Saludos desde Espana

Dear All,

Greetings from Madrid, Spain.

This past Sunday, after having spent 2 weeks traveling around Germany and then another 2 weeks chaperoning my students on their exchange in Frankfurt, I flew from Frankfurt, Germany, to Madrid, Spain. My travels got off to a good start. I was on a plane that would eventually be destined for Chile, so there were tvs on board. The flight was quiet and painless. I arrived around half past ten and the shuttle company sent a driver, who was already waiting for me. It was about 95 degrees and I was overwhelmed by how hot it could be even when the sun isnt out.

After about a 20 minute drive into the city, I was dropped off in front of an apartment building in the dark of night. There were about 20 bells that I could possibly ring to various apartments in the building, but I had thankfully written down Marias apartment number. I rang, heard a voice on the intercom say, Molly, and was buzzed in. I walked inside to the end of the hallway and was greeted by a tiny, middle aged woman with her dark brown hair pulled back with a clip. She greeted me with one kiss on each cheek and brought me inside, where she showed me the apartment. After presenting me with a fan and a magazine in Spanish as gifts, she took me over to the couch to have a quick chat. And then, just before she urged me to go to bed and rest, she said, now we take our first picture together. Selfie. It was so cute that I quietly obeyed, despite wanting to chuckle just a little bit.

The next morning I needed to be up by 8 so that I could get ready for my first day of language courses. The course didnt start until half past ten, but I had wanted to be up early enough to have breakfast, find the bus stop, and then the language school. I didnt feel like rushing. Maria agreed and we had breakfast together at 8. She offered to take me to the bus stop and I agreed. She had suggested heading out at 930, to which I politely asked if we could please leave at quarter past. I wanted to have enough time to get lost. Haha. She agreed, but promptly forget, and seemed puzzled when I was sitting on her couch at 920, waiting quite impatiently. She seemed to pick up on this and we left shortly after. In the hallway, a man introduced to me as Jose (the hilarity that the two people I met first in Spain were named Maria and Jose was not lost on me) was sweeping the floor. We shook hands and then Maria proceeded to show me how to unlock the front door with one of the keys she had given me. When it didnt work, she sent Jose to look for a spare in the back room. You have time, dont you Molly, she asked me in a way that suggested there was no need to worry about being late. I nodded politely and said of course. I was no longer in the land of punctuality. I had to remind myself that I was no longer in Germany.

As Maria and I walked from her apartment to the bus stop, I took pictures of street signs and noted landmarks carefully. I wasnt going to get lost, I told myself. I noted the congress building to my left, the starbucks on the right hand corner, and the vogue signs just to the left of the Neptune fountain. And then we were there. Maria wished me well and I took the bus 5 stops to Colon. Trying to remember her directions carefully, I crossed the busy street just as she had told me to do. And then, well, from there she said I should just ask. She didnt know exactly how to get there. So I just kept walking, and hoping that Id find the street on my own. And then I saw my safe haven. It was a Starbucks. I knew that such overpriced coffee would only be bought by tourists, meaning that the employees must speak at least some English. I went in, asked about the street I was looking for, and was told it was literally about a foot in front of me. So I made it to the language school almost on my own, with a little help from my neighborhood Starbucks.

I arrived at the language school at about 10am, which was about 30 minutes before my class started. I received my books and was shown my room. And then I sat, and waited. Eventually other students came in and I heard people conversing in French and English. But no teacher. 1030 came and went, and still our teacher was not there. Eventually, at about 1040, our teacher walked in and the lessons began. Punctuality is clearly not a Hispanic trait . Now I understand why a friend of mine always claims shes on Hispanic time.

After class I was able to find my way back, and just tried to relax, exhausted from the day and clearly culture shocked. More soon.

Molly