Even the Locals Look Like Tourists in the Plaza Mayor

Someone recently asked me if I liked living in Spain.  I said, “I love it, I’ve adopted this city as my own, I’m very protective of it, even against the throngs of tourists.”  Of course, in my neighborhood, I don’t have to defend it very often.  The tourists rarely venture this far north (4 metro stops from downtown), and at best, I’ll encounter a British Expat who likely speaks better Spanish than me.

This weekend we ventured into the heart of Madrid’s tourist zone: Plaza Mayor.  I needed to visit the official tourism office to pick up some information for a piece I’m working on.  I wore a tank top, hopped on the back of the Vespa and Drew and I headed downtown.  Within 30 minutes I was scorched.   Since it was just going to be a quick trip, I didn’t think to put on any sunblock.  I’ve  never burned so quickly in my life.

So there I was, in the middle of the tourist zone, sun burned, wandering around lost, looking for the tourist office.  Sometimes you just can’t help but look like a tourist.  We even had an Australian backpacker approach us and start up a conversation.  When we told him we had been in Madrid for over a month, he balked.  “Oh you mean traveling around Spain for a month,” he corrected.  For whatever reason he wouldn’t accept the idea that we were living here in Madrid, getting sunburned and hanging out in the tourist zone.  I couldn’t blame him.

This episode left me thinking about the difference context makes in people’s perceptions.  This morning, for example, I was flying into Lisbon, reading a magazine in Spanish and my still tender skin was covered with a black t-shirt.  The flight attendent asked me in Spanish to move my bag under the seat.  I did.  She turned to the woman behind me, and asked her the same thing, but this time in English.  How did she decide that I would understand Spanish?  While I’ll never pass for a Spaniard, it’s nice to know that sometimes I can pass for something other than a tourist.