Luck in a can
They're New Year's grapes, if you've yet to meet the Spanish tradition of downing one grape for every chime of the bells at midnight on Noche Vieja (New Year's Eve). 12 chimes, 12 grapes. I have yet to discuss this tradition with a single Spaniard who does not faithfully pop, chew and swallow12 grapes before the last chime has sounded on New Year's.
They claim it's not as easy as it sounds, but I tell you, I'm equal to the task.
The convenience store grapes are peeled and seedless. They're on display for the University's students, who one night soon will storm the Plaza Mayor while they celebrate a grape-stuffing early NewYear before going their separate ways for the holidays.
The cans reminded me that I've accomplished the unlikely feat of living four years in Spain without experiencing the legendary grape gobble. Ah, but this year! This year I shall gobble with the best.
I scoff at the 16-hour store's cans of peeled grapes! Hah!
I shall carefully select my grapes. I shall peel them myself. (Unless of course, I run across an appropriate volunteer. God knows I'm not above letting the right person peel grapes for me.)
Faithful friends and blog browsers, this year I have received the invitation I've been waiting for. This year I shall spend Noche Vieja with magical people in the enchanted Sierra de Francia.
I shall join a noisy, expressive, multitudinous Spanish family just like the one Spain has left me pining for, many a day.
Bus schedules willing, I shall pop my 12 grapes in La Alberca.
Now that's luck.
Labels: on living in Spain