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Routines. Rutinas

Once a month and a half (almost two) have passed by in Montréal I can say that I have established a routine. And that routine. Getting up on Friday morning, yet early, and leisurely have breakfast looking out the window at the squirrels that live in the tree in front (they are everywhere). Walking around the neighborhood while its still autumn. Approaching the Fairmount bakery to buy a bagel (they say they are the best of America, and I believe it). Take a look at second hand stores (thrift shop) and go around without a coat, just wearing a tank to catch the last rays of sun on the skin.

In one of those wonderful walks I try to take often, alone or accompanied, not knowing why I walked into a winter boots store. Before I knew instinctively I had entered a paradise where I felt totally out of place. What kind of luxury was this? To give you an idea, I even did not dare to look carefully at the boots, advancing in my mind the possible price to pay for such a craft. The clerk looked at me with pity, however kindly offered to help me. I rejected immediately, lest coax me with their wiles.

He looked at my boots, a pair of normal Snipe (they are very common in Spain), and asked where they were from.

"From a spanish brand" I said.

"So you're from there?" (never be able to get rid of my adorable spanish accent) .

" Yes, from Madrid, but I live in Pamplona " .

" Really? Then I'll give you a surprise " he said with a mischievous half smile .

He picked up the phone and talked to someone briefly. Then a woman hovering low forties, long hair and brown eyes, and a warm smile says "Hello, how are you? Spanish ? ". We talked for half an hour. She tells me she is half from Zaragoza, half from Valencia, and has an uncle in Pamplona. She came to America thirty years ago, daughter of immigrant parents that by hazards of life choose to settle in Montreal. Till today. Warmly she gives me her number and tells me not to forget going to watch Barça – Madrid at the Spanish club with her family and friends.

A nice match for a quiet autumn morning. Routines.

Una vez pasado mes y medio (casi dos) en Montréal puedo decir que he establecido una rutina. Y que rutina. Levantarse los viernes por la mañana, eso sí, temprano, y desayunar tranquilamente mirando por la ventana a las ardillas que viven en el árbol de enfrente (están por todas partes). Pasear por el barrio tranquilamente mientras dure el tiempo de otoño, acercarse a la panadería Fairmount a comprar una bagel (dicen por ahí que son las mejores de Norteamérica, y yo me lo creo), echar un vistazo a las tiendas de segunda mano (thrift shop), e ir aún sin abrigo, con una camiseta sin más para poder recibir los últimos rayos de sol en la piel.

En uno de esos maravillosos paseos que intento dar muy a menudo, sola o acompañada, entré sin saber por qué en una tienda de botas de invierno. Sin darme cuenta me había adentrado instintivamente en un paraíso dónde me sentía totalmente fuera de lugar. ¿Que lujo era aquél? Para que os hagáis una idea, no me atreví siquiera a mirar las botas con detenimiento, adelantando en mi mente el posible precio a pagar por semejante artesanía. El dependiente me miró con lástima, sin embargo se ofreció amablemente a ayudarme, ofrecimiento que rechacé de inmediato, no fuera a ser que me engatusaran con sus artimañas.

Miró mis botas, unas Snipe de toda la vida, y me preguntó de dónde eran.

"De una marca española" dije yo.

"¿Así que eres de allá?" (jamás lograré librarme de mi adorable spanish accent).

"Si, de Madrid, pero vivo en Pamplona".

"¿En serio? Pues te voy a dar una sopresa" dijo con con una sonrisa medio pícara.

Coge el teléfono y habla con alguien brevemente. En seguida baja una mujer rondando los cuarenta, melena larga y ojos marrones, y con una sonrisa afable me dice "Hola, ¿que tal? ¿española?". Hablamos durante media hora. Me cuenta que es mitad Zaragozana mitad Valenciana, y que tiene un tío en Pamplona. Llegó a Norteamérica hace ya treinta años, de padres emigrados que por azares de la vida deciden establecerse en Montréal. Y aquí siguen. Amabilísima me da su móvil y me recuerda que vaya a ver el Barça – Madrid al club español, y que la llame, que me presentará a su familia y amigos expatriados.

Una bonita coincidencia para una tranquila mañana de otoño. Rutinas.


COUNTRY


Profile photo of María Lucaya Castán

Born in Madrid, Spain, around the early nineties, and currently living more or less abroad whenever I get the chance. My name is María, student of Spanish and Communication Studies by the Universidad de Navarra, in Pamplona (the city of San Fermines), Spain. I had the fortune of having well traveled parents, that always encouraged me to do so. And here I am, writing for Kiss of the World to let you see what I see during my trips. Traveling makes you see, seeing makes you think, think... Think makes you see



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