about a ten minute walk away from the previous one. Another round of drinks.

Ten P.M. rolled around. Surely people had to get home, have dinner, see their kids. 

But no. The kids were with the grandparents. There were still many things to enjoy.

And so, yet another bar, this time to eat some Pintxos, the Basque version of Tapas, and drink some more wine...

By this time I had no idea what was happening, or when it would end, but I knew that to fight against it was useless.

The evening finally ended, for me, at an 80's dance bar, aptly named "Bowie," which was about the size of a hallway, and so crammed with people that at one point a woman's bum was so firmly wedged against my stomach, I couldn't quite breath properly. 

Everyone in our group that night was at least a decade older than I, they all have between two and five children, and they all work stressful jobs in finance. I hit the wall first. By 1AM, having drunk for 11 hours straight I needed my bed.

Everyone else was still dancing strong when Marcos and I stumbled outside, expelled from the overstuffed bar like a cannon ball from a cannon. We walked about a block down the street, and I decided I couldn't move anymore. I just couldn't. We hailed a cab for the three minute drive to our hotel, and Marcos had to explain to the concerned driver as I sprawled out in the back seat occasionally emitting weak moans, that I was "muy cansada," having been defeated by his middle aged friends. As quickly as I could, I oozed into bed.

And this is what the long Spanish Sunday is for. After a day like that, there really is nothing else to be done, except to sit in the sun, in a square in the Old Town, drinking (more) wine, eating (more) pintxos, and enjoying the freedom to do nothing before the work week starts again.


And, frankly, it is remarkable how ready one becomes for the daily grind of the workaday week, when you have taken the time for enjoyment. 

It is a lesson I am still learning, that dedication to enjoyment is just as important as dedication to the work and serious tasks of one's life. But it is a worthy one, and a rather fun one.






6 comments:

  1. Maryyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Ha ha hahahhaaa! You write really well!!!! I've never imagined you was so astonished about our Sunday lunch! Maybe there are many things of our culture you find odd and we don't even think of it. Well, your adventure in Bilbao, it was a special event... I wouldn't have resisted it as well. But it is true there is a great pleasure in being with the loved people just being with them, nothing to do, paying attention to them and everybody trying to speak at the same time!!! Next time you come at home I will try we to finish a little bit earlier!!! I promise!!

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