Estamos de Puente

There is no direct equivalent for the expression “Estamos de puente,” partly because it’s a figure of speech and partly because it signifies an anomaly that simply doesn’t exist in American culture. Roughly translated it means, “We’re on break.”

In December there are theoretically three weeks of class before Christmas. Today at the end of my Golden Age Linguistics class, my professor brought up the subject of the upcoming week, since there are two bank holidays and two days of class. Keep in mind that this man is the chair of the Spanish Language department, very well-respected and in no way lazy. He started off the conversation by saying, “So. About next week. If you guys will be here, I’ll be here. But I’m just saying that for an 8:30 a.m. class I have to wake up at 6:20, then stand in the cold to catch a bus all the way up here . . . .” Immediately a student in the class shouts out, “Pero profesor, estamos de puente!!” She said it almost indignantly, as if Professor Antonio was suggesting that we hold class on a holiday, rather than the actuality of the situation (not holding class on a non-holiday). The rest of the class avidly nodded their heads, and the professor looked relieved. As if to confirm his decision, he said to the class, “Let’s see where the California students will be next week. Will you come to class?” I smiled timidly and said, “No, sorry, but I’ll be in Paris and Belgium.” The rest of the students cheered. Then the two other Californians piped up about their Italy trip, and it was settled. No class next week. In addition, the week after next Professor Antonio is speaking at a conference in Madrid, so therefore we won’t be having class. And even though the Spanish government has classes run all the way up until December 23, the Spanish people act otherwise, and tend to start their Christmas break a week early. I therefore don’t have Golden Age Linguistics one time in the whole month of December.

            The reason I bring up puentes so much in my posts is not only because they are my main excuse to travel. I feel like puentes are a perfect metaphor for the cultural differences here. People go to class, professors lecture, essays are turned in, yes, but there is a very noticeable emphasis placed on free time, and the importance of doing nothing.

I was watching Eat, Pray, Love the other day (how did I have time to watch four movies this weekend? Because life here is an eternal puente), and there is a scene in which Julia Roberts talks about her time so far in Italy. She says to her new friends, “I feel like all I’ve done here is learn a few Italian words and eat delicious food.” That, in a nutshell, describes my experience too. But then her Italian friend turns to her and says, “You Americans always think you should be doing something. You work so hard that when the weekend comes, you don’t even know how to enjoy it.”

But it’s not only this sappy movie that has me thinking. I’ve had many conversations here with Spanish or Portuguese friends about the differences in lifestyle. They acknowledge that the standard of living is higher in the U.S., but that the work ethic is almost frantic. One friend told me that he thinks we shop so much because we work so hard and then don’t know what to do with our money, so we just buy clothes or kitchen gadgets.

There’ve been a lot of times here where I’ve felt guilty. I used to have a job in Santa Barbara, and be part of three or four different clubs. I was always busy. I worked and studied and exercised and made time for friends. I started to think here that maybe I’m not making the most of my time abroad, because I haven’t gotten involved in any extra curricular activities, and day-to-day life here involves an obscene amount of hanging out and socializing. How can my days be so completely filled when I’m doing about a quarter of the things I did in California? I feel guilty when I stay out till 8 a.m. and then waste the next sunny day lounging. Afternoon coffees with friends now replace my front desk shift working at the RecCen. Going out for tapas is around the hour when my environmental club meetings would take place. I’m taking off ten days to travel through Paris and Belgium, and I don’t even have a job to make back the money on airfare.

Yesterday I was joking with a Spanish friend (yes, while we were at coffee) that I’ve become really lazy here, and have been on a total of three runs in three months. He told me, “Why worry? This is your sabbatical year. It’s ok if you do nothing.”

I think he’s right. Maybe I would learn a few more facts about some 16^th century linguist if there were a single session of class in December. Maybe my pants would fit better if I kept my old exercise regimen, and maybe I could somehow save the world if I established a recycling club at the University of Granada. But I’m pretty sure there’s value in what I’m doing here, even if it feels completely different than my old life. I have to remind myself that a simple interaction at a frutería or an extended weekend with a Spanish family probably teaches me more than reading six textbooks per quarter at Santa Barbara. So for right now, I’m fine with my current extra-curriculars. Eating and drinking and socializing every day and discovering tiny shops in new alleyways around the city and watching “Friends” in Spanish with Neivar is not doing nothing.

In fact, the verb “Hacer” as in “hacer puente” translates as “to do” or “to make.”