I couldn’t help but notice the amount
of old people walking the streets in Spain. Going shopping, buying fruits,
having coffee, or simply taking a leisurely afternoon stroll, gossiping,
through some of the busiest streets and plazas.
Women are often seen strolling hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, whether they
be mothers, daughters, grandchildren or friends. I’ve found the same for men, proudly walking with their hands clasped behind their back and even arm-in-arm. They
are everywhere and I mean everywhere.
You will also find them always dressed
in their Sunday best; men in suits, collared shirts under sweater vests and
polished leather shoes while the women are in their tweed blazers and skirts,
complete with accessories and their hair in perfectly wound curls. And the pantyhose, always in their
pantyhose. They very much still tend to
their personal appearance and take pride in dressing up and looking as
classically chic as they always have.
They’re out in public on a daily
basis and very much a part of a social community.
And they don’t seem to be bothered mingling in with the younger
generation, spending afternoons in the busiest parts of town, fighting through
the energetic crowd in the speed of… well, slow. Traffic-stopping slow, but still, they are
out there, on the move. Quite a contrast to that of the elderly community in
the states, where you will find them mostly outside of the city center.
Perhaps
one of my favorites is meeting Javier (or possibly Xavier since he’s Catalan)
and his group of salsa dancing friends at Plaça Catalunya. Every Friday afternoons, you will find them
posting up shop alongside storefronts, with a band, playing live music from
salsa, bossanova, samba, tango and more.
People, old and young, tourist and locals, gather around them to listen
to them play or watch them dance and pick their partners from the crowd. Which is exactly what Xavier did. While casually moving his hips to the music, he
reached out his hand and asked me to dance with him. And so I did.
He was
slick in his plaid sportscoat, silk tie, argyle socks and leather dancing shoes. We danced, he spun me around, made small talk in Spanish, asked me what I was doing
in Barcelona, and at the same time, gave me tips on how to tango. That it’s a passionate dance, una danza muy suave, and kept reminding
me, despacio, slow. He told me that they’re there every Fridays
and to come back again next Friday… same time, same place. I feel like he’s used this pick-up line
before. This isn’t his first dance.
He was adorable along with his group of friends.... the liveliest group of golden-agers I’ve seen. I regret not having my camera every time I saw them.
He was adorable along with his group of friends.... the liveliest group of golden-agers I’ve seen. I regret not having my camera every time I saw them.
Now, my
close friends are probably laughing as they read this since the butt of
their jokes has always been me and old men. What can
I say…. I have a soft spot for seniors. In that case, it looks like Spain is where I need to
be! ;)
[all eyes on futbol... including mine]
[comparing their shopping finds]
[a woman in each arm... what a lucky man]
[everyone, hand in hand]
