While It's Hot

I am on the last pages of Winter in Madrid by C. J. Sansom.  The book takes place in Spain in 1940-41; the country has just gone through its civil war (1936-39) and Franco is inching towards joining the Axis in WWII (1939-45). The protagonist of Winter in Madrid is an Englishman who has been contracted by the British embassy to go to Madrid and spy on his old childhood friend who may or may not be into some shady dealings.

The book is your traditional well written political thriller.  Besides that, what’s fascinating is the description of Madrid during this period.  Sansom describes Café Gijon looking much like it does today; but the Prado is an echo chamber with most of its paintings stripped from the walls for safe keeping.  La Latina – a barrio known today for tapas hopping – is in complete disarray. The park Casa de Campo is strewn with undiscovered landmines.

Needless to say, it’s given me some perspective on what Spain’s gone through in past years – something that’s difficult to fully grasp as a foreigner.

I was recently talking with Ana about the Spanish civil war. Her parents were young children during the time and lived (they still do) in a small pueblo in central eastern Spain.  Food was scarce and Ana’s grandmother would cook one big pot of whatever was on hand, potatoes, vegetables, a small bit of meat, bread.  She’d take the pot right from the stove to the center of the table, where the entire family – siblings, cousins, children – were gathered.  Everyone would scramble to get a share.

Today, Ana tells me, that her mother will rise a handful of times from the table during a meal in order to reheat her plate.  To taste her food is to burn your tongue.  But this is how she is accustomed to eating –more than hot– because as a child she would not have gotten food any other way.

We are shaped by the things that happen to us.  It’s something I can’t get out of my head as I walk around Madrid these days.