Why can't you be more European? --Bloc Party

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Why can’t you be more European?—Bloc Party

Apparently, I look more European than not (or, I’d rather just convince myself this is the truth since being recognized immediately as American is more offensive than being called a puta). Found an underground club in El Tribunal that plays the best Brit pop around. We’re talking Bloc Party, MGMT, Tegan and Sara, Camera Obscura… I was in my ELEMENT. The crowd was kind of a wannabe alternative rock crowd, complete with faded skinny jeans, fohawks galore, and lots of skiddish dance movements, but I couldn’t care less. Mr. DJ, you keep feeding me those Bloc Party lines, and I’m yours at the end of the night. So I’m out with the usual crowd and this blonde guy approaches our group, says something in some Germanic language, and I miraculously catch “Deutsch” at the end of the sentence. We’re not German, but you’re so cute I just might trade my dream of learning this language on the back of a Spanish moped for a tall, blonde German boy. His face fell when I told him, “no deutsch,” and then lied about my nationality, opting for the safe route that is England.

Bloc Party’s song fits my sentiment here exactly. “Stop being so American.” I see other American tourists on the streets of Madrid, and I just cringe, praying I fade enough into the background to appear German at the very least. Granted, not all Americans come across as your typical obnoxious, overbearing, obscenely obese wastes of life, but our reputation didn’t just bloom out of nothing. I wish Americans didn’t have this bad reputation. Why are we the way we are? It’s just such a shame to be categorized into this group of people I don’t want to be connected to at all. It’s really saying something when the biggest compliment one can get is being mistaken for a total different nationality.

On another note, Spain takes national holidays SERIOUSLY. Today I had off since it was La virgen Pilar’s feast day (Spain’s patroness). Everything shut down. Supermarkets, farmacias, roads, EVERYTHING. Half of Spain traveled to Madrid for a big fair, and half of Madrid left to escape the crowd. This Puente (three day weekend) was celebrated in full color at night (what else would we expect from the professional partiers?). I met a Spanish Flamenco dancer who put a rose behind my ear and explained that it’s a tradition for flamenco dancers to carry around roses and give them out. What? That’s news to me. He then proceeded to raise his arms above his head, strike a pose, and do a quick snapping motion, asking me if I danced flamenco. Me? Falmenco? I hardly speak your language, buddy, let alone know how to dance Spain’s traditionally intricate dance. Nice try, though. I finally remembered to change my last digit when he insisted I was obliged to give him my phone number. He said something about exchanging numbers being a Spanish tradition as well. Good thing I’m not Spanish, seeing as my cheap European phone would not be able to house the plethora of random numbers I should actually have according to tradition.

Health wise, I have my allergy testing Wednesday, so it will be exciting to see if I’ve developed some freak allergy to a common food. Or just life in general… that would be fitting. The girl who became allergic to life. Hopefully when the doctor tells me what exactly I’m allergic to, I’ll be able to understand him and not just nod my head in agreement while saying “vale” like I normally do. That’s mildly embarrassing. Try listening to someone speak a foreign language, completely pretending that you understand (all the while grasping maybe 65% of what’s coming out of their mouth), nodding your head in encouragement and even egging them on to continue with their rant with spurts of “vale” and “oh siiiiii.” When the native person then throws a subtle question into their speech, they catch you off guard and realize that you probably understood 20% of what was actually said. This makes for some awkward silences, believe it or not.

Teaching is going better than ever. I’m still in love with the school, the teachers, and the kids. I’m also responsible for the break up of a young couple because the idiot boyfriend decided to tell me he thought I was a “pretty woman” (all Spaniards seem to think this is a common phrase in America) while sitting right next to his current ex girlfriend. She didn’t look very happy with him, and if I were a Spanish male, I would tread softly around Spanish women. Their wrath far surpasses that of American women. Select teachers are also opting to teach me Spanish slang, intending to slowly corrupt my foreign innocence. I now know how to talk about bases 1, 2, and 3 (and Spanish phrases leave a WHOLE lot more to the imagination than American ones, believe me).

My last thought of this entry is that I’m finally learning about who really cares about me from home. It’s amazing, people I never would have expected have just taken the time to write me these long emails that I LOVE to read, and others that I assumed would write me frequently have maybe mustered up a few words at the very least. I’ve been here almost 2 months now and already my perspective is changing so much about the world and the people in it. Who’s really important, who really cares about me, who I care about, how important it is to stay in touch and not let the people worth knowing fade away.

That’s pretty much it for now… maybe next entry will have some raunchy details about the German who I randomly ran back into…

Thanks for reading! I miss you all so much.

Song of the entry: Helicopter by Bloc Party (the inspiration for this entry).

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