Is Spain the land of passion?

‘Madrid seems to be in a hurry to say everything.’ (Javier Marias)

Spain is a land of wine, cheese, Jamon, bullfighting, flamenco, and passion. This is said about this Iberian country among people who have visited it and those who still look at it only on tourist pamphlets. But apart from the excellent food, is it really possible to see the passion in the eyes of the locals?

I first visited this country in 2009, the last time I was there was less than a month ago. The first time I went there, I had an idea of beautiful men, flirting, of real passion seeping through the pores of everything Spanish - the dancing, the food, and the people. Well, of course, I knew I wouldn't forget to stop in Zara. That was when I got what I was looking for in Seville, which was less touristy than today. The people were beautiful, attractive, much less dressed up than we were, and inclined to flirt in every corner of the city. Although nothing ever came of it, I remember flirting with a young waiter, speaking to a blond friend in a club, and even more annoyingly whistling behind us in the street. 

I have a much fresher memory of my last trip. Thirteen years later, I started the journey in Madrid, a city that is not special. It doesn't have tall, imposing buildings, it doesn't have a river like most big cities, but it has people who were even more attractive to me than the first time. Tall, dark, and nothing "gypsy" as most of the male population in Slovenia imagines them. Although I later visited Seville and Malaga, but Madrid made the most impression on me. I lived in the center, and from my French balcony, I watched the alive street below me with a glass of wine in my hand. 

Once again, the Spanish women did not disappoint me: beautiful dark hair, interestingly dressed and bold. This was not excessive; I just noticed that short tops, shorter skirts or shorts, and the absence of bras are popular with Spanish women. Almost all of them were walking around without one. Even in the evening. Upright and proud, whether it was hazelnuts or oranges hiding behind a T-shirt. It surprised me that not one of the guys turned around to see them. Maybe the Spanish have come up with some secret way of looking at girls. 

I didn't know how to turn on the male way of looking. I was unhappy to discover that I would never know what it was like to be one of those with the XY chromosome combination. I was judging Spanish women in a typically feminine way. I didn't rate men any differently. The ones I stopped to look at were the tall waiters. Under the influence of alcohol, I didn't even notice that anymore, just that they were friendly and cute at first glance.

The first was tall, charming, and had excellent hands (you notice them immediately because every time you order a glass of wine, they bring the bottle to the table and pour it in front of you). The second was shorter, with equally lovely hands, but had a different, youthful look. I also noticed what they were wearing; they both looked crazy good in an apron. I did not look below the waist. It didn't even cross my mind. What a weirdo. 

I speak the language, love Jamon and flamenco, and have passion, but apparently not enough to look lustfully at the men around me. At home, when I reached under my belt and thought of one or the other, I was more distracted than not. They had a face I didn't like in the slightest. Well, I still love to remember their movements, their hands, and the clothes they were wearing. 

I was happy to visit Pollería, a shop selling churros shaped like penises or vulvas in Spain. It can be dipped in chocolates and adorned with sprinkles for a nice look. If summer is not the time of the year for churros, you can choose a huge, cold penis. Licking the light blue one at least cooled me down a bit, even though it was 40 degrees outside. 

The Romeos I met in 2009 were not there this time. I don't know if it was the places I visited or if they hid like moles and only occasionally peeked out of their holes. When I returned home with a bottle of sherry in my hand, I could see the disappointment in my mother's eyes because I had not returned with my husband, who has a big house with a swimming pool in the south of Spain. Well, maybe I will go out without a bra more often - that was what really stuck in my mind.