Yesterday, we went to Ikea to prepare for our impending move. A few months ago, Andrew broke our coffee table, which, like all our furniture, belongs to our landlord. It was a hideous glass-and-metal contraption, the wide top of it a single sheet of glass, the bottom layer a large sheet of mirror. Though we'd piled books on it without really considering the danger, it finally gave way under Andrew's socked feet. The glass cracked loudly in two, scaring both of us. We put the ruined table by the curb, admittedly happily for the decreased clutter in the room. However, Andrew wrote to the landlord explaining what happened, and we promised we'd buy another coffee table before we moved out.
According to the hours on the Ikea website, and the hours printed on Ikea's front door, Ikea is open every day, including Sunday and holidays, with the exception of one or two specific festivals. However, yesterday, Ikea chose to be closed. We don't know why. A few other people trickled to the door as well, staring at the sign and at the dark interior, puzzled. This is the second random closing we've fallen victim to, and it is infuriating--and more evidence that trying to get anything accomplished in Spain on a Sunday is simply pointless. We wasted an hour without being able to cross the errand off our list.
On the way home from this unsuccessful trip, our bus stopped at a stoplight. Suddenly, there were loud crashes outside on the street--strange unidentifiable crashes, as though tree branches were cracking off. People on the sidewalk stopped and looked up, and we craned our necks to look out the bus window. We saw a bag fall, spewing clothes; then a suitcase crashed down on an awning. A domestic fight had obviously reached epidemic proportions, and someone (she?) was throwing someone else's (his?) belongings to the curb. People on the bus tittered, then shrugged, and the bus moved on when the light turned green.