Night Life and Angels Called Sorenos

One night, I went with the Canadian to a club called “La Cabana” It seemed to be a bilevel hangout. The lower level had music and dancing and a lot of Americans from the nearby Airforce Base, Also a lot of drinking. The upstairs it seems was reserved for hookers. The first floor and second floor people were carefully monitored. My apartment mate and I frequented it quite a bit. We had a lot of fun. I could not tolerate the drinking. It seemed to become a contentious point. The guys kept wanting to buy me drinks, but I just wasn’t a drinker. Finally I made a deal with the bartender, an older and very wise man. No matter what I ordered, if it was a clear drink, he would give me either ginger ale or soda water, if it was dark, it would be coke. He could charge them for whatever they thought I was drinking, I didn’t care. He became like a mother hen. I was his little one who didn’t drink. He told me all the time that he was proud of me! One night, two slightly older men came in to La Cabana. They were airforce and I don’t know one rank from another but apparently they were higher up than the usual guys there. I was sitting at the bar talking to my mother hen when they approached. The assumed I was Spanish. I played along and spoke only to the Bartender in Spanish, They started to argue with each other about who was going to get me into bed that night. One of the regular guys was listening and getting irritated. I saw his face and just told me to calm down, (his Spanish was excellent ) they started to bid for me, each raising my “pay” When it got ridiculous I looked at them and the smile came off my face and told them in good old American English that I was ashamed of them! The Bartender said he thought it was time for them to leave and offered to escort them out. When one of them looked at me and said, “I’m so sorry, I thought you were Spanish, I blew a gasket! “You have no respect for women, does it matter if I am American or Spanish, or anything else. How dare you.” They knew it was time to leave. My two protectors wanted to make sure I didn’t feel bad. I laughed and said, “I can’t believe how much money they offered!” The regular guy looked at me and said, “I would match any price they offered, I think I want to marry you!” I told him I had a boyfriend in the States, so I was already taken. He told me that as long as I was in Madrid, I was fare game. Of course I thought it was just playful banter, however he meant it! He was never pushy, he was never inappropriate, but he was everywhere I went. I think I was a little afraid of him. He kept talking about “us”and he and I going home together. His marriage proposal was serious! Eventually I stopped going to La Cabana because he always hung out there, and apparently all the others wouldn’t approach me, barely talked to me. I missed the place but I didn’t miss him. Oh yes, I missed the Bartender.

My Airforce beau, found out where I lived. He made an appearance a couple of times, but never approached until one night when he had a little too much to drink, I guess. He stopped me while trying to enter my apartment. Another Spanish tradition then, and it was a good one for it’s time, was the Serenos! At a certain time in the evening. Men, usually older, would “patrol” on foot, a designated area assigned to them. This was a leftover tradition from the old days when there were gas lamps illuminating the streets. The Serenos would light the lamps each night and extinguish the flame at daybreak. They carried keys to each apartment building. If you forgot your keys, or otherwise couldn’t gain entrance to your house, you would stand in the front of your building and clap for the Sereno. Although these men weren’t armed, they had some kind of standing as law enforcement. No one messed with them. It was great for single women as well. Any unwanted company was denied entrance.

I didn’t clap for the sereno, he happened to be walking down the street and saw the situation. I had my key and told him, this other guy was trying to get into the apartment and I didn’t want him there. That was my last encounter with my “fiance.” He couldn’t afford to have his name recorded or the Sereno call the cops. Spain was still controlled by a dictator, El Caudillo, Francisco Franco and our bases were on Spanish soil. Our service men had to abide by the local laws when off the base.Otherwise they would get into trouble with the MPs from the base.

I under estimated him. He circulated my number where I was staying. All of a sudden, Maria Jesus would wake me up at night telling me I had a phone call from my brother. I informed her I didn’t have a brother and to just hang up. It quickly fizzled out.

I thought Maria Jesus was going to be furious with me. Instead, she thought it was a hoot and told me everyone else in the house was boring.