Adjusting to Spain

I knew going into this experience that there’d be some cultural clashes. After all, I’m admittedly quite stuck in my American ways at times. I figure a lot of you, dear readers, are curious about what differences I’ve noticed between the States and Spain thus far. This post might seem terribly ethnocentric. I apologize for that in advance, but the easiest way to illustrate what life is like here is to compare it to the familiar back home.

- In Spain, stores that sell groceries primarily sell groceries. For random, non-grocery items, many Spaniards go to “chinos,” which are stores that sell, well, random stuff. They’re often run by Chinese people, hence the name “chino,” but that’s not always the case. I can’t make an educated estimate of the typical chino square footage, but the average size reminds me a lot of a Factory Card Outlet or Party America, if that helps. In the chinos, most products are in their original packaging, but some aren’t. 

Chino in Don Benito

 I was able to buy lotion, a lint roller, toothpaste, a trash can and dish scrubbers at the Mercadona grocery store. But I had to go to multiple chinos to find a fan, towels, power adaptors, an extension cord, hangers, a full-length mirror and a key ring. I must admit I miss the one-stop-shopping in Lincoln, Nebraska. But, considering I have to walk everywhere in Don Benito, the multi-store pursuit of goods is great exercise. There is a Carrefour (a France-based superstore chain) near my town, and that has a pretty good selection of necessities, but it’s no Wal-Mart (it’s compared to Wal-Mart sometimes, but they don’t carry a lot of the things Wal-Mart does. For example, they don’t sell any mirrors.)  

Got Crocs? This chino does.

I couldn't find a proper basket for my things, so I settled for a bread pan from a chino. 

Remember what I said about a lack of selection?

-         On a different note…I can’t write a post about Spanish culture and not mention the infamous siesta. I’m going to come right out and say it: I’m not yet a Spanish siesta fan. Here, virtually all businesses and municipal agencies close down from roughly 2 to 5 p.m. Afterward, some people return to work for a few hours. From my limited experience thus far, many banks and government agencies, however, don’t open again until the following day. On Sundays, virtually everything is closed. I know the Sabbath was once viewed in the States with reverence, but let’s be honest, it’s more or less become another day for many Americans to get things done. I mean, you’ve been to Wal-Mart on a Sunday, right?

-         Spanish culture is very social, perhaps because it’s less about working and more about enjoying family, friends, food, wine and cañas (small beers). The streets are almost always alive with people (except, of course, during the siesta). During the evenings, when most Americans are either on the couch or still at work, Spaniards are sitting on park benches, walking the streets or sitting at cafes. I’m quite serious about the park bench thing: In the evenings, handfuls of older men congregate on benches to chat. It’s lovely, really. It’s funny how fast I’ve adjusted to this – when I’m in my apartment in the evenings, I just want to get out and do something. 

-    I'm still very awkward with the double-kiss-on-the-cheek greeting. So far, pretty much everyone has greeted me that way. I've gotten used to that, but I don't understand yet when it's appropriate for a goodbye. It's almost like there's an uncomfortable dance for me at the end of dinner or drinks, in which the Spanish person wonders if he/she should give me dos besitos (two kisses) or if we should just leave with a smile and a wave. Are there concrete rules for this sort of thing? 

-    Lastly, my tummy is angry at Spain. See, Spaniards generally eat a light breakfast, a large lunch and a small supper. I bought cereal and milk at the grocery store (my next post will highlight that adventure), so I eat breakfast just like I did back home. However, Spaniards don't eat lunch until 2 p.m. or after. Students and teachers aren't served lunch at school, so I have to wait until I get home around 2:30 or later.  By then, my hunger clock has been ringing since noon. Supper isn't until 8:30 or 9, when I'm usually settling down for the evening in the States.

Perhaps in a month or so I'll be glowing about how happy I am that I've adjusted to these relatively

small-but-significant differences. For now,  I'm not sure what to think. 

Buenas tardes, 

Teresa