From my terrace

I just watched something incredible take place.

I live on a fairly long one way street in Vigo. I like to go out to my 2 ft. by 4 ft. terrace and watch the people move about in the street. I say Hi to my bartender friend at the bar next to my house and then I just take a long pleasant gander. Tonight there weren't many people out but I saw some cars. Which brings me to the "big event" of tonight's gandering. At around 11:05 p.m. a smartcar came happily cruising down my street. Suddenly it decided it was going the wrong way (ruh roh!) and wanted to start back at the beginning of the street. I don't know if you all know how one way streets work, but you can only go one way. This smartcar however thought it could outsmart this accepted norm by going in reverse. But behind the baby smartcar was a large trash truck performing nightly trash collection. So what happens? The smartcar simply extended an arm and motioned backwards and forced a the trash truck up my entire street! The two of them reversed the entire length of the street until the tiny smartcar made its way in a new direction and beeped a friendly gracias. I watched flabbergasted at the entire situation. Here are the points I came up with for why this is all backwards (literally).

1.) The trash truck is a mammoth! It could easily have squashed the smartcar which is about 5 times bigger than the barbie car I wanted when I was five. (No I never got this).

2.) Can't smartcars like turn around in a doorway? It could of just turned around and squeezed past the trash truck without being so petulant, right? Or just zipped around the block!

3.) Did I mention the audacious smartcar was yellow? Of course it was. For me I can't even take smartcars seriously, and on top of that it was a goofy yellow color. Because don't we all already imagine the dashboard of a smartcar to be like a life size Boppit? There are just knobs and buttons and gadgets. And when you it runs out of gas it just chimes, "Game Over!" So, going back to point number 1, the trash truck totally should have stood up for itself.

My mom always told me she liked driving her big suburban because small cars moved out of the way for her. I would have liked her to be here tonight instead of the friendly trash truck. The smartcar would have said "Oh you didn't hear me, I said 'beep beep!'" And my mom's suburban would have said "Yes, and I replied 'honk honk... No'".

You see, in America big cars win! They say "No to going reverse on one way streets!" No time to reverse for you! Rush rush! Time, stress, one-hour lunch!! Big cars intimidate the little cars. And to keep little cars in their place we even host televised events where big bad trucks crush 10 of them at a time. But...... I am in Europe, where little cars are just as important as big ones and the people are nice. They have all the time in the world and no one cares about time efficiency or say, reversing up a street for a poor disoriented toy-car.

What does this ludicrous blogpost mean? It just goes to say that the logic I was raised with of big car vs. small car doesn't apply in Spain. Big cars coexist with small cars in the most Marxist automobile utopia you can imagine.

And also that my Tuesday nights are very uneventful.

That is all. Goodnight.

Miscommunication

Spanish people are direct. I truly admire this quality. Or maybe I am just jealous. Combo emocciones.

They are also a very loud people. I remember my first few weeks when I would enter the staff room (mind you I didn't really speak Spanish then) and I always thought a huge brawl was happening. There was shouting, big hand gestures and incessant interrupting and I would think "Oh snaaaaaap!!" So I would stop staring at the newspaper I didn't understand and instead stare at the screaming I didn't understand. But the arguments always just stopped when the bell rang and everyone quickly dissipated and I was left bewildered as hell. Then as I gradually progressed with my Spanish I realized there had never been close call brawls. I started to understand we had just been discussing, vociferously, who is the best dentist and which is the best means of transit to get to Madrid and who should pick up the baby gift for Lorena etc. I was astounded to find out that their normal conversations have a very very high intensity level. Added to the fact that spaces, (rooms, offices, elevators, apartments, european cars etc) are considerably smaller. So in a confined space with people yelling and flailing their arms, its normal that a confused American felt apprehensive and edgy. I was used to 3 feet of personal space and saying "excuse me" if you just got close to someone. Now I realize grazing cows are more dynamic than Americans. (Unless you happen to be Bill O'Reily or Patrick Risch).

Crossing the point to understanding espanol was a big relief with my one on one conversations with as well because I finally understood that the people actually weren't reprimanding me. They were just telling me they liked movies from my country really, really loudly and really in my face. After two years, I've noticed that I get much closer to people now too. I shout and interrupt when I have something to say. I grab people's arms so that they listen to me and I point my finger and yell that "I think peanut butter is good source of protein even though its high in fats." It will be funny to go back to the states and start a conversation and realize the other person's face is actually saying "Why are you so close to me!?  Why are you touching me?! 3 feet!! 3 feet!! 3 feet damnit!!"

When my parents were here we had an interesting situation. Actually many but one that relates to this subject. One evening, me, being the tired old woman in a young person's body that I am, said I had to go get in bed and my parents decided to keep on partying it up like the young people in older people's bodies that they are. They went to the bar next to my house. (In Spain there are more cafeterias and bars than mopeds. Are there many mopeds? Ha. Yes almost as many as bars and cafeterias. They must have ran out of names though because many are called things like "Cafeteria Juan", "Cafeteria Cuba 2" Cafeteria Hot and Cold" etc) Anyway they decided to go to Cafeteria Next to Camille's House. They ordered some canas. In Spain you just say, beer and they bring you beer. You don't say a kind, just a size. Cana means small draft beer. Pitchers don't exist. Don't ask.

(To continue with the story I have to add that Jim Risch is not timid. He loves finding a new stranger he hasn't met yet. They make like to think of themselves as strangers, but Jim Risch sees them as soon to be friends. I admire this quality. The problem though with him and Spain, is that my dad had a hard time befriending people without speaking their language.)

The bartender/owner was a man in his late sixties. I'm not sure exactly how it played out but after several rounds of beer, someone tried to start a conversation with the other person. Lets not name names. Nothing was being understood between the two but both were adamant to get their point across. And the man, being Spanish, begin to yell his words at the foreigner and gesture like mad. So the once befriending foreigner begin to yell back his words. And basically it ended with two men, from two different countries, shouting at each other in two different languages.

My parents came home and told me what happened and I couldn't imagine what they could have been arguing about. How can you argue about something if you don't speak a common language I though. Ha! So the next morning we go downstairs to see the bartender/owner and figure out what the scuff was about. As it turns out, the man had just been asking my dad how much a beer cost in his country.

Moral of the story is, if a Spanish person yells at you and is gesturing frantically in your face, do not rear up for a fight! They are probably just trying to start a conversation. Here's what you do: Get in real close, grab their arm and yell a little bit right back. They'll smile and understand. And you'll know you done real good.