Ser o Estar??

Dad, this is my boyfriend.

Estar de molestia. Ser una molestia.

Listen

Read phonetically

"Being in trouble." Be a hassle. Being in the way.

"I feel I´m in the way in the house." "I do not want to be a nuissance, ma'am ..." "Sorry for the bother, but I have a question."

It's what I've felt here in Madrid discomfort. Yesterday we saw a… , well a "life-lesson" as Dad loves to say.   

Felipe IV, y el culo de su caballo.

Jeannete and I were walking slowly from Puerta del Sol to the Parque de Retiro slowly, giving little turns and hiccups when we saw a man selling books on the street. The next manzana we found a church with beggars in front.  We found the library, a huge Corinthian building with 8 columns rising from a massive granite staircase, statues of Olympian gods, and almost completely barricaded by stone and iron fences. An building not quite sure of itself--a little insecure, perhaps overcompensating.    

And then we found the Parque del Retiro.  Huge park, stamped with little ponds, lakes and fountains and crested with hedges and green grass.  It is a haven in the city--exactly as the name leads you to believe: Refreshment, Retirement, Withdrawal, and definitely not "job" related.

We finally arrive at the iron gates of the Parque de Retiro. Little retirement or refreshment. We were welcomed by a gypsy from Dos Hermanas, Seville. "Come here pretty! Rosemary. A little rosemary!" I knew it then. I know it. I knew it, but the gypsy Susana had an amazing art. That rosemary cannot be ignored. That rosemary brings luck. That is a gift. Five minutes later, I walk away with a lighter wallet and three sprigs of very expensive and superstitious rosemary.  In five minutes, the sing-song lullaby of the gypsy Susana told me of my long-suffering life, the pains in my heart, the curse of the evil-eye, the future boyfriend (dark-skinned--olé!), the two months time before I come back to Madrid and tell her, the good heart of Jeannete, that I must trust Jeannete as she is trustworthy, that I will have a long life, that I will have a happy life… oh yes, and that Jeannete gets a blond boyfriend.  The most amazing part of this street performance was the both the consistency in rhythm and intonation, but also the rhymes. Each third sentence seemed to rhyme.  And as we spoke with several gypsies that day, each gitana, María, Susana, and Ana (or was her name Isabel) had their own songs.  “Mi nombre es María, ya verás que de mi se fía.”  Or the ever classic: "Como me llamo Susana, dinero no me darás con mala gana.”. La Susana left with 30 euros. And the worst part is that I knew it, I knew it beforehand.

Despite the various protests, the uncomfortable hand-grabbing, and the awkward hand-extraction, I wed this Madrid-uncomfort with the ancient, primitive, and perhaps barbaric Spanish tradition tradition involving the free (humph!) exchange of money with gypsies for the purpose of superstitious cleansing.  Interesting ritual, and a Spanish custom that has taken, at minimum, three hundred years to form.  The gypsies of Borrow, those of Delacrois, those of Smith, Bird, Valera, Sender, Onetti, to be included in such an illustrious list, even out of stupidity, makes the experience a little sweeter.  Eiko, she didn´t say anything about blue eyes.  But according to María (and this time not Susana), I will have three children.  Gory, aren´t you happy for me!