saturdays in spain.
To me, Saturdays mean lots of things. They mean sleeping in late and waking up slowly. They mean taking the time to make a big omelette with the week’s leftover veggies and enjoying freshly squeezed orange juice. They mean a day for relaxing, for reading, for writing, for photographs. These things have rung true in every city I’ve ever lived in. And while a Saturday is a Saturday no matter where you are, I think I’m starting to learn that no one does a Saturday better than a Spaniard.
Because a Saturday in Spain means more than sleeping in and being lazy. It means getting out and enjoying the day, soaking up good company, stretching an already lengthy lunch well into the night.
Saturdays here mean not wanting to miss a thing. And in my book, that’s a pretty great thing.
Yesterday, I found myself at a rooftop bar around 6 p.m. This is the type of rooftop bar with the couches and pillows, the type of place you totally try to sit down and look comfortable but end up feeling (and looking) completely ridiculous no matter which way you bend your knees. Regardless, it’s got a lovely view of the river running through Córdoba, and it’s a nice place to chat while sipping on your copa.
This may or may not have been the moment I realized Spain’s got Saturdays all right.
So cheers to Saturdays, and their inherent lazy nature. And cheers to the fact that ordering one (or four) gin and tonics on a Saturday afternoon is completely socially acceptable.