My friend Marcella has perfected the art of being a regular. She has a rotation of restaurants, bars, and bodegas where people greet her by name – her local diner will frequently slip a free cruller into her order, and her bar tabs always have a drink or two knocked off at the end of the night. I was never quite sure how she did it; despite my efforts, I never really achieved regular status anywhere in New York.
I assumed that things would stay that way when I got to Spain, especially before I learn enough Spanish to carry a conversation. But a few weeks ago I went to the restaurant below our apartment to order our daily coffees. The woman behind the counter saw me walk in and called, “dos cafés con leche para llevar, sí?”
I beamed beneath my mask. She must make hundreds of coffees each day, but she remembered me. Is it because the only thing she’s ever heard me say is “dos cafés con leche para llevar, por favor?” Maybe. But in a new city where I don’t know many people and can’t interact as meaningfully as I’d like to, being recognized for any reason is a delight. I floated up the six flights of stairs to our apartment, excited to tell Brian that someone knew who I was.
Spanish, like every other language I’ve studied, has two basic ways to say “to know.” There’s “saber,” which is for things you study or learn, like information or how to do something. In German it’s “wissen;” in French “savoir;” in Italian “sapere.” Then there’s “conocer” – “kennen,” “connaître,” “conoscere” – which is more like “being familiar with” in English. You use conocer for people and places you know. In this case: “ella me conoce!” She knows me.
March was a bittersweet month, with our lease ending just as we were getting recognized in our neighborhood. At the Mercat Central, our favorite baker knows that Brian likes pastries with chocolate. Our butcher knows that we buy chicken for our paella because I don’t like rabbit; she knows that I had a pet rabbit growing up. The people at the vegetable stall know we always bring our own bag. Malta’s groomer knows that she doesn’t like having her feet blow-dried. They all like that we pay in exact change. Ellos nos conocen.
We know things, too. We know that the groomer’s dog is terrified of fireworks, so she leaves the city for Fallas every year. We know Pilar, who has lived in El Carmen her whole life and hates when people rip up the old mosaic tiles in apartments. We know that the muzzled dog we see in the park every day is doing much better than he was in January – he barks less every time we see him.
One of our last days in El Carmen, Brian went and got the coffee instead. The woman behind the counter asked him, “Y tu esposa, ¿donde está?” – “And your wife, where is she?” I thought about that a lot as I packed up our apartment – the pleasure of being known. If conocer had a feeling, this was it: easy, familiar, and comfortable.
Such a contrast from my first day in Valencia, when I walked into a pharmacy and froze up when a salesperson approached me and said “dime” – “tell me.” I was so embarrassed that I just left and hoped that she’d forget I ever existed.
We hoped that we’d be able to stay in El Carmen, especially now that it was starting to feel more like home, but it didn’t work out that way. Luckily, we found a gorgeous apartment in Russafa, another neighborhood that we love. It's a little more like New York in that it’s more international and feels more anonymous. That’s good in its own way – I feel like I can be a bit more independent because it’s less likely I’ll be put on the spot – but again, it’s bittersweet. I think anonymity is more appealing when you don’t know what you’re missing. Even though this apartment itself feels homier than our last one, I miss the romantic, tight-knit vibe of the old city.
Still, it’s only a matter of time before we know Russafa too. Who has the best desayunos? Where will we go for our daily cafés con leche? Which dogs will we come to see every day on our walks with Malta? And whose faces and names will we get to link to these things? Los conoceremos.
Song of the week:
Leaning into nostalgia this week, here’s “La Vuelta Al Mundo” by Calle 13. Brian showed me the video for this song early in our relationship, and it always brings me back to 2014 – weekends in bed, the butterflies and tenderness of new love. It’s on our wedding playlist.
Hasta luego,
— Kata
I just stumbled across your newsletter and I love this post! I live in Madrid but I’m originally from the US, and this “vida de barrio” that you’ve described is one of my favorite parts of living in Spain. It makes the city feel a lot cozier!