| A
night on the town: Dinners, drinks and dancing |
Here
is a detailed description of what it's like to go
out in Barcelona. Although Spain is a relaxed culture,
their social life is diametrically opposite and it
is very structured. In fact, it's structured right
down to when and where you can have your first cocktail
of the night. If you live in Barcelona this is something
you should heed, but if you are visiting just do what
you'd like but remember that restaurants typically
don't open until 9:00 at night and bars don't start
jumping until after midnight.
Just remember, going out to dinner in Spain is often
more than merely dinner; it can be an entire night.
In fact, going out for a Spanish evening is like a
marathon, if you even attempt to sprint you're screwed.
You're in it for the long haul. Let's take a typical
night out with a large group of Spanish people in
the age range for 23-37. This is usually a group of
8 or larger so you can safely assume everything will
take about twice as long as if it were just you and
another person. That means there is a lot of prep
work for this big marathon. The best defense is to
nap before the dinner. Then it's hydrate and stretch
out time. You're gearing up. It's show time, let the
marathon begin!
The evening usually starts out slow, a few "pica
picas" which are small appetizers like olives,
bread with tomato and potato chips. (Yes, potato chips.
For some reason potato chips are common appetizers,
even in fancy restaurants.) People are still a little
timid about diving into the bottles of red wine that
litter the table, but that's probably a good thing
because the more water you drink now, the happier
you'll be the next day. Marathon runners need to hydrate!
Then comes the "primeros" which typically
are salads, grilled vegetables, cured ham and dried
meats (sort-of like salami). More wine. By this time
you're looking around to see what people are wearing
and you may even watch with envy as the other half
of the table seems to be having more fun.
The next course is the "segundos" which
typically are some kind of fish or meat, usually grilled.
You may even indulge in French fries or Catalan white
beans at this point. More wine and people usually
forget about the water by now. The conversation is
at full boil and the cigarettes are starting to be
lit. In no time the room will be saturated with smoke.
Then come desserts. Most favorites are Crema Catalana,
which is like Crème Brûle without the
"Brûle"; ice cream; flan; or an apple
tart. A round of coffees follow the dessert: an espresso,
a "cortado" (espresso with a little milk)
or a "carajillo" (espresso with liquor).
The smoke in the air is suffocating the non-smokers,
but nobody seems to care. An after-dinner liqueur
and yet another cigarette often follows up coffee.
Eventually somebody asks for the bill, everyone pitches
in and the wait staff is left with a messy table and
an 8% tip… and that's for good service.
This sounds like lots of food, but it isn't because
in Spain portions are smaller so you leave feeling
full, but not overindulged. This is important because
you're not going home to sleep off the food, but rather
you're going to dance it off.
Outside the group forms and everyone decides where
to go for drinks. This is the critical point when
you CANNOT back out and go home, remember this
is a marathon. No matter how tired you are
you have at least an hour left before you can sneak
out because of the critical one-drink-at-the-bar.
So, back to the marathon. You go with the group and
you have a drink or two at a bar known as being a
"first drink" bar. Here people mainly drink
hard alcohol mixed with soda. For some unknown reason
whiskey and coke seem to be the rage, but let's face
it, how many people really like whiskey? I think they
drink it just because it's popular and they feel cool.
Here at the "first drink bar" you talk,
you drink and you smoke. (Even if you're not a smoker
you are smoking everyone else's cigarette smoke. Believe
me you'll smell it all again the next day when you
take a whiff of your clothes.) Then it's time to move
on to either a "second drink bar" or a club
and at this point if you were bent on leaving, it
is socially acceptable to announce your intentions
and leave. Usually by this time my adrenaline has
kicked in and the next few miles to the finish line
feel like a breeze. OK, fine, I'll admit it, the buzz
helps too! Then off the group goes to a dance club.
Now getting into the club is the thing I hate most.
If you have arrived right at the time that everyone
else is trying to get in, about 3:00 then you have
a few choices:
1)
You can stand in line and pay
2) If you are a regular you hope you can work your
way in for free
3) If you are a woman and good looking you can stand
there and try to look sexy and hope to get in
Whether you had paid an arm and a leg to get in or
whether you've worked your feminine mystique, you
get into the dance club and now it's time to dance.
The pumping music and pulsating lights makes even
the most timid of the wall flowers tap their feet.
It's a high! Spaniards usually dance in small groups
and normally with the people they know. Then anywhere
between 4:00 in the morning and 6:00 am the group
begins to diminish. After all, it may be a work night.
This is also the time that the normally timid Catalan
man becomes the hunter. In Spanish the term is "buitre"
which means vulture and it's used to describe this
man. He has built up enough courage (or enough alcohol
in the blood) to go out and make a move. But in all
fairness I would not want to be a single man in Spain.
It seems hard to break into these groups to meet someone
new and even if you do, remember, you are expected
to pay for her drinks.
If it isn't a work night, the evening can easily end
with breakfast at Café Paris. It's an interesting
site being at this cafeteria at about 6:00 in the
morning. All the revelers have poured out of the dance
clubs and regrouped for a greasy breakfast. Relentless
flirting continues, cars squeal away, loud voices
wake the neighbors and maybe even a fight breaks out.
For a sober person, it's a disgrace to humanity. For
a drunken person, it's a whole lotta fun!
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