In the village, more than in the city, there is a strict adherence to schedules – schedules dictated by inactivity. Certain things are only done at particular hours; any momentary deviation from the way things are done is considered at least a minor incident. In the winter, locals in villages move slower than ever, as if the cold has slowed their movements like sap in a winter tree, so it may come as a surprise to see the streets bustling in the morning. The Wednesday market is not a quaint novelty, it is a result of the practical needs. One does not expect to find leeks on
Sunday morning, for example, if there is some spontaneous need for them. Leeks will not be gotten, unless they have already been gotten at the market, which is on Wednesday, of course. In the kiosks, what is offered is basic winter seasonal produce, ingredients for cocido stews, lentils, white bean soups, sopa castellana. If you are looking ingredients to make a mango chutney, you’re out of luck.
Today, the low mountains around the village are surrounded by curtains of fog, and the cobblestones on the streets are shiny and wet. The little Plaza de Toros on the outside of the village by the hills is locked up and dormant.
It is not quite cold enough to snow, and the locals seem to be disappointed about it. Then again, there is always a healthy amount of complaining about whatever weather conditions that occur. There are two main indicators that there is good weather in Spain: a drastic increase in people sitting in outdoor terraces, and a conspicuous lack of mentioning the weather at all. If the conditions are perfect, there is simply nothing to say.