Thursdays with Myself

Thursdays have become the day with which I mark time, the day of the week around which the rest of the days revolve. Every Thursday I find myself thinking about the days before and the days to come, the past and the future, it’s the board from which I spring into the rest of the days of the week. Thursday is the first day I have off of work after three days in a row and it’s also the day on which I have the most time to myself. Thursdays in Spain have taught me how to spend my free time, how to make an endless amount of time and space into a fulfilling and personal one. On most Thursdays I sleep in a little bit, though sleeping in for me means waking up at 8 as opposed to 6:30. I make myself a strong cup of coffee in my little silver percolator and I sit on the balcony next to my blooming basil plant and I look out across the ocean outside my window while the seagulls call above me. My slow cup of coffee accompanies other lazy morning activities like letter writing, reading (right now “The Picture of Dorian Gray” in English and “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” in Spanish, and Spanish learning.

After my cup of coffee I usually go to the center to meet my two new friends, Cristina and Silvia. Silvia answered my “intercambio” ad at the School of Languages and we started meeting to exchange conversation practice in our respective languages. They’re both older than me, but I’ve had a wonderful time passing a few morning hours with them each week talking about many different subjects. Silvia is in her thirties and is dark skinned, with big brown eyes and short brown hair. She laughs often and is quite shy with her English. When she starts a sentence in English she stirs in her chair as though she’s getting ready to jump of a bridge. She teaches salsa classes for a living and is an incredible cook. She has two kids named Victor and Lucia, and she even invited me to come live with her in her house, with no rental fee, to practice English with her kids. Cristina is also in her thirties and is Silvia’s cousin. She’s very fair-skinned, has a million little freckles on her face, and has big and interested blue eyes and blonde hair. She studied pedagogy and now works at a language institute teaching teachers how to be good at their jobs. We spend a few lazy hours that pass quickly sitting at a café and talking about politics, love, careers, and cultural practices. I’ve really come to appreciate having friends who are a little bit older than me and being able to talk with them as though we’re equals. The perspectives that they give and the advice that they bestow is incredibly wise.

After my intercambio date, I usually go for a long, explorative walk around a new part of the city. The nice thing about Malaga is that it’s so big that I think I’ll continue to get lost until the day that I leave. But getting lost and then finding my way again has become my favorite pastime.

After my meandering stroll I go to the public library, which is also the cultural epicenter of Malaga, and I find a new book on the shelves and sit at one of the brown wooden tables by a big window and read for a few hours. My mind craves another coffee around this time so I make my way to Plaza de Merced, where Picasso did most of his musings, and I go to a little coffee shop and tea house called El Pintor. I order a caffe con leche and sit in the sun watching the people pass by, writing in my journal as my mind is fed with inspiration.

My stomach starts growling and I look at my watch to see that it’s already almost two o’clock, when most of the stores and markets close for the daily siesta. I ask for my check, pay my smiling waiter, and head towards the Mercado Ataranzas to buy fruits and vegetables to make lunch. The market is huge and crowded at this time, as everyone is scrambling to buy before the start closing down the stands. There’s everything from fresh fish, to buckets of olives, to avocadoes, grapes and amazing cheese. I buy a kilogram of red and white grapes, a few avocadoes, tomatoes and cucumbers and a bag of Aloran olives, made with rosemary and garlic. Finally I go to a cheese stand and buy local manchego cheese and a baguette. My stroll home takes about half an hour and I arrive to my apartment just as my roommate is getting back from work. We make lunch together and sit at our little dining room table, catching up on our days.

After an afternoon siesta, during which I never do actually sleep, I put on my running shoes and go out by the water to run along the Paseo Maritimo, which spans the entire length of the Malagan coast. I run alongside hundreds of other runners, bikers, rollerbladers and walkers as the sun is setting in the horizon. After a long stretch and a warm shower, we make dinner together – usually a big salad with all kinds of vegetables, a tortilla de patate and grilled vegetables – and we dine with a glass of red wine. Some nights we go out into the city after dinner and seek the nightlife, other nights we settle for a movie in Spanish or a quiet reading before bed. Whatever it is that ends each Thursday passes quickly, and ticks the Thursdays away like leaves falling from trees.