Next, the “Negotiation Phase,” ensues; one may start to notice differences between old and new cultures, creating anxiety.
The negotiation phase set in on one day in particular.
One afternoon, I decided I would indulge myself in a favorite from home. After trying to ingratiate myself into this culture, I decided I needed a break; I wanted Starbucks. I’ve been trying to adapt to the one-ounce shot glasses of espresso that are served most places, but I wanted a straight up caramel macchiato, what I order at home. I was well aware that I would need to shill out more than 4 euro for this delicious beverage, but that day I needed it. I remembered that I had my Starbucks Gold Card, which I worked so hard for back in Lawrence, and it still had an existing balance. I’d be saving money! Which is somewhat difficult in this city. I headed out with my shoulder bag in tow, lugging my laptop along with the intent of writing for this blog. (this was like a week ago, I’ve really gone a long way with this thing.)
The Starbucks was about a mile and a half away, according to Google maps, but I thought I could use the exercise. Along the walk, I tried to hide the fact that I needed to check my trustee map from time to time, but after what seemed like forever, I could see the familiar green emblem ahead of me. I practiced what I would say to the barista, before even entering the store. “Querria una macchiato caramel, tall, por favor.” And when it came time to pay, I would ask if they accepted gift cards from the states. I assumed this would not be a problem.
After successfully ordering my drink, and handing over the card, the man looked at me as if I was an alien. I explained that I was from the states, as he flipped if over to see the Starbucks logo printed on the back. He looked at me and said he had never seen one before….
Excuse me, WHAT?! I probably looked as dumbfounded as he at this point, because I could not believe that Spanish Starbucks did not even use their own gift cards.
All right, so I regretfully pulled out 4 euro, and handed it over. This better be the best darn macchiato I’ve ever had, I thought to myself.
I found a table near a window, where I set up my computer and sipped on my coffee. The next thing I knew, I was trying to connect to the internet. Wifi is offered in all of the Starbucks at home, so I just expected it would be there too.
No wifi. This is a different country. I need to adjust adjust, I thought.
I decided I would work on my blog as a Microsoft Word document, and then upload it later. After a few minutes of typing away, my battery was dwindling and I needed to plug this sucker in…. No outlets. Apparently, electricity is quite pricey over here, so it is rarely offered. So now, I was sitting at a Starbucks, with nothing to do. Frusterated, I slammed my lap top closed, and headed to the market. This girl was in need of some Peanut Butter.
I walked back towards my house, knowing that I would pass by a few grocery stores on the way.
There is no way I just felt a raindrop.
Yep, it started raining on my walk home. I thought nothing could make this day worse.
I finally worked up the courage to go into a grocery store, and went in search of something that could turn this day around. No peanuts butter in sight, so I figured I’d grab some cereal, and why not buy a few apples while I was there? I’ve been eating pretty much all of Maite’s fruit, so I might as well spare her a little?
I walked to the counter and watched as the attendant rang up my things. She grabbed the apples, and said something to me, without looking up. “Uhhh…Que?” I asked. She looked at me holding the bag of apples. She rattled something off again, and I indicated that I didn’t really understand what she was asking me. At first, I thought she was wondering what the price was, and I just said that I didn’t know. Some guy behind me blurted out “THE WEIGHT.”
Shoot. I was supposed to weigh those? In my haste and embarrassment, I told her that I hadn’t weighed them, and I didn’t want them any more. She scoffed at me, and I could hear the people in line behind me snicker. I paid, grabbed my things, and darted for the door. Before I made it out of there, the lady beckoned me back in, of course, I had forgotten my gum on the way out. I just had to laugh as I went back to retrieve it.
Here are a few more assumptions that I have made about this culture, that I have needed to adapt to:
Spanish people are dehydrated.
Everday, I walk into the kitchen , and chug as much water as I can without tasting it, or thinking about how tepid it is. A slight chlorine undertone, can be noticed in the tap water, and ice is rarely used. People buy bottled water at vendors on the street, but who wants to spend 2 euro everyday on a litre of water?
I have heard from some that it is not unhealthy to drink the water, rather unpleasant. In my attempt to save money, I have done my bet to refrain from buying multiple 2-euro, 1-litre bottles of water a day. Some afternoons, when I feel a headache set in, I wonder if it is due to dehydration, or the chlorine I have been sifting through my body. So, next time when I am at the pool, and see no harm in taking a quick sip, remind me that our tap water doesn’t taste like this. One of the first things I'm going to do when I get home is pour myself a tall glass of ICE water.
2- Spaniards are sleep deprived—
One night, we decided to attempt for the first time to go out as the locals do; It is customary here to go to dinner around 10 before a night out on the town. They will attend multiple bars, enjoying tapas and drinks until 2:30 or 3 AM before hitting up the clubs.
We all ate dinner at our home stays (my home stay has dinner around 10 oclock every night! When i tried to explain what time americans eat their meals, they were shocked.) and met at one beach bar around 10:30. We met at Espirit Chupitos, a popular a shot bar serving over 600 types of shots. (many of them involving fire or some sort of theatrical performance when taking it.)
After chupitos, our group stopped by a few bars before heading to a discotecha. We were headed there a little early, around 2, but we decided that we would stay around and wait for it to really pick up. We danced and sang on the dimly lit dance floor, and when I looked down at my phone at 3 oclock, I decided I was experiencing some sensory overload and needed to get out of there before I had a seizure.
Brianna and I walked outside to find the line to get in around the corner of the block. They weren’t kidding, these places really were hopping by 3 AM.
I took the metro, arriving home around 3:45, to find Maite doing laundry! We chatted for few minutes, and I exclaimed to her that Spanish people don’t sleep! She laughed as I headed to my room (I’m not going to lie, I could have sworn I heard a kindof maniac tone in her laugh.. could be the sleep deprivation)
If only I knew her thoughts at this point. Stupid American girl, thinking she can party with us Barcelonans.
I don’t want this post to sound like I am not loving Barcelona, because I am. I just realized after a few days of confusion and anxiety, that I was simply adjusting to the new environment I am currently living in. With classes started and a routine kicking in, I’m moving on into the next phase of culture shock: Adjustment, and just plain loving it here! J
This was a bar we visited that was super “cool” (pardon the ridiculously bad pun.) The bar was made completely of ice!! The room is kept at a bone chilling -11 degrees Celsius.
They played videos of penguins and polar bears to go along with the theme.
It probably wasn’t the best idea to wear a skirt that night… The average visit lasts about 45 minutes, I’m pretty sure I made it about 25 before I didn’t have feeling in my toes, and couldn’t do it anymore
