Mastering Spanglish

Currently I’m sitting comfortably in an overnight bus ride across northwest Spain headed to Barcelona from Madrid. I decided Friday I would fork over the 150 euro round trip ticket (not a bad deal) and fly into Aeropeurto Madrid-Barajas. Originally I planned to stay two days in Madrid and four in Barcelona, but after talking with my Turkish friend Elif, she suggested that if I’m going to do Spain between Madrid and Barcelona I might as well spend more time in Barcelona, “You will know when you get there, just trust me!” is what she repeated multiple times through her noticeable yet still understandable accent.

             We ended up talking a good amount of time educating each other about our two vastly different countries. Turkey, largely located in Western Asia is still awaiting approval from the European Union to become one of its members, and for this reason Elif needed to acquire a visa just to visit Ireland. This made me grateful to have a US passport and I explained to her that although everybody thinks America is this amazing country, it's flawed in so many ways, beginning with our grossly indebted economy to our crooked political leaders. She told me that Bush made a bad move when he sent troops into Iraq, because this ultimately caused a civil unrest in her country. I never try to have my blogs too opinionated on political issues, so I’ll just end it there. 

            Back to the point, I ended up tweaking my itinerary (flexibility is key) and decided to spend an extra day in Barcelona, taking one away from Madrid. In effect, today was similar to the two day excursion I had in London a few years back. There’s just too much to see and do in these cities for only a couple days. I ended up flying into Madrid Friday night around nine o’clock and these are some of my first impressions of visiting a country where I was unable to speak the primary language, albeit while travelling solo.

Working with two Mexicans at a pizza shop the past few months turned out to be somewhat helpful, but what I was learning was mostly Mexican slang. You don’t hear people in Spain greeting each other with “Capassa Wei?” and cat calling “Chicas”. It’s more of a “Que-tal?” type of vibe. This made navigating the Spanish metro, which for some reason seemed even more confusing then the tube, a little difficult. However, it only took a couple trips to make sense of the layout. Without having European service with my iPhone I was, and still am left with relying on the old fashioned ways of maps and human interaction to reach destinations, which I enjoy. The difficult part is picking out the people you think speak English. There are many, many white skinned Spanish which throws a wrench into simple skin identification logic. There are also many dark skinned Spanish who speak English fairly well.

The first English speaking interaction I ended up having was on my first metro ride while sitting across a girl wearing orange soled Nike frees. I told her her American identity was a little obvious, which she agreed when I pointed out her black Northface backpack. She was from Raleigh, North Carolina and thankfully ended up directing me to Puerta del sol, the heart of Madrid just a few blocks from my Airbnb. I already knew from the emails I was getting from my host Lorie, who also lived in the two bedroom apartment, spoke zero English. Compare that to myself who spoke zero Spanish and our interactions made for a lot of pointing at objects, smiling and laughing. She ended up being very friendly and helpful however, as much of the Spanish are, by helping me find plug converters, maps and food among other necessities.

Casual Selfie with Lore, my AirBnb Host

Staying only one night in Madrid I knew I needed to experience the nightlife firsthand. The first bar I went to that night was essentially a disco party playing old American hits and some other English songs I had never heard before. The DJ even had a soul patch and a curly black afro. The first handful of Spanish girls I came across, who also thankfully spoke some English, greeted me with the double kiss I had thought was mainly customary in France. It’s actually quite mind boggling how open and affectionate the Spanish are. There really is no such thing as frowning upon public displays of affection here. The metro, the café shop, the street corner, the museum exhibit, you name it, there’s face sucking happening. If your're at a club they’re also very forward about asking your sexuality. I think it’s definitely good for some because if you're questioning yourself and mildly attractive you will be forced to declare a side, so to speak, if you have one. Take for example the bearded fellow who put his hand out as if he wanted to  shake mine while I was sitting on the edge of a stage chatting up a short-haired, bandana wearing Spanish gal who looked easily twenty something (she revealed she was thirty something and eventually went on to shut me down because I was "too young"). Back to the handshake from this spunky Spainard. I obliged his handshake only to have my hand lifted and kissed. He then put his other hand out and said, “Your turn”. I took his hand and brought it to my forehead, avoiding his advances yet still having some fun about it.

I can't judge a whole population on a single experience, but I can say that no matter what sexual preference they may have, the Madrid nightclub crowd seem like a ruthless bunch. The girl who I was talking to said she had been with only a few Americans before and that their respectful ways often threw her for a loop (this was not working in my favor). That made sense to me as some just want to cut to the chase, and  others may be drawn to arrogance for whatever reason. The Spanish really enjoy their drinks as well. You’ll often see three to four beer taps at the front counter of simple take out restaurants. Where as in America most bars that primarily serve beer will have decent food, in Spain restaurants that primarily serve food will have beer. It would be like Chik-fil-a serving bud light on tap. Tough to picture, yes?

Waking up yesterday morning with only a day left in Madrid I had a rough agenda set. What I was able to squeeze in included seeing Madrid’s most famous museum, The Reina Sofia, as well as their most famous park, Parque de El Ritero. The highlight of the Reina Sofia is hands down Salvador Dali’s most influential and critically acclaimed piece of art, “Guernica.” Originally part of the Paris 1937 Art Exhibition, the piece was used as a political statement against the oppression Spain began experiencing from the German bombing of Guernica the same year the piece was unveiled. So famous, that even using non-flash cameras were banned from the viewing area. Coincidentally, I choose to do an art review of Guernica in my art appreciation class a few years back, which may have influenced the chills that ran up my arms as I walked up to the over 25 foot long piece.

After the museum I took a jaunt across the street to Ritero Parque, a massive tree laden park with towering statues and a glass palace set on the edge of a lake. Like most parks around the world on a sunny day, Riberot was buzzing with activity. Everything from frisbee throwing, to roller blading to just lounging around seemed to define this park. It wasn’t until I reached the final strip when I got some much needed human interaction. Along this strip area they had ten foot long hubs attached to one another selling different genres of books. Off to the side of one I came upon a dark skinned Spaniard punching away on an old fashioned typewriter. At first I started looking around for a place to give tips, wondering what kind of act she was putting on. I soon realized Silvi, as she would later introduce herself, had no monetary incentive, she was writing her friend Mario a poem. Mario, a kind, dark haired fellow who offered me a sip of beer from his clear plastic cup was standing next to Silvi and grinning as he watched her punch away on the antique writer.

As she continued to type I told her about my writing background and she asked what kind of writing I did. I explained I had several preferences, poetry being one of them. She immediately asked if I wanted to write something and we somehow came to the agreement we would swap poems about each other. She typed mine first as I scribbled down in my notebook what I would type for her. When she finished she gave me a quick tutorial on how to work the dated machine and I was off, realigning the type face and crossing out several letters in the process. 

            While I was writing several of Silvi's friends came up to me and started asking what I wanted to do in Madrid. I told them what I had already done and then pulled out my notebook to to show them suggestions from friends. I went down the list and mentioned bull fighting might be something to check out. They immediately shouted, “No!! Do you know what happens at those fights? They slaughter the bulls!” I vaguely remembered hearing something about this and said, "So, you want me to cross it off the list?" "Yes! Justin, cross that one off!", Silvi pleaded with me. I agreed one hundred percent. Upon hearing my name, and in an extreme bout of coincidence meets divine interconnectedness, one of her friends immediately said, "Oh, it’s Justintime!" I replied, "Yes! You are correct (origins of this name can be traced back to here). Once Silvi and I finished typing we asked who should read who's first, and at first we said, let’s do it at the same time! Then it dawned on us that although this was an interesting proposal, it may not work out so well. So, she read first, and myself after. She had a nice free verse style, and mine was more of an attempted end rhyme scheme. Both equally genuine. This was Silvi's: 

During our poetry slam, an otherwise perfect seventy-five and sunny Spain day quickly became partly cloudy with some light rain. This became a subject in both our poems; hers is pictured above, along with a photo she took of me typing below. Before we parted ways she invited me to come out with her group of bohemian amigos who were headed to a restaurant just outside of the park. Had I not had a bus to catch to Barcelona in less than two hours I gladly would have joined them, but this is how life typically goes when your living day to day. She did offer me one of her pickled vegetables (a baby onion I think?), which I was originally turned off by, but then thought, sure. I accepted and we said our goodbyes as the Spanish do, with some cheeky kisses. That onion was quite scrumptious...

So far the Spanish experience has been much different than anything I have ever come across, but in a fresh, new way. It’s become quite obvious that you can find friendly and open people no matter where you go. Just make sure they’re not too friendly, or you may have a story or two to tell. Cheers!