It’s Saturday around two o’clock and though te international press, especially the British and the New York Times, would like the world to think that much of this population is picking its food out of the trash bins or killing dogs for meals, much of the country looks like this. This must be such a disappointment to the foreign correspondent in search of misery and despair. Oh weel, their problem. You see, this is not just a typical sight in the cities and large towns, but even the smallest villages. This place, Guadalix de la Sierra, is somewhere inbetween, but what is clear is that, come midday on almost any given weekend, and you will be hard pressed to find an empty table. It’s been like that for as long as I can recall. Just people hanging out and enjoying themselves over the weekend. There is something essential to it. Something very Spanish, highly Spanish, immensely Spanish. No matter where you go, you can find this scene, especially since the smoking law has pushed much of the clientele outdoors regardless of the weather or climate or both. Life goes on.