"No dejes el bolso en el suelo porque pierdes dinero."

The secretary at my colegio and a friend of mine, Noemi, told me this on my first day in Archena.  I had entered the office that Monday, found the chair in front of the computer, and sat down next to Noemi; promptly and purposefully letting my bag slip to the ground beside me.  But then, I'm American.  When I take my clothes off after a long day, they may or may not make it into the hamper, depending on how much I'm rushing.  But a Spanish person would never drop their clothes to the floor like me.

The floor in Spain is untouchable.  The ground is where you drop your napkin, empty chip bag, cigarette butt, receipt, empty glass, broken umbrella, etc.  The ground is where people walk and spit and pee.  And not just people, but dogs and cats too.  You never, ever, ever touch the ground in Spain.  Even in your own home you wear zapatillas or house shoes.  I hate house shoes.  In the summer I did without and had to wash my feet every night before getting into bed.  When winter came I started to wear fuzzy socks like I wear in the states.  That lasted about a week.  In the states we have carpet.  The floors are for sure dirtier because they´re carpet, but they feel cleaner and they're certainly warmer.  Here the floors are tile or wood or something along those lines.  Without a proper sole on your shoe, your feet are going to freeze.  I live in my zapatillas.  I won't go to the restroom in the middle of the night without first slipping into my house shoes.  I love them.  When my sister came to visit I was almost overwhelmed by the temptation to buy her a pair.

Things like this, like the untouchable Spanish floor, are really subtle.  I adapted to this Spanish habit without thinking too much of it, but as time goes by, I see that it's a mentality.  Every day Spanish people throw their little bits of trash in the street and every night a whole crew of people clean the streets.  To me, this seems abominal.  There are plenty of trashcans.  We don't really have street cleaners in Texas.  We do, but infrequently.  Maybe twice a year outside of the city.  I will stick trash in my purse just to not throw it on the ground because I don't like the way it looks, with the city always so dirty.  For Spanish people, the trash and the floor are the same exact thing.

I was with some friends and one of them asked me to put two packets of sugar in my purse.  This sort of frugality is ridiculous to me and knowing that he wouldn't be mad at me (just exasperated), I looked him right in the eye and dropped his sugar packets on the ground.  In Texas, the person would have picked them up.  In Spain, the moment they hit the ground they were trash.

(I apologize for no picture, I am once again experiencing camera problems.  FML)

A True Expat

I remember when I was first considering doing this program.  I started to read a lot of blogs and was trying to gather information on what I was going to be facing if I did this.  Expat was a word that I came across a lot but didn’t really know what it meant.  An expat is a person who has been banished or has withdrawn themselves or their allegiance from their country.  It’s pretty interesting how it works because while living abroad I’ve felt more patriotic than I ever had at home.  Especially on Thanksgiving.  I started to realize how much I appreciated 24 hour restaurants, peanut butter, jalapeños and the mental simplicity of speaking my native tongue.

In between Christmas and New Year’s Eve Tiffani and I went to Scotland, both Glasgow and Edinburg.  It was a very eye opening experience for me.

When people would ask me where I was from I would say, “Texas, but I live in Spain..”  And while I was eating haggis and trying various types of Whiskey, I wasn’t missing peanut butter.  I missed Spain.  I missed the sun and the olives.  I missed the jamón, café and tapas.  I missed wearing tights and cute scarves.  I missed most of all speaking Spanish.  I have become so accustomed to speaking Spanish to any stranger (and most friends) that when I met someone in Scotland I had to remind myself that they spoke English.

I learned a lot more too.  I learned that Texas isn’t my only home, that Spain has wiggled itself into my heart as well, despite its faults.  I learned that I don’t like Scotland nearly as much as I thought I would.  It’s too damn cold.

I belong in Spain, I belong in Texas.  I belong somewhere warm, somewhere I can go to the beach, somewhere that I can float the river.  Somewhere that the sun makes an appearance and actually sticks around past 4pm.  Last summer I would start floating at 4pm!!  (That’s right Scotland, your days are short, SHORT, SHORT!)  But as a wise man once told me:

“Learn by going where to go.”

So thank you Andres, for sharing that bit of wisdom, I’m working on it.

Oh yea, and always verify the dates on your plane ticket carefully. ;)