52 signs you're an American in Spain

...because you can take the American out of America, but you can't take the, well, you know...

1. You have a love/hate relationship with the siesta.  
2. You're not a fan of dubbing. 
3. You're really awkward with the double-kiss greeting.  
4. Your English gets worse by the day. 
5. You're waiting for Netflix and Pandora to get their you-know-what together and start functioning overseas. 
6. You curse the lack of toilet paper, paper towels and/or soap in the bathrooms here. 
7. You've explained countless times that rugby and American football are not the same. 
8. Your internal meal bell still rings around noon and 6 p.m. 
9. Cooking with butter reminds you of home.
10. You've gone to the ethnic aisle to find peanut butter. 
11. You have introduced said peanut butter to foreign friends. Their response was something along the lines of, "It tastes like peanuts," or my personal favorite, "Um, it's really thick."
12. You've paid outrageous prices for said peanut butter, ingredients to make tacos or baking supplies.
13. You wonder why anyone builds living quarters without an oven.
14. You've corrected a Spaniard's English and then later realized it was actually correct in British English.
15. You've been teased for your Central American/South American Spanish.
16. You'll never be able to keep up with Spaniards on the social scene. Going out at 2 a.m. isn't easy. 
17. You try to adapt your wardrobe to Europe, but on days when life sucks, you put on tennis shoes and your college sweatshirt and ask Europe to cut you some slack.
18. You brought a college sweatshirt from home. Or four college sweatshirts from home. 
19. You're the go-to expert on how life in America is/is not like it appears in the movies.
20. Spaniards think it's weird that you wear socks around the house.
21. Anywhere within eight or nine hours driving is a totally doable weekend trip. Spaniards don't agree. 
22. You don't have the heart to tell Spaniards that you don't catch a cold from not wearing shoes in the house/not wearing a scarf/not buttoning your coat. 
23. It's hard for you to understand that going to the doctor is free. As in, you don't have to pay. At all. No, really, you just go and then leave and keep your money.
24. You see gas prices here and suddenly $3.50 a gallon seems like a bargain.
25. You wonder why Europeans prefer hatchbacks over small sedans.
26. You've had to explain to people back home that Spanish food is not Mexican.
27. "Spicy" Spanish food doesn't seem remotely spicy to you. 
28. Sometimes the whiny, entitled American comes out when you can't buy something at 1 a.m. or anytime on a Sunday.
29. Your friends in America are 24 and married, while your friends in Spain are 30 and still staying out 'til 8 a.m.
30. You've realized that wine and coffee in Spain are far superior and cheaper than in America. 
31. You've told a Spaniard which part of the country you're from, and they've related your state/city to something from pop culture.
32. Or they said, "That's in the north, right?" To which you've responded, "No, it's actually in the southwest/center/complete opposite part of the country."
33. You've explained that Americans don't wear scary costumes for Halloween, and we instead use the holiday as an excuse to dress like an idiot or a lady of the night.
34. When you visit the States or have a visitor in Spain, you stock up on food (i.e. Reese's) and cosmetics.
35. You've realized Americans know nothing about European geography or politics.
36. You've visited more of Spain than most Spaniards. 
37. You've lost multiple battles against Spanish bureaucracy and customer service. 
38. It took you months to stop apologizing to people who run into you on the street.
39. Old people on park benches in the evening strikes you as the epitome of Spain.
40. You regret not learning to drive a stick-shift (or you're really glad your parents made you do it). 
41. You can point out America's flaws, but if a European does it you suddenly get all sensitive. It's like the great U.S. of A is your best friend or your mom. Nobody dogs on your mom.
42. Sometimes the lack of political correctness in Spain makes you squirm.
43. The Spanish practice of putting a heater under the table in the living room took some getting used to.
44. You dearly miss your clothes dryer. 
45. You'll never stop eating breakfast on the run/ordering coffee to go, even though it's totally un-Spanish. 
46. You've yet to eat an American-caliber burger in Spain.
47. You've explained that we don't eat burgers every day.
48. You feel uncomfortable in McDonald's or Burger King because you feel like everyone there knows you're American and are therefore fulfilling the stereotype. 
49. You have no good defense for, "That's why Americans are obese."
50. You wonder why America doesn't have cañas.
51. Given the crisis, you're thankful for the economic opportunities we have waiting for us in America.
52. But you're not ready to pursue those opportunities yet because you're floating through your youth in Spain, where life is usually beautiful, sometimes frustrating, sometimes backwards, occasionally tears-inducing, mostly entertaining and always worth it.

Dear fellow countrymen and women, any signs you'd add to the list?

On being an American introvert in Spain

After a weekend in a mountain house with 12 Spaniards, this post seems timely...

Spanish is a social culture, which makes it an anomaly of sorts when compared to individual-based America. Spain is all about evening walks on the crowded city-center sidewalks, where old men are dapper in cardigans, slacks and leather shoes. Here, friends go to each other's homes for mid-afternoon coffee and company. Spaniards meet on weekend afternoons to tapear, in which they sip beers and order dishes to be picked over by the group. They talk, they laugh, they kiss hello and sometimes goodbye, too. They thrive on the communal experience, on shared moments together and conversation over long lunches and drink dates. To not be social is to not be Spanish.

I love this picture I took in Avila because it sums up Spanish culture so perfectly. 

Which puts me, an introvert and an American to boot, in a tough spot sometimes. Let me begin this spiel by noting that being introverted and being anti-social are not the same. The latter is a personality disorder, actually. Introverts don't hate people or parties or talking or groups of three or four or five. Like most humans, we enjoy revelry, banter, fun and togetherness, but we reach a point in which we are simply drained by the beauty of it all. We replenish our energy in the most glorious way possible, I think: by being alone. I love the silence and the tranquility of being solo, and quite frankly, I need it.

My need to be alone doesn't necessarily defy American cultural norms. Sure, some of my friends think I'm a weirdo when I am noticeably delighted to be holed up solo, but it's not widely frowned upon. Here in Spain, from what I've gathered, at least, being alone or doing things alone isn't quite as acceptable. There are times I want to eat alone. There are times when I'd rather not have coffee at her house or my house. Because as a teacher, I'm surrounded by people and energy and commotion and chatter and screaming every day. So after work, sometimes I just want to go to my room and let my thoughts fight each other for my attention. There is no better noise to me than deafening silence.

Even so, I try to accept any invitation offered to me as a way to embrace Spanish culture and experience everything I can during my short time here. But you can't fight nature. Sometimes I feel like a gorilla in captivity because like him, I've grown comfortable in an environment that's entirely unnatural for me. But there are times when I bang my head against the glass or mindlessly spin in circles, thus showing there's a part of me that still knows I'm going against the grain here.

The emphasis on relationships and community and living life with people instead of just around them is something I admire about Spanish culture. And I envy the people who can embrace that each and every day. For me, it's a challenge, but I'm making the effort and making friends. So here's to different cultures challenging us, teaching us and changing us.

On living anonymously

It's OK to fear starting over, to stew about the person people know you to be and how you want people to know the New You. It's scary to build yourself from scratch, to leave behind the people and places whose smells and smiles you recognize, whose presence is so intricately linked to your identity that you don't know who are are without them. 

We all have those people and places that help define us. There's that restaurant you go to when your diet crumbles and then there's the one you go to when you start anew. There's the rundown party house that reminds you of morning-after struggles with Captain Morgan and the tacky bar that'll always make you think of The One Who Got Away. And then there are the people who give these places meaning. 

In your new home, no one will be a pharmacist, cook, biggest fan, friend and listener quite like Mom. No one will affectionately and intentionally annoy you like your big brother. And no one will grip your secrets as tightly as your best friend. But there's something refreshing about living anonymously. Each day when I walk down the street, I see no one from my past. I only see people who may or may not be part of my future, people who may turn out to be my roommate's cousin's tutor or the worthless woman at the bank who's at work to do everything but her job. It's both terrifying and invigorating that people here aren't tied to milestones or mile markers back home. Restaurants and parks and street corners here aren't tied to memories. Everything is new, and so am I. 

With every person I meet, I can define my identity. No reputation precedes me. No yearbook entry tells people here I'm the most or least likely to succeed. No two degrees of separation tell a new acquaintance her roommate didn't like me in high school. I am Teresa, whoever that may be. I'm not saying I'm here "trying to find myself." That's a cliche, and nobody knows what the heck it really means, anyway. But starting over has an interesting way of sparking self-reflection, of making us question which parts of our former selves we'd like to conserve and which ones are better left to die along with the previous Me. So, as I stumble through this latest adventure, here's to Teresa being more thoughtful, less catty, more selfless, less volatile, more delicate with feelings and altogether less like the worst parts of the Old Me. Because sometimes it takes leaving behind who you were to realize who you'd like to be. 

On the importance of shopping around

It quite literally pays off. Cliche, yes, but true. I looked at flights to go home for the summer about two weeks ago, and I about puked from sticker shock. Since then I've been busy taking way too many siestas and doing way too much of nothing, so I haven't had time to look at flights. Today I finally did, and good thing I shopped around.

When I first looked, this is along the lines of what I saw. I wasn't happy about it and actually got a little worried. 

So I looked at trusty Student Universe, the site where I bought my one-way ticket to come to Spain last September. Didn't turn out to be so great this time around.

So then I thought maybe it'd be cheap to fly to Chicago and then either buy a separate flight to Omaha or take a bus. Wrong. Still $701 to go to Chicago through Student Universe.

I looked at Iberia, Spain's airline. ARE YOU KIDDING ME, IBERIA? Almost 2,500 euros to fly to Omaha?

Then Expedia, from Madrid to Chicago. 633 euros. Then Expedia from Madrid to Omaha. 1,300 euros. So no. Then CheapOAir - $634 to Chicago. Nope again.

And then as a last-ditch effort, I Googled "student flights" and found STA Travel, which I had heard of when I studied abroad in Spain and Costa Rica, but I hadn't been impressed by their rates before. Then, THIS:

The exact same flight that is 2,422 euros directly from Iberia is $487 through STA Travel, which is a reputable company, even as too-good-to-be-true as it seems. The site has awesome deals for students and "youths" (me) under 26.

So, I'm coming home June 17, and I ended up paying $487. I'm thrilled.

Un saludo,
Teresa

About what happened in Boston...

It makes me want to vomit. The pictures of wincing victims, red-soaked sidewalks and bloody American flag gear made me teary-eyed in the teachers' lounge. I swallowed hard after seeing the video recorded from the finish line.

The first thing the teacher with whom I commute to work said to me this morning was, "Did you hear what happened in Boston?" I get it; I'm American, and it was small talk. But small talk should be that it was 10 degrees last Thursday and it's 25 today, not that an 8-year-old boy and two others were murdered in a senseless sideline explosion.

Tuesday's front page of "El Pais" newspaper

They talked about it on the radio - something along the lines of "another tragedy in the U.S." - and I gasped at the latest casualty count because it had more than quadrupled since I'd last checked: now three dead, 144 injured.

I have experience fielding the "did you hear what happened?" question. I wish I didn't, but the Sandy Hook massacre didn't happen that long ago. I tell whoever mentions it that the violence is disgusting and cowardly and that it makes my stomach turn. My most emphatic point is that the stories of shootings and bombings and knife attacks don't accurately reflect life in America. But when kids are shot at school and spectators are blown up at a marathon, how does it not?

Perhaps the worst part is that we're getting used to it. Sure, for the first few days we're numb, scarred, broken and unified. But by the next week, we're back to taking the kids to soccer practice or logging 80 hours chained to a desk. Life goes on, and we're all too familiar with the cycle of collective grief.

How do I explain the why? Is it a matter of gun control? Is our TV too violent, our mental health system too broken? The truth is I have no idea. It's a conversation in which I would choose my words carefully even in English. Imagine doing it in Spanish.

This post isn't about statistics or ideological debate. It's an off-the-cuff emotional rant of sorts, and I can't tell you how the number of shootings or bombings in the U.S. compares to other countries, per capita. Surely there are similar events happening around the world and the media machine doesn't bat an eye. But here's the deal: The U.S. can't throw its weight around in global politics and economics and then expect people not to pay attention when it's vulnerable. The country is under a microscope, for better or for worse.

I can only hope that in the next month and a half before I come home, I don't have to hear "did you hear what happened in the U.S." again.

Un saludo,
Teresa

Hey, back off of Nebraska

The cowtown perception of Nebraska has pervaded Europe.

Coming here, I assumed no one would know anything about Nebraska, given that it's a flyover state that even Americans pay little attention to. To be sure, there are plenty of Europeans who haven't heard of the place, but I've met many who are familiar with it, surprisingly.

But what strikes me most about their reaction is the general negativity and/or snickers that follow my introduction. Is there a lot of corn, farms and cows in my great state? Absolutely. Stereotypes are generally rooted in truth, so it's no surprise that people link Nebraska with cows and corn. But why is it viewed so negatively?

Postcards like this might have something to do with it.

I'm the proud daughter, granddaughter and sister of hard-working, driven, intelligent farmers who are nothing like the tired stereotype of backwoods buffoons. I find it ridiculous and downright offensive, quite frankly, that I have to defend my farm roots as if they're something to be ashamed of. Some of the most dedicated, genuine, gracious and appreciative people I know have agricultural backgrounds.

So, the next time a Spaniard, American, European or anyone, for that matter, chuckles when I say I'm from Nebraska, I'll cite this national index that shows Lincoln, Nebraska's capital city, is the happiest metro area in the U.S.

And oh yeah, 96 percent of Nebraska's active labor force is employed. So to super-cool-dude-from-LA-whom-I-met-at-the-bar, who's laughing now? You've got beaches, Britney and oppressive debt.

We have jobs.

Here's to "The Good Life."

Un saludo,
Teresa