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While we were in the area, we went to check out the ABC Serrano mall that was advertised in the tourist materials we had gotten from the tour company on the first day.
I have to say I was disappointed. Not by the prices; every single store in the mall is having 40-60% off sales. But still, there was hardly anyone there. I looked around for nice shoes; alas, the fashion this year is not to my taste, and those shoes that did look fairly nice had very thin, hard soles, and I have reached the age, and have walked enough miles and danced enough at rehearsals, that the comfort of a shoe is just as important as its appearance, so I just kept on walking in my Clarks. Somehow a mall during a recession, when the largest towers in Spain are standing empty because no one can swing their leasing fees, is just not as fun. The glyptodont and the Toledo knife may be the only things I will bring back.
We fled that most depressing of malls, and decided that we did not feel like grocery shopping, so we finally checked out the tapas bar restaurant a few metres from our hotel.
We both had the salad, and then I picked a filet of steak while my brother ended up getting fish, because he was not sure what boquerones were on the menu (they're little sardine-like fish.) Flipping through the menu, which was trying to be bilingual, we cracked up at the sight of "Raciones y Tapas" being translated as "Shares and Lids."
I snapped a photo, to find the waiter standing over my shoulder. So we got into a discussion with him as to what the rest of the world calls tapas --- 'tapas,' I do believe. So we told him about Canada, and about how much housing costs and what the minimum wage is for a waiter (he at first asked how much the weekly wage is for a normal person, and um, I can tell him mine, but I'm not a normal person. I told him how much my apartment was, too.)
He told us that he was from Colombia, and all his life he had been told to go to the U.S., it's the land of opportunity, but he could not make it to the U.S, while no one was mentioning going to Europe. So he had ended up in Europe, spent some time in Germany and Switzerland before spending the last fourteen years now in Spain. Having the same language did not help as much as we thought it did. He complimented me on my Castilian, by the way, which made me happy. So I told him about this being the second time I was in Spain, the first time having been in Soria, which, ironically, my mineral water was from (a drink was included, and I asked for water. In esprit d'escalier, I later thought of asking for wine instead, but by then it was too late.)
He was fun. And the food was pretty good, especially at the price. Even though this would be the first three-course meal with restaurant-sized plates I've eaten in...maybe two years, and oh gods I do not generally eat this much.
So that is the end of today's stories so far.
I have to say I was disappointed. Not by the prices; every single store in the mall is having 40-60% off sales. But still, there was hardly anyone there. I looked around for nice shoes; alas, the fashion this year is not to my taste, and those shoes that did look fairly nice had very thin, hard soles, and I have reached the age, and have walked enough miles and danced enough at rehearsals, that the comfort of a shoe is just as important as its appearance, so I just kept on walking in my Clarks. Somehow a mall during a recession, when the largest towers in Spain are standing empty because no one can swing their leasing fees, is just not as fun. The glyptodont and the Toledo knife may be the only things I will bring back.
We fled that most depressing of malls, and decided that we did not feel like grocery shopping, so we finally checked out the tapas bar restaurant a few metres from our hotel.
We both had the salad, and then I picked a filet of steak while my brother ended up getting fish, because he was not sure what boquerones were on the menu (they're little sardine-like fish.) Flipping through the menu, which was trying to be bilingual, we cracked up at the sight of "Raciones y Tapas" being translated as "Shares and Lids."
I snapped a photo, to find the waiter standing over my shoulder. So we got into a discussion with him as to what the rest of the world calls tapas --- 'tapas,' I do believe. So we told him about Canada, and about how much housing costs and what the minimum wage is for a waiter (he at first asked how much the weekly wage is for a normal person, and um, I can tell him mine, but I'm not a normal person. I told him how much my apartment was, too.)
He told us that he was from Colombia, and all his life he had been told to go to the U.S., it's the land of opportunity, but he could not make it to the U.S, while no one was mentioning going to Europe. So he had ended up in Europe, spent some time in Germany and Switzerland before spending the last fourteen years now in Spain. Having the same language did not help as much as we thought it did. He complimented me on my Castilian, by the way, which made me happy. So I told him about this being the second time I was in Spain, the first time having been in Soria, which, ironically, my mineral water was from (a drink was included, and I asked for water. In esprit d'escalier, I later thought of asking for wine instead, but by then it was too late.)
He was fun. And the food was pretty good, especially at the price. Even though this would be the first three-course meal with restaurant-sized plates I've eaten in...maybe two years, and oh gods I do not generally eat this much.
So that is the end of today's stories so far.
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