If you were to ask me the one thing I miss most about being home, it would be hard choose. If you ask me my favorite thing about Spain, it would be hard to choose. If you were to ask me what I dislike most about Spain….do it. Ask me.
It’s Siesta. I.Hate.Siesta. I think it’s Spain’s worst invention. At around 2 o’clock everything closes and everyone goes home to eat a big lunch, rest, etc. It sounds lovely in theory, I agree with that. But when you work 9-2 and then 5-9, think about your free time: 2pm-5pm. Siesta. Everything is closed. Oh you want to buy stamps you say? Well, you cannot. Or you wanted to run over to the store to pick up that purse you’ve had your eye on? Sorry, we are home for lunch. You need light bulbs, boots, a scarf, chocolate and churros at Valore? You will have to wait until the entire city comes back from their little mid-day standstill.
A serious question here though- how do people work 8 hour shifts? Honestly. Because even if they start at 8 am (though there are very few people on the street at this hour), they would have to work until 4pm, which is impossible as it would cut right through siesta time. I, personally would prefer to have all my work done in one chunk than to work in the morning, return home to rest, and go back to work. However, I tried my best to schedule some tutoring sessions earlier in the day and my lovely Spaniards just won’t have it. “Before 4 is impossible” they say. Well actually they say “Antes de las cuatro, sería imposible.”
The one thing I have learned from Siesta though is that it’s rather noble that the Spaniards work so hard to keep up the tradition. I suppose it’s how our American dinner time should be: sacred. However, I am way too used to convenience and I think that if it is before 10pm on any given day (except for Sunday) I should be able to go get all of my errands done without question. I’ll never get used to it, I swear.
Also, as a side note, I was helping a teacher with her oral exams this week and met some new classes. One 18-year-old came up and my teacher asked him to “Describe Leigh”. If I didn’t know it before, then I know now: he’s a clever boy. His response, “She has long blonde hair, blue eyes, is thin, and is very pretty.” Smart boy. However, he then tried to say “She is average”. Don’t worry, I jumped in and quickly corrected him “You mean average height?”... I did my best to save him from himself.
My younger students are very excited to meet my friends coming to visit: Mike and Amy. Watch out. When Sam and I first got here they interrogated us. Do you have a boyfriend? Do you prefer the mountains or the beach? Have you seen snow? Do you speak Spanish? Do you have any friends that are famous? Do you eat at McDonalds every day?
We started pen pals with my lovely Meg's class back in Buffalo and my students were so excited to get their letters. All except this one boy I have who thinks all Americans are selfish, power hungry capitalists, who care only about material things. So when I received the letter for him in the mail, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. It was the only one which had been decorated entirely in marker by a high school girl with things like a drawing of an ice cream cone labeled "helado" and a beach labeled "playa" etc. As if he doesn't know what the words were in Spanish. So I happily handed it to him and the very first words he said "Jobar, she's a capitalist!"
Dear American capitalists, stop drawing pictures of ice cream cones, you're giving yourselves away.
I love baby Spaniards.
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