"It's Not Weird, It's Different"

While grocery shopping the other day, after I remarked for probably the hundredth time on something that I found weird (was it the fact that there are no free bags so we had to carry our sliced turkey, cookies, and peanut butter jar in our arms down the street?), Laura reminded me that it was not weird, just different. Thanks, Mom. On the real though, after our first full week here in Spain we have encountered many things that we find weird different, and because we did nothing of excessive excitement (unless you wanted to hear all about our syllabi from each of our classes?), we decided to

share.

First, though it is very different to be living with a woman who doesn’t speak English, I think we all agree that it is a match made in heaven. Really the only downsides to living with Isabel/Mari are that we literally do not know what her name is and that the woman upstairs, whom Mallory has so graciously nicknamed “the devil wears Prada”, does laps around her apartment in what I imagine to be five-inch spike heels (red) at all hours of the day. However, these two downsides are hardly noticeable, considering how #blessed we are that Mari (?) does our laundry like, four times a week, makes our beds, cleans our rooms, and makes some pretty fantastic meals. Just two days ago she discovered our love for both hot sauce and ketchup and so now our meals, which already rocked, are even better. (I really love ketchup.) Every night when we eat our dinner at precisely 8 o’clock (early for Spanish standards, but we are ravenous and I think she’s caught on to that) on a pristinely set table, we (attempt to) chat about our days, and she thinks it’s downright hilarious when we tease each other about our Spanish novios or when Laura tells her about how awfully I misinterpreted something that she said. (For example, the other day while we were talking about El Cortes Ingles, a Spanish version of Macy’s, I thought she said she bought a horse there. So.) Anyway, what a run-on sentence… totally doing my English major a great service here.

The second glaringly different component of living in Madrid is, of course, the language barrier. I’d first like to point out that Mal and I were grossly misled about the amount of English spoken here. I would also like to say that while my writing and reading of the Spanish language are decent, literally no one can understand me because I can’t roll my R’s and because I sound like a moron from the Midwest whenever I speak. (See receipt pictured below.)

Close enough.

Just last night while I was struggling to ask someone for directions, a man behind me overheard, laughed, and remarked, “Chicago.” If we’re being entirely honest, it’s a little frustrating to not always understand or be understood (one of my new favorite phrases is, “No me entiendes” aka “you don’t understand me”, usually paired with a guilty smile). While Laura’s speaking ability and accent shine, the rest of us peasants like to stutter out barbaric sentences and just pray that we said the right thing. However, I have to admit that it’s nice to be able to openly talk about whatever we want in front of whomever we want because we’re almost always sure no one can understand a word of what we say. We talk in a lot of obnoxious text lingo anyway, so probably even English-speakers wouldn’t understand us.

Evidently I’m feeling a little long-winded (what else is new, amirite?), so I’ll shorten things up with a friendly bulleted list:

•  there is dog poop everywhere on the sidewalks, but the dogs are cute so we forgive the madrileños for this (until one of us steps in it, then no mercy)
•  when people attempt to parallel park on the narrow streets, they literally ram into other cars and nobody cares (wish it were the same in the States)
•   public displays of affection are for some reason okay here, even though the last thing I want to do while drinking un cafè is watch some couple get it on
•  water isn’t free
• toilet paper is scarce in public restrooms (and public restrooms are scarce) and if you know anything about me, this really sucks
• people rarely wash their hands after using the restroom and sometimes there are signs that say don’t use soap if you don’t have to, so basically try not to touch any hand railings, tables, chairs, walls, etc., because ew
• sometimes after we eat at a restaurant we sit there for an extra thirty minutes because the waiter isn’t allowed to ask if we’re done (but no tips, so that rocks!)
•  people are generally not looking only at their cell phones on the street and I’m pretty much the only one who walks too quickly, and that’s really nice
• forget what your mom told you because staring is practically mandatory and the two blondies I’m living with sure attract a lot of attention
•  everything happens later and also it’s on military time and math is hard in a pinch
•  Laura just had to enter a code to get into the bathroom at Starbucks so LOL about that

Don’t get me wrong though, you guys, we love it here and have all decided to stay forever. Just kidding, but only about the staying forever part… we really do love it. All of the aforementioned differences from the States don’t matter even a little bit when you compare them with all of the wonderful and beautiful things (and people) here in Madrid, but we really didn’t want to brag and make anyone think that we didn’t miss them, because we do, and also complaining is in my nature.

Let’s hope that by the time I finish typing this Laura and Mal are done pretending to do their homework because it’s 15 o’clock and I am seriously craving some peanut butter.