Exploring Zaragoza: A historic gem in Spain's heartland
We had no idea what to expect when we boarded our flight from London to Zaragoza, the city was still a complete mystery to us, we could just barely point it out on a map, and we didn’t know a lick of Spanish. Aside from a well established love of tapas, and an airbnb booked for three and a half months - we were walking in blind. I was nervous - I don’t like not being able to speak the language in a new place, which as someone who can only speak English, you’d think I’d be used to by now. But it never feels any less imperialistic expecting someone to speak my language as well as their own in a foreign country. I also often feel like pointing and miming is exactly what everyone expects from an American tourist, and as much as I’d like to challenge that stereotype, that’s exactly what I find myself doing most of the time. But the sky was a seamless blue and the sun was shining when we stepped off the plane onto the tarmac; the grey, wet winter of Northern Europe was behind us, and with it went my worry. It was mild, still chilly enough for a coat, but warm enough for it to hang open, and while the locals were wrapped in scarves and heavy sweaters, for us it was the first day of spring. We were drunk on Vitamin D, and enchanted by the colorful streets we lugged our bags through towards our new home.
We acclimated quickly to the food scene (to say the least) especially when it came to tapas bars. In fact, tapas bars may have ruined restaurants for us forever. After only a couple of nights we found ourselves wondering if we could ever return to a life where going out to dinner meant sitting down at a table, ordering off of a menu, and paying more than a couple of euros for a glass of wine. At first, admittedly, it was a little overwhelming; there is an order of sorts to the slow chaos of a typical tapas bar, rules only we seemed to be strangers to. Not knowing the language meant we guessed our way through a lot of it, hoping we weren’t offending anybody. But because most of the food is displayed behind glass on the bar, it comes down to pointing at what you want and then simply finding a place to sit or stand in amongst the locals. Funny enough it reminded me of lunches in Hanoi - sat in a small plastic chair on the sidewalk, a bowl of noodles balanced on one knee, a small glass of cold beer on the other, surrounded by the commotion of daily life. It’s an unbeatable way to eat; an experience beyond eating, beyond beautiful food or gastronomical feats - it’s more than a window into, but rather, a rare opportunity to participate in a culture different to your own.
Zaragoza undeniably moves at a fairly slow pace (although that’s coming from someone who lived and worked in New York City for years) but that’s not to say it drags. In fact its breezy, buzzing atmosphere is probably the first aspect of Spain we fell in love with. It’s a warm culture, one that encourages social gatherings and taking your time to enjoy things, and on Saturday mornings this energy couldn’t be more palpable. Plaza del Pillar fills with stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables, jars of sauces, and baked goods, and people browse and chat and fill their totes with goods, directing their small children this way and that. In the evening people crowd into tapas bars and restaurants that overflow onto the narrow streets which become packed with noise and cigarette smoke. But Sundays are especially magical; on Sundays there’s live music and dancing in the plazas, empty parking lots covered in graffiti become small flea markets, and the bars and restaurants overflow with loose, happy groups slowly sipping cold wine and beer in the sunshine. If I could choose just one day to visit Zaragoza, it would be a warm, sunny Sunday.
All in all, we’re in love with Spain. Could you tell?
