Eljas!

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For my last weekend in Spain, my Spanish friend Claudia invited me to her pueblo in Eljas. My first thought was “YES! I have achieved total integration! I have succeeded in befriending the locals!” Then my excitement quickly turned to nerves as I contemplated a weekend away where I would have to speak only Spanish. But that’s what I came to Spain for right? I ought to know enough by now! And as final exams were fast approaching, I decided to treat this opportunity as the last, real world test of how much Spanish I’d learned abroad. Chupao. (Piece of cake).

We left Salamanca on Friday afternoon and headed towards a tiny village in rural Extremadura, a region close to Portugal. It was only a two hour drive by car, and Claudia and I talked about music and school along the way.

Once we were thoroughly in the middle of nowhere, we started winding through a valley dotted with little old towns. One of these was Claudia’s village. When we arrived, I was given the grand tour of the garden, the chicken coop, the garage, her dad’s shop, the house, and the spectacular view from the back porch. We set our bags down and sat outside absorbing the landscape. It was beautiful. And peaceful. The only sounds were from the birds, the occasional passing car, and a horse off in the distance. Complete tranquility. Claudia explained to me that she loved coming home to relax and escape the city-feel of Salamanca. I agreed with her without taking my eyes off the scenery.

For dinner, Claudia’s mother cooked a delicious meal. Salad from the garden, fruit from the fruit trees, homemade salsa and honey, and a meat dish concoction. Claudia’s dad kept asking me questions like “Oh, do you like the salad? It came from right there,” pointing to the garden below. “How’s that bread and honey? I made it myself. Try the chorizo, I killed the pig.”

Then he went on to say things like “It’s so much healthier to eat things you make yourself. We don’t eat hamburgers here. I only eat a hamburger once a year, and I make it myself! Not like in America, right?”

“No, not like in America.”

“We don’t even have fast food restaurants in our village!”

“Wow, you don’t say.”

“We have restaurants older than your country!”

“I believe it.”

“More cheese?”

“Only if you made it yourself.”

Okay, I didn’t say that last part. I actually thought it was great how proud he was of his food and its supreme quality, and I thought it was funny how much he wanted me to know it. Typical Spaniard.

The next day, I helped Claudia paint her room, and she and her mom took me around the village. They showed me the natural pool where everyone congregates in the summer, old tower remnants, and of course, the best views of the surrounding hillsides! I definitely got a good feel for the humble allure of the town. I wouldn’t have minded spending the whole summer there if I’d had time!

That night, we watched the Eurovision final on tv. Now, if you’re like me and have never seen or heard of Eurovision, it’s basically American Idol for the entire European Union. Each country submits a song to be performed on live tv and then votes for other countries’ songs to determine the most popular. I was surprised that almost every country sang in English, but I guess that’s what the largest amount of people would understand. I was also surprised (and tickled) to see that boy bands still appear to be alive and well in Europe. From metrosexual Russian men winking at the camera every other second, to Swedish Zach Efron look-a-likes, it was one laugh after another. One of my favorites was the British group Blue singing “I Can.” Cue N*Sync-inspired dance moves.