Anything Could Happen
I am going to hold myself accountable and post at least a few times a week because in the paraphrased words of the wonderful Ron Swanson, “Never half-ass anything. Except for swimsuits because that’s trendy now.” Which reminds me, I went to Barcelona a few weekends ago and have a lot to say about that, so stay tuned.
It’s hard to believe I’m not from here, right?!
I’m going to wait until after I write my essays for my class to write the Barcelona post, because I’ve trained myself to be productive before I get nostalgic.
I just left a café where I like to think I’m a regular now because they know my order, but this may just be because I pronounce it a little differently each time, and it keeps my camarero on his toes. “Café con leche soja” is really not that hard to say, but under pressure, without the required caffeine to produce words, nothing comes naturally.
In said café, I was studying for our midterm exam last week with two of my friends in the same program and wondering aloud where the four main political parties fall in order from left to right because my notes consist of every word my professors speak that I catch, a laundry list of words to look up after class, and an even longer list of foods I intend to purchase and devour upon my triumphant return to the mighty USA in no particular order. An amused Spanish man, with eyes like diamonds, across the table explained it to me (It’s Podemos, PSOE, Ciudadanos, PP if you’re curious) and then because I’m still well on my way to becoming low-maintenance, I asked him to explain it once more. And then once more for good measure.
Best believe I thanked the hell out of him. I can’t recall if I’ve already described Spanish Grace but let me tell you, she is pathologically polite. I can’t eavesdrop well here at all, unlike at home, where I’m a real pleasure to dine with because I not only am a great conversationalist, I also am actively engaged in the discussions of every other table in the vicinity.
Spanish Grace speaks small talk and pleasantries fluently and she doesn’t even get mad or dish it back when men occasionally make comments in her general direction when she goes for a run. As far as I know, they’re admiring my form and shouting words of encouragement, and much like Lady Gaga, I live for the applause.
I’m definitely getting adjusted to life here and by that I mean, I have accepted the fact that I will never understand where each day will take me. Luckily, I’m out of that adorable afraid-to-leave-my-apartment-because-it-generally-takes-me-upwards-of-two-hours-to-find-it-again-after stage. I realized I live no more than a few blocks from most of Madrid’s biggest landmarks so there’s really no excuse for my literal lack of direction (metaphorically it’s still fine because I’m young and multi-interested).
Every time I leave, I stumble upon something new and nine times out of ten it’s worth leaving my comfort zone. My friend Caroline and I went to Mass on Sunday, thinking it would be a nice 45 minute study-break like the week before, and found ourselves in a two hour Corpus Christi processional ceremony of several thousand people. We started walking in the procession, too, because with the right confidence anyone can fit in anywhere, except of course in this case because I was wearing a galaxy print tshirt and jean shorts and the nuns, priests, and small well-dressed children, opted for more neutral colors. But watching was awesome, too!
Redefining “Street Art”
Given the opportunity, I would raise each and every one of them as my own.
I only have two and half weeks left here and I’m already teary-eyed at the thought of leaving. My Madrid Bucket List continues to grow and I can’t keep up with all of it, but I can order coffee nearly fluently now, and this will sustain me for the time being.
