Random Anecdotes

I’m still adjusting to some cultural aspects of Spain. The two-kisses-on-the-cheek greeting still catches me off guard sometimes, and at times I think it would just be easier to give a general wave hello than to swap two “besitos” with everyone in the room. It does make it seem like you’re already buddy-buddy with everyone you meet though, which is a warm and fuzzy feeling. However, the other day I was meeting some friends for tapas, and accidentally went to the right first instead of the left for the kiss. I ended up pecking my friend on the mouth, and then she jokingly accused me of wanting to make out with her. Why couldn’t that little accident have happened with some very attractive Spanish man instead????

It’s become pretty cold here all of a sudden—definitely already as cold as it ever gets in Santa Barbara or at home, and it’s only October. This means I’ve had to suck it up and spend money on winter clothes instead of plane tickets. But it’s also a great excuse to go shopping, and I brought Anna along to help me invest in my first true winter coat, since she was born and raised in Massachusetts. Once I resigned to the fact that I would have to spend a small fortune being warm and fashionable in these next few months, the process became a lot more enjoyable—even addicting—and I wouldn’t be surprised if I come home to California with at least five new pairs of boots and coats (each).

I’ve been spending the past week writing my first essay for the university here. This whole process has been sort of painful. I’ve been translating articles and ideas back and forth between Spanish and English so many times that both languages have become muddled and, frankly, the current product sounds like it was written by a ten-year-old. It’s hard to form “critical opinions” about articles that you don’t fully understand in the first place. Also, this particular essay is about the origin of the Spanish language, which I don’t even have much of an opinion about in English. It blossomed out of Latin, some people were thrilled about it, and others not so much. There’s not much more to say about it. . . . Luckily Amalia agreed to look over my essay for me. Not only is she a native speaker, but she also majored in Translation. You have to strategically pick your friends when abroad. (Just kidding Amalia!! She reads this blog, because in addition to her other skills, she speaks fluent English).

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Yesterday I went to a Mexican Fiesta surprise birthday party for my friend Sydney. Anna offered to bring the Jose Cuervo, so we stopped at a convenience store on the way to the party. When we asked for two bottles, the owner sent his son to a different store to get it, since this store didn’t stock Jose (there is a suspicious lack of anything Mexican-related in Spain). The problem with this little scenario? The son was about 6 years old! He hopped on his little trainer bicycle and rode off with what looked like a little Spiderman lunchbox around his shoulder in order to hand-deliver two fifths of tequila!! Anna and I stared at each other in horror—were we contributing to child abuse??? Were we tainting this poor boy with alcoholism before he’s even lived a decade??? When he returned from the neighbor’s store with the goods, we made sure to shower him with thanks, even a little pat on the back, to try to reincorporate some good back into his night and hopefully erase what surely must have been a formative experience.

I'm off to Portugal for a long weekend! Spain has another holiday. I definitely chose the right country to study in.