"Spain is not only sun, fun, fiesta and siesta", my correspondent wrote me the evening before I left for Spain. The next day when I arrived, I immediately understood what she meant. About clichés and culture shocks...
I already knew that Madrid would not be the Costa del Sol I had always associated Spain with, but I wasn't expecting Nordic temperatures either. So to all my friends who called me a "lucky bastard" because I was escaping the Belgian weather: you were wrong. I took it with me.
"You brought the bad weather", my internship responsible welcomed me at the school.
I shook off the layer of snow that had turned my black umbrella white.
"I always pick the right time", I laughed.
I shook off the layer of snow that had turned my black umbrella white.
"I always pick the right time", I laughed.
We were both looking outside at how thick snowflakes transformed the schoolgrounds into a ski resort. The responsible told me that some pupils living in the hills did not even make it to school because the roads were blocked. And those who did make it to school, were held hostage by the snow and would have to wait for it to melt again.
After some small talk about the hot topic that was the cold weather, I was introduced to different people whose name I already forgot. But since 90 % of the Spanish are called Maria, Pablo, Juan or Javier, it doesn't really matter. So far for cliché number 1: confirmado!
And I should be happy that they are all called the same - it will make it easer to address the nearly 3000 pupils and the 300 staff members at my school. Aye. 3000, divided in classes of 30 pupils or more. Not only did I pick the right time, I guess I also picked the right school... And even though two days ago, I cut my hair to feel more like a Miss Van Crombruggen, after having visited my internship school, I feel like la petite Elise all over again. I guess I did not get the memo that I was going to teach at the largest public school of Spain...
So I'll confess: even though I always wear my Almerian Indalo-charm, I have a harder time adjusting to Spanish life than I thought I would. The first day, at 6 in the evening, my stomach was already craving a fresh baguette from the Flor bakery in Nice, with a morceau of pélardon, my favourite goat cheese, accompanied by a fine bordeaux. Instead, I had a banana because I knew I'd have to wait another four hours before attacking homemade tapas, which brings us to cliché number 2: the Spanish live at night. Cliché confirmed.
But hey, apart from having my biorhythm completely turned upside down, there are plenty of advantages to it: I can do grocery shopping at 22h in the evening, or even spend all my money in my favourite clothes shop Mango. Because - cliché number 3, Spain is a shopping paradise!
But cliché number 4 is without doubt the most important one. It's about the Spanish and their endless, sincere hospitality. I truly could not have dreamed of a warmer welcome here in Madrid than the one I got from my correspondent G. She gave up her entire weekend to pick me up at the airport, help me get installed at my university residence, show me around town (in the pouring rain), help me choose the perfect pots and pans in the Chinese bazar and point out the bio eggs at the Carrefour hyper market.
As if that wasn't enough, she invited me for a lovely dinner at her home where I immediately got to practise whatever was left of my Spanish speaking skills. Because - cliché number 5: the Spanish speak, well... Spanish.
All clichés confirmed, I must admit that it's given me a small culture shock. But isn't that what this Erasmus is all about, getting out of my comfort zone?
Time to get Spanish.
Deséame suerte!
