The Proof of Littering

After posting my thoughts in "The Joys of Littering," I got a few negative responses from natives of Oviedo. They claimed I was being unfair and that I made Spaniards sound like a bunch of pigs living in a rotten pigsty... when I asked them simply, "Did I lie? Did I make something up?" They couldn't tell me otherwise... So I thought that I needed a bit of proof about the real problem of littering in this country.

A couple of weeks ago my mom was here for a week-long visit. I am pretty sure she didn't read my littering entry before her arrival... One day when I was at work and she was left wandering around Oviedo during the day, she ended up taking pictures of the garbage people left behind in a park.

She in fact felt so sickened by it all she had to leave the park and opt to spend her time shopping- the sight of ruined green public spaces was too much...A group of people were sitting around eating McDonald's in the park and just got up and left everything in it's place... then we all wonder why it's prohibited to sit on the grass in this park!

Ah, there's nothing like Pre-Roman architecture surrounded by garbage... Please take note that all of the pictures posted in today's post were taken within a span of a week.

And the last shot of the week, the what could have been more beautiful beach in the Gros neighborhood of San Sebastian, Spain. This sight actually spanned the entire beach line, and I have never seen anything quite like it...

Well, that was very American of me

I am currently attending yoga classes here in Oviedo. I've never been into the whole yoga thing- it always seemed a bit boring and too relaxing for my type. Keeping in mind that cheerleading always had me at 10,000 MPH, I have always been prepared to work hard and sweat, not breathe deep and feel my chakras, or whatever. I had always heard it was good for you, your flexibility and well-being. So, I tried it about a thousand times. I tried it while attending Winona State University, again at Snap Fitness in Robbinsdale, again at free community classes in Gijon, and yet again at a hot yoga studio in Plymouth... The hot yoga studio finally got to me a bit. I found myself thoroughly enjoying the insane amount of sweat involved in stretching with a bunch of other sweaty people all at once in a 100+ degree room. On top of that, it was challenging. The instructors were dynamic and interesting- they made you push yourself and try new things. It wasn't all about relaxing in this class, it was more athletic than I had never experienced. And, most importantly, I found that it was kind to my old grandma style knees and ankles, and I was, in a way, hooked.

Upon my arrival in Oviedo I started asking around about yoga studios... I quickly found that hot yoga hadn't hit the European scene yet, but everyone kept pointing me in the same direction- Rama. A man named Rama. (I guess that his yoga name because his "real" name is, apparently, Tomas. Go figure.) A man who seems to be very well known and respected in the yoga world. And by world, I mean world. I guess he's one of the only Europeans to be trained at his level in India by real yogis. Aaaand he's in Oviedo, small world. Anyway, I haven't memorized his resume, all I know is he's well known and everyone kept telling me he was the best... So I thought I would give it a try. After my first class I couldn't walk normal for six days. I'm not exaggerating. SIX days. I know I have been that sore before, but it had been a loooong time. I guess you could say Rama knows how to kick your ass.

These yoga classes are quite interesting- it's a kind of yoga called "Astanga." I'm not educated in the world of yoga, all I know is that this involves learning a series of poses by heart. There are three series, and I'm obviously learning the first series still, as I'm only on week three. Every week you add a pose or two to your series... so you're always advancing and learning new things. It's a neat setting- everyone goes at their own pace and does their own thing. Suddenly, the instructor comes up behind you and pushes you 3x beyond what you thought your limit was and tells you the breathe. You want to smack him... but you breathe, and it helps. Then, out of the corner of your eye you see some advanced student with their legs in places you never thought they could be. It's scary imagining that my legs could be in that position someday, and perhaps not too far from today...

In the end it's nice to know there's a goal in mind- which in my mind is finishing the first series champion style and moving onto the next.

Just so you get an idea... 

Getting to the point: On Tuesday of this week I learned one new pose to add to the introductory poses I learned during my first two weeks. I finally started to advance and was super psyched about it. Today, when I reached that final pose and somehow weaseled my way out of it, Rama said, "Okay, that's all for today." I looked back at him, wanting more, "Can I learn one more today??" I gave him my big cheesy smile...

He chuckled and smiled back as if it was the first time anyone had asked him for more yoga! "So American..." He grinned. "Yes."

We Americans... we're always so motivated!! <3

The Joys of Littering

My time spent living abroad has been full of all kinds of culture shock, enlightening experiences, linguistic challenges and interesting observations in lifestyle differences... including littering, of course.

The second time I lived in Spain I was in Jaén, in the south of Spain.  Jaén's streets were pretty much a trash bin. Well, not only a trash bin, but a doggie toilet, too. You couldn't walk without fixing your point of view downwards. If you got distracted by some window display or hottie walking past and strayed your concentration for a second, your shoe was usually covered in dog-doo by the time you got back to looking at the concrete again. I will never, ever (can I specify that I will never) forget a time when I saw a couple of girls, around my age, walking down the street with a bag of chips. (I think they were ketchup flavored. Yuck.) As one of them emptied the bag and licked her fingers in satisfaction, she simply dropped the bag. Dropped it. It slowly drifted down onto the sidewalk... and the girl never looked back to see where it landed. Not even a glimpse of shame or guilt appeared in her face. She just kept on walking. Three years later, I can still remember exactly how it all went down- and it still baffles me to this day.

I now live on the opposite end of the country in Oviedo, and it's is a few steps ahead of Jaén in poopy terms. Here you don't have to look down while you walk, which is quite convenient if I do say so myself. You can look in absolutely any direction you want (only if your umbrella isn't blocking your view, that is). Owners proudly pick up their dogs shit... it's great. I have yet to see anyone blatantly drop garbage onto their city's streets during daylight hours. Now, all of this changes if you have to pee. Ahh, yes. There is nothing like seeing parents train their kids to pee in public. I have to say I'm not proud to find myself entertained by a mother turning herself into a human toilet. Lets see if I can explain this strange situation... mom picks up her daughter under her knees, puts her back to her belly, making her little one look like she's hanging through a basketball hoop that is her mother's arms. And, the effect is her pee shooting out directly in front of them. On a street corner. In broad daylight. All the time.  And of course boys just whip it out and go anywhere. Forget the whole, "Shut up and HOLD IT!" thing. Here, if you've gotta go, you've gotta go, and it doesn't quite matter where.

Unfortunately, this phenomenon isn't only limited to children... Surprise, surprise, what you learn as a child tends to cross over into adulthood... There is nothing like seeing the streets of the Old Quarter flowing with rivers of piss on the weekends. One street in particular stinks so bad you can't breathe and walk by at the same time. It's as if bathrooms don't exist, and any corner turns into a public bathroom.

Piss aside, the Old Quarter, during warmer and less rainier seasons, turns into a garbage bin on the weekends. Botellón, bringing your own bottles of alcohol and pop to drink in the street with your friends, ruins the image of the most beautiful part of this city every weekend it's even a little nice out... At 6am it looks like a tornado passed directly through a bar and spit all the garbage and broken glass all over the main streets of the city. It's absolutely disgusting, to say the least. I am the first to admit that I used to love botellón. I participated freely and happily when living in Jaén. It was cheaper, and, in the end, more fun than going into any bar. But that doesn´t mean it's nice to see so much shit lying around the city. And that doesn´t mean that it´s a Spanish habit that maybe needs to change. All I know is that Woody Allen might take back his famous quote about this city if he saw the garbage and piss filled streets on any given Saturday night. 

                                                                                                                                                                   

In the words of Woody, 
"A delicious, exotic, beautiful, clean, pleasant, tranquil and pedestrianised city. 

It is as if it didn't belong to this world. Oviedo is like a fairy tale."

Woody is a huge supporter of Oviedo, he's got a statue of himself in the center of the city and even turns up in tourism ads for Asturias. One of his favorite things about this city is it's cleanliness. But, Woody's not the only one who has been dooped into believe that Oviedo is a pristine, sparkling city. Oviedo is actually known as being one of the cleanest cities in Spain and even won a prize for being the cleanest city in Europe not too long ago. How do they trick everyone into believing it? They clean the streets 24/7. People in orange jump suits walk the streets all day with a portable garbage can and a broom in hand- sweeping away. Huge cleaning car machines, which I still don't understand how they work, circulate the streets a million times a day. You drop a cigarette butt? Don't worry, in 2.5 seconds someone else has already cleaned up after you. Like to drink in the streets at night, throwing your garbage around and breaking bottles? Don't worry, the government will spend it's excess amounts of money to clean up after you on Sunday morning. Want to eat lunch on the beach during the summer and leave all your garbage behind? Unfortunately, no one cleans up the beaches here... but since you're used to people picking up your garbage all the time, you don't realize you're ruining your own beaches... It's like there's a little piece of social cleanliness and responsibility missing here...

                                                                                                                                                                   

When my parents and brother came to visit last summer, we had a couple of interesting encounters with the phenomenons that are littering and peeing. One Saturday my brother and I went to a beach party in Salinas, a village about half an hour from Gijon, where I was living at the time. We were walking around, drinking and watching a concert that was going on. Phil, with an empty beer in hand, looked at me innocently and asked, "Umm... where should I throw this away? I don't see any garbage bins." He turned his head one way and another to search for a trash bin, only to realize that there was junk all over the sidewalks and cluttering the streets. "Wait, can I really throw this on the ground?" He asked innocently. "Well, yep. It's normal here." He dramatically dropped his jaw, stuck his arm out in front of him, and slowly let his fingers relax as he watched the beer can drop to the floor in awe. "That felt so weird," he claimed. 

On a different weekend night, we were out and about, walking around, the four of us. My dad commented in disgust about the pee filled streets... "How can Spain expect their economy to function well if their own people pee on their own city and their own country? There's no respect." 

Hmm, the wise has spoken... Solution? Is there one? I think that if the government stopped cleaning up after botellón on the weekends people just might stop. Or a civil war might break out. Both are completely possible outcomes. As for everyone being accustomed to littering? All you have to do is start sending out a fine or two for littering and, and that just might help with the problem, too. All I know is man, it´s a shame to smell so much piss all the time. 

Proud to be an American?

When I first spent some time living in Spain, I was a spunky sophomore at Winona State University. At a mere 19 years old, I left the good Midwest and ventured to Barcelona, where I would spend five months having my world view change completely.

I studied abroad with the only program I could find that would send American students to study in a real university setting. AKA, they wouldn't send you to Spain to take classes with American students and American professors in an American center, like 99.9% of programs. This place would send you, for a light $13,000, directly to the Universitat de Barcelona. The Council on International Educational Exchange (CIEE), it was called. This program was independent from my university, and so I went completely alone. I didn't know anyone, and that was the part I liked about it. My goal was to stray away from Americans if I could, and attempt to meet some local friends for what I thought would be an enlightening cultural experience as we were promised we would all have upon embarking on our semester-short adventure on the other side of the big pond.

My first but important change in worldview came via a group of Colorado-natives who, using a technique which I like to call lighthearted (yet damaging) bullying, made me fully aware that I had a ridiculous Minnesota accent. Every time I spoke they laughed at me, pointed a bit, and then made me repeat words they thought were funny. I couldn't hear my accent, but I was, suddenly, made fully aware it existed. When in group settings, I stopped talking altogether. But hey, whatever. It was honestly the best way for me to not get sucked into an America away from America experience abroad.

In my time in Barcelona I made the typical mistake. I didn't get to know Barcelona all too well. I started to travel and travel and travel, one weekend after another. France, Belgium, Scotland, Holland, and aaaaaaall over Spain. I pulled some of the weight all traveling Americans did at that time: the weight of President Bush. Regardless of how you may have felt personally about Bush, the rest of the world didn't like him very much, aaaand the rest of the world was usually ignorant enough to treat me like shit because of a president I didn't vote for. All the same, people would come to me, bash my country to my face, and I would usually agree with them.

Now, on top of the general anti-American sentiment in Europe at the time, I was super duper young and started to have all of these amazing revelations about my culture, country and lifestyle... They were intensely enlightening for me at the time, but all the same were insanely negative. Suddenly, my country seemed to be full of ignorant non-travelers whose eyes had never been opened to a world of street cafes and the ingenious invention that is walking... anyone who hadn't lived abroad just hadn't lived, goodness gracious!

The outcome upon my arrival home is what I like to call "Study Abroad Syndrome": or, I hate America and all it stands for. Patriotism is bad and next time I travel I might even say I'm Canadian.

All I could seem to spit outta my mouth was insinuating that Spain was way better than America. "In Spain, this, and this, and this..." and my friends and family, for the first five minutes of conversation, would respond with the affirming, "Wow, cool." But that didn't last for long. (Understandable.)

After those five minutes and for, maybe, another week, they started to directly ignore me. (Fair enough.)

Once that week or two passed, and I still insisted of Spain's superiority, I got the response of:  "SHUT UP YOU'RE NOT IN SPAIN YOU'RE IN AMERICA!!" (More than fair enough.)

The next step in the process was being pissed at all my friends and family for not understanding me. The acceptance process went a bit like this in my head: Okay, Spain is better but if I want friends after tomorrow I have to wire my jaw shut to keep myself from telling everyone how ignorant they are for not having lived in Spain, or at least dreamed about it. Okay. Accepted. (And then I'd only talk about it drunk.)

This sentiment hung around... my obsession with my home away from home never faded like it did for some other fellow study-abroaders, and I ended up moving back to Spanish-speaking land the fall after graduation, in October 2009.

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I landed in Spain's version of the deep south: Jaén. The land of olives and it's oil. The land of "I can't understand anything you're saying because your accent ruins my concept of the Spanish language." The land of tapas, drinking til 9am, and that's about it cause there was really nothing else to do. 

This was my second move abroad alone. I, luckily, connected with another American girl, Holly, before leaving and met her there upon my arrival. We found an apartment together on the most beautiful pedestrian street in town, which we shared with a friendly Peruvian guy.

During my eight months working as an English teaching assistant, I was the owner of what would come to be known between my fellow Americans and I as "Spain face." Definition? I was smiling 24/7. The first few days, Holly would have to tell me to stop smiling as I walked down the street... Turns out I was embarrassing my friends as I bathed in my European bliss. I didn't care that I was kinda in the middle of nowhere, I was straight up happy to be there.

This time around I didn't care about diving into Spanish customs by ignoring fellow Americans in an attempt to be cultured or something. This time around, I learned that foreigners run in packs because, surprise, you have one thing in common: you're alone. And another thing: you're all crazy enough to move away alone in search of some kind of meaning in life, and so you all get along really, really well. And it's really, really fun. 

Another thing happened. I was pretty darn sure I would never live in Spain again. Why? I didn't want to. Spanish people started to annoy me: they talk loud, they're rude, lazy and ignorant, they never want to leave their parents because they're all spoiled brats who live for free until they're 30... independence is of no importance, cheating on their significant other seemed to be the norm because they would rather suffer through a lifelong relationship that started when they were 15 than be alone... all I saw was negative. I loved the language, the nightlife, the lifestyle... but I started to really dislike the people! It was like I had suddenly overdosed on cultural experiences.

The other side of this? I started to glorify home. The variety of food. The people. Better yet, the polite people. The American dream. The mindset of working hard, being independent and self-reliable. The wide streets. Cars. Big cars! Green places. Quiet places. Houses! (How can you live in an apartment, anyway??) I finished my work contract, celebrated my birthday with an all-nighter, and flew home the next day. Shit, I practically ran home. I would have swam if you told me I had to.

My parents picked me up from the airport with a cooler full of Taco Bell (best welcome home gift ever!) and drove me home. As we cruised through Minneapolis and into Robbinsdale, I felt like I was passing through a surrealist film. I expected marvalous-ness. I spent eight months with such a desire for home filled with unrealistic wishes of life being perfection that I went through the strangest thing ever: reverse culture shock. Home didn't feel too homey anymore, or at least not like I remembered. I got bored after two weeks... and even started to miss Spain. I spent the summer keeping up with my Spanish by interpreting and decided that if no dream-job dropped into my plate (which of course it didn't) that I would wander off to Spain again. Not because I really wanted to, but just because I figured... why not?

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And so, move number three came along in October of 2010... I went alone again to work as an English teaching assistant, again. I showed up in Gijón, a rainy city on the northern coast, known as "La costa verde" (the Green Coast). I was lucky enough to be invited into the home of a Polish girl named Magda, who I contacted through couch surfing (for those of you who don't know, it's defined as: "A volunteer-based worldwide network connecting travelers with members of local communities, who offer free accommodation and/or advice"). The first day, her Italian friend and neighbor, Alberto, carried a suitcase or two of mine up four flights of stairs and offered me homemade pizza and a beer. I decided these people would be my future friends, and they were. Our international group of pals was pretty much an unofficial UN: Belgium, Poland, Italy, Germany, Spain and the US were all represented. I didn't spend much time with any Americans, which didn't worry me. Like I had learned before, foreigners run in packs... and I learned that it didn't matter what kind of foreigners. In the end we were all alone, all the same. And all we had was each other.

It was during this year when I finally leveled out my opinions about my country. I finally realized it wasn't paradise, but it also wasn't a shit hole full of ignorant hillbillies with superiority syndrome. Maybe it was due to being surrounded by so many different types of people and cultures, or maybe it was having two years of such extreme feelings- each from a polar opposite end- that brought me down to earth.


It may seem like a simple revelation, but it wasn't easy for me to come to. I realized every country has their good and bad, just like mine. The problem just happens to be that America is huge. Not only is it huge, but it's in the center of the world culturally and economically, not to mention militarily (I didn't think that word existed but spell check didn't jump me, so looks like it's good...). Everyone across the world watches our movies and listens to our music. They wear our brands and dream of traveling to our cities. They follow our presidential elections and political movements and choices. They criticize our health care system and our values. They tear us apart because it's easy.  We're in the center... and therefore we're easy to pick on. I'm not suddenly on the other extreme of "America is the best," but I am currently in the happy middle. My country is great, and hey, yours is too. Sounds kinda like a Sesame Street episode or something... but that's how I see it now. (Now if only Big Bird would pop out from around the corner and give me a hug. He was always my favorite.)

I also came to the conclusion that ignorance spans the globe. Whether European, Asian, American, whatever- there are dumb people everywhere. I spent last year defending my country and my culture for the first time in my life. I began to note that the majority of people dissing on my country had never been to my country, and all of their conclusions were taken from MTV or late-night talk shows who make fun of dumb people in general (which just happened to be filmed in America). What they don't realize is, if they did that here, you'd find people who don't know how to locate Mexico on a map, too. 


My favorite drunken phrase random people say to me here is: "You're all dumb and ignorant!! Look at your people on MTV!!" My response? "If you think MTV represents all the people in my country, you're the ignorant one." 

"And most American people think Spain is next to Mexico!!" 

My response?  "Have you met any Americans who don't know where Spain is?"

Theirs? "No... but on TV..!!!"

Mine? "Maybe Spain hasn't done anything important enough in recent years for us to have to know where Spain is." 

That's always a good way to get an argument going... 

Anyway, in the end, after a few years of living here, I've realized that simply enough, one is not better than the other, it's just different. And compared to before, where I would have held up a Canadian flag to hide the fact that I was American, now I'm proud. I'm simply proud. My country is pretty damn great. And to answer my own question, yes, I am proud to be an American. (Finally.) And it feels good.


That's all for now, folks.

Thinking of Snow

My facebook news feed is a perfect combination of almost everything I need to stay as home-sickness free as possible while living far-far away from my dear motherland.

Entertaining, informative, gossipy. I love it. I just love it. Forget the morning paper, my news feed is all I need. Sound pathetic? I could get why you would think it's a bit pathetic. But, if you stepped into my corner for a weekend or two, you'd get it.

Now, when you're abroad you miss everything. The staples of friends and family, and food of course (what I would GIVE for an after-bar run to Taco Bell every weekend)... but there's lots of things I miss while away that might not even cross your mind.

I think it's fair to say that it's a normal thing to have friends. Think about what you usually do with those friends. Your list might include sports like drinking, er... I mean... biking, or going to the movies, or shopping, for example. What that list should really say is "talking about people we know." So, what do I miss? Gossiping. I miss gossiping about family, friends, acquaintances and people I don't honestly care about... Like... neighbors or dogs or whoever, and, surprisingly enough, since you know these people from high school or sports or because they are your mom's friend's son, it's all interesting! 

Here, since I don't have an extensive web of people I know well enough to gab about, I get that gab from facebook. I get my sense of home- of knowing more than a handful of people at once- by reading updates on people I know though facebook. You would be surprised that your sense of home- more than places and food- is your sense of knowing a shit load of people who all happen to be in the same place!

Another thing I get from facebook? Weather updates! As a Minnesotan, we know how important the weather is. It's either too humid, too cold, too frozen or too perfect (only for a couple of days a year, that is). Yesterday, I know it started snowing because of facebook. 12,000 complaints of white beatifulness falling from the sky, and everyone is complaining. Now, I know you have to deal with it for the next... 4-ish or so months... but man, that first snowfall can also be breathtaking. A breath that hasn't been taken from me in three years, now. Via facebook, all of a sudden I can curl up in my bed, call my parents on skype, have them point the webcam out of their window, and ·vuala·, I'm in Minnesota.

Without technology, I'm not sure how I could handle being so far, far away...

"I wanna picture with the bad boys!!"

This Christmas I visited home. It was just about the strangest feeling. I was stopping by, saying hello, and leaving for another six months. But, it was also happy. It was like a layover to help me push homesickness away in order to enjoy my last lag in Spain. I was at a point in my life timeline where I was pretty positive my Iberian Peninsula adventures were coming to an end. I would be moving back to Bird-Town in summer. I was already pondering going to look for some rockin' bilingual job, interpreting on the side, and hopefully becoming stable enough to move into the near-Uptown area. Well... that was before I met the Spaniard everyone said for years and years that I would end up meeting. Right when I was pretty convinced my love affair with this country was ending, turns out it was just beginning...

Summer came and the days started to pass, and pass, and keep on passing. I soon realized I had to make a decision: to move home or to visit. I ended up with the later choice, and "take my Spaniard home day" came in late August.

The visit home is a strange sensation, as suddenly meeting up with friends and family is for catch-up and meet my fabulous boyfriend purposes. Days in Minneapolis were filled with concerns about where to eat? where to drink? where to do everything I love about this city and only have two weeks to do? Talk about decisions!!! The plus side is that playing tour guide with a foreigner makes things way more fun. We were generously gifted Twins and Vikings tickets. My mom threw a family BBQ. My friends made lots o' time to hang out. I got to watch Pelayo eat his first s'more, and, shit, we even got to shoot a gun at Bill's Gun Range!

I considered filling this blog entry with a blurb about every stop on our month long American adventure. But then I realized that can get quite boring to read, and even to write. SO, I am going to debut my fabulous Spaniard on my blog today with the most entertaining story of the trip... And if this bores you then you are probably boring.

...

It was a stickily humid weeknight right in the heart of Uptown, where we were engaging in the typical tourism chat which always consists of: "This used to be hipster and cool and unique but is now commercialism center." Yes. Very typical. And overdone. But true? Anyway, as we were walking up Lake, a few guys sped past on their neon-glowing motorcycles. Pelayo does the whole, I'm a dude and love motorcycles thing, whips out his camera and tries to snap them, failing pretty miserably. So, the chase down starts. We run, as casually as possible, stalking them into the Cowboy Slim's parking lot. Suddenly there was no way to sneakily takes pictures of them. I am used to being a foreigner and have come to discover that when you are foreign you can get away with shit you cannot get away with being a local, like asking three scary, gangster looking bikers if you can take their picture. My conclusion? "Pelayo, ask them if you can take a pic with them." To my surprise, he does.

"Hey, can I take a picture with you guys?" he asks innocently.

"You can take a picture of the bike, but not of me," biker 1 growls. Camera in hand, I started to back up slowly...

It seemed like an eternity passed before Pelayo let a huge grin spread across his face and spit out, "But I wanna take a picture with the bad boys!!" He recalls regretting that the second it flew from his lips, but it ended up saving his ass.

"Umm, you're not from here, right?" questions biker 1.

"Nope, I'm from Spain."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Is that really what he thought, though? Of all the foreign dudes asking to take pictures of you- a scary as hell dude- they would be from Spain? Whatevs. All I know is that all of a sudden this guy was like, nicer than I could have ever imagined. "Is it your first time here? Why are you here? Where did you guys go?? Did you go to Dinkytown for Mesa Pizza? Are you gonna go in to Cowboy Slims? There is a better one is Bloomington, you should bring him to Bloomington. Did you go to the Mall of America? When are you guys getting married????"

We chit-chatted, took a couple of pictures, and kept on our way.

I guess pigs can fly now.

Little Facts about Barcelona, 2007

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a Word document I created back when I was studying in Barcelona. I was there studying for just five months, but made some pretty interesting observations about seemingly insignificant but quite telling differences in lifestyles, cultures and languages...

Me in Barcelona, 19 years old

Now that I have been living in Spain for a more significant amount of time, I never seem to notice these small differences that seemed so big to me when I was just 19 years old. For those of you who have spent some time in Spain, you might just find this interesting.

Little Facts about Barcelona 2007

1. Old men walk with their hands held behind their backs.

2. Spaniards are OBSESSED with saving energy because utilities are so expensive and scarce.

3. Long showers don’t exist. If it’s longer than 8 minutes you’re American and ridiculous.

4. They are also obsessed with every single door in the house being closed at all times (and they also have a lot more doors).

5. Fat people do not exist here. Anyone overweight is over 65.

6. All the music played in stores (of any kind) is really terrible American 80’s and 90’s music. Celine Dion and Mariah Carey always top the list.

7. Everyone is stylish- but weird 80s stylish. Ankle tight jeans are very popular, along with high-heel knee-high boots, and tights or leggings.

8. The city smells pretty bad.

9. Everyone smokes cigarettes.

10. Siesta doesn’t really exist in the big city, but lots of shops and stores close for two hours from lunch (1:30-3:30).

11. They eat five times a day. Breakfast at 8am, snack at 11am, lunch 2pm (their big meal), snack 5pm, dinner 10pm.

12. You can get a bocadillo anywhere for pretty cheap and they’re always delicious!

13. A huge piece of French bread (baguette) costs $.50.

14. They can talk at 5million miles a second a still understand each other.

15. Public transportation is amazing. There’s always the metro, the bus, the train, or your own feet.

16. When you order a pop at a restaurant it comes in a can and a glass with no ice.

17. You can’t get tap water at a restaurant.

18. They don’t really drink water here… but you can get a 1 liter bottle of water at the grocery store for $0.30!!!

19. Mopeds are everywhere!

20. They take “public display of affection” to a whole new level.

21. Hanging out at someone’s house doesn’t happen. To spend time with friends you meet at a bar, restaurant or café.

22. All of their convenient shops end with “ia.” Panadería (bakery), Farmacía (pharmacy), Perfumería (Perfume and makeup shop), Peluquería (hair salon).

23. Milk and juice for drinking at home comes in cardboard boxes that you can keep warm for a long time.

24. Chocolate is everywhere! Every block there’s a bakery that sells tons of chocolate covered/filled croissants and goodies. Nummy!

25. Cell phone minutes are really expensive and can be paid for by contract or by pre-pay.

26. To be able to walk to the grocery store and back home after shopping, lots of people own bags similar to a rolling suitcase to carry their groceries in.

27. Dogs are everywhere, poop everywhere, and go without a leash- without a problem.

28. For an area to be considered a “park” here it just has to be a brown sandy/dusty area with a few benches.

29. The blinds are outside of the house and you open and close them with a cord inside the room.

30. They don’t drink tap water.

31. Chocolate is king here!

32. Clubs (discotecas) are open until the wee hours of the morning (7am, 9am, anyone?)