Autumn in Alcala

I’ve been here two months now, and it just so happens that these two months are two of the most meteorologically tumultuous and unpredictable of the year. The locals like to joke that there are only two seasons in Madrid: summer and winter. They’re not completely accurate however; there is indeed something of a transition period, a little like a menopausal sister season suffering from hot and cold flashes and a mean temper.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never lived anywhere that gets especially cold, but I cannot read this weather. It does not matter how frequently I check the reports or step out on the porch to gauge the temperature. I imagine that once we get settled into the cold winter, it will be a bit more regular. For now, however, it seems that if I wear boots and a scarf and a coat I will sweat on the way to the bus stop, but if I wear my coat over a t-shirt and heels, I will freeze. It seems that after I peer out my window in the mornings and note the women wearing tights and light jackets, they all run back inside and change into down coats and leather boots by the time I get down to the ground floor, simply to trick me into dressing inappropriately for the day.

The first week that Craig and I were here, it was very cold, perhaps 7 c in the evenings. Suddenly, the cold vanished and I wore tank tops around town; every day, we tried to enjoy the sun in case it slipped into hibernation. Since then, the temperature has risen and dropped several times and every time I think we’re easing into the cold, I am not entirely right.

Today, I dressed in slacks and a turtleneck, threw on a scarf and coat on my way out of my apartment. I was too warm as I rushed through town, power-walking to work, but when my classes ended and I reemerged, the wind had kicked up and it was bitterly cold. I thought, ah ha! At last, I have learned to anticipate! I made my way to a student’s home for a private lesson, and as we sat at the desk deciphering a family tree in English, I heard the rain begin. It was extraordinarily loud on the roof and when we finally pulled aside the curtains to look out the window, sure enough, marble sized hail was bouncing off the Spanish tile roof of the apartment complex across the street. All I could think was that all the laundry I washed yesterday, all my pants, my bed sheets, and my socks, were hanging on the line outside my apartment to dry, and that I was about to have to walk home in THAT with no umbrella.

Soon the ice reduced to rain, and when our time was up my student lent me a paragua, or umbrella. The moment I walked outside, however, as if Mother Nature noticed I was now carrying an umbrella, the rain ceased. The hems of my only clean and dry slacks were now dragging through muddy puddles as I stepped, but the sky cleared to an innocent periwinkle and arranged a sweet sunset in the distance. Clearly, I’m being mocked.