I got home from the traumatologist, and the chicas were practicing. I could not have asked for a more perfect apartment. Alicia is like a lively bird. She must be one of the most vibrant people I've ever met, but still grounded. She seems like one of the most genuinely happy people I've met. The clarinet suits her, and I love listening to her play it. Marta is more serious in comparison, though not overly so. She is a really solid person; someone who seems totally trustworthy. I get the feeling that she is unusually talented. She was in Madrid for the weekend, playing a concert.
I feel I am doing pretty well with my Spanish; hanging out all night talking about culture and society, seeing three types of doctors and explaining my issues to them and getting their instructions in Spanish. But sometimes I mess up simple things.
Pablo, Alicia's boyfriend, was over and they were making strong coffee and eating sweets around 5:00. I understood that they were about to take an exam (in sociology and aesthetics of music). As I ran out of the house I wished them good luck for an exam they'd already taken.
I have to quit calling myself a male foreigner. "Perdon, soy extranjero," I say. The other day someone noticed, "Ah, eres extranjera," and I realised what I'd been doing all this time. Another one of my well used favorites is, "oh, yes, I will want to do that the other day but I couldn't,"... I need to study some verb tenses.
When I moved in last week, I had to ask if toilet paper could be flushed. I know numerous ways of saying, "where is the bathroom?" but have never had the need to refer directly to the toilet itself. I stopped in mid-sentence, "can I throw paper in the ... cosa (thing)?" They rattled off whatever word meant toilet and I didn't hear it. I tried again to make sure I'd understood that I could indeed flush it, and Marta said very kindly and without making fun of me, but with a smile in her voice, "yes you can throw it in the cosa".
I don't think my foot has any fractures, but I am still going to get an x-ray. The traumatologist is the guy with lots of degrees, who does the least for you, but costs the most. The podologa analysed my walking and made insoles that are significantly affecting my overall body posture. This was a mere E130. The osteopata adjusted my neck, checked my skeleton over in detail and massaged my neck and shoulders in a style which cost him great physical effort, and only charged me E30 for 1.5 hours! The traumatologist bent a few parts of my body, wiggled my toes a bit and wrote me an invitation for an x-ray. That cost E120. Will be E70 for the follow up and then more for the x-ray itself.
I've visited them between 6 and 9 at night because those are normal working hours, since the afternoon is not. Also notable is the total lack of receipts for money paid. Neither the podologa, the osteopata, nor the traumatologo gave me any receipt at all, and in each case, I paid money during one visit that would partly or wholly cover the next one coming up (I had the option to pay during the first visit or the second, whichever I preferred, in two out of the three cases).
In totally disparate news, I think one of the most attractive men I've ever laid eyes on (well only on TV or in a magazine) must be Fernando Rivera, the torero. Before I came here I had a hazy idea of bullfighting and didn't think they necessarily still did it or at least took it as seriously as they do. Anyways, he is a terribly good looking guy who has the most glamorous, dangerous and romantic job (not that I actually even agree with bullfighting being an acceptable thing to do, due to the cruelty!) I was fortunate enough to find a copy of "Hola" in the waiting room of the traumatologist, a trashy rag dedicated to celebrities. Perhaps part of the attraction is how sweet of a person he appears to be juxtaposed against the profession. I think somewhere in the back of my head, the part that might have ever stored any ideas about bullfighters, is an idea that they would be really rough and dirty with scars all over. They had a picture of him in his sleek and modern living room with his brother and two paintings of bulls on the wall between them. One was like a splatter painting - more like a suggestion of a bull, but with lines that made the horns obvious; and the other was a kind of primary colour minimalist red cape with bull horns behind.
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