Another Village Visit

As the title indicates, I went to the "village" where Sara's parents live again. I went on Tuesday of this week and again on Thursday, but I am going to primarily focus on the Thursday visit in this post.

When I arrived in the neighborhood, Sara was not there yet, even though we decided to meet at 7. So I waited with some of the girls that live near there and Sara's father. I arrived and was greeted by everyone with giggles and one of the girls, Vega, told me that Sara's father had given me a nickname. I asked what the nickname was, and they told me that it was El Payaso (The Clown, in Spanish). I laughed because I called myself this when I had been there before and everyone marvelled at the size of my feet. I told them that El Payaso was not an appropriate name for me and suggested that they instead try El Señor Payaso Americano or El Americano (Mr. American Clow or The American). Laughter continued after this.

As I sat there in the neighborhood waiting for Sara to arrive, I played simple ball games with the girls. It was lots of fun and I liked interacting with them a lot. 

Soon, the whole neighborhood was at the doorstep where we were playing our games. I realized, as many hugs, kisses, and voices all talking at once, that Spanish families are sort of like Greek families. One of my favorite movies is "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and in that movie, the main female character describes Greek families as big (as in large numbers), loud, touchy, pushy, etc. As women started to kiss children that were not theirs, I realized that there was not a better similarity between the two cultures. I think it is one of the best ways to describe Spanish families. They are loud, they share everything, they kiss everyone, they talk over each other, they tell other children to stop doing something bad, etc. In the Spanish culture, I get the feeling that there is a sense of communal responsibility and raising of children; one does not need to be related to a child in order to speak to a child in a way that a mother would to her own son or daughter. This is something that I think would definitely not fly in the U.S. If someone, a complete stranger, were to tell off your child and that child began to cry, there would probably be a lawsuit. Furthermore, in America if there were a stranger that were to speak up about someone's obnoxious child, they would most likely speak with the mother, but that mother would not really, in my opinion, take heed to what the other person was saying. It is neither good nor bad, just different, although I must say that I prefer this method because of the great consequences and side effects that it creates. Also, I have come to realize that Americans are too easily offended and do not really have a great interest in helping others. I do not know if I am making sense here.

Anyhow, so as the kissing and yelling was going on, I was sitting observing this entire situation. As people began to leave, it started to rain a little bit more than normal, so Sara and her mother invited me into the house. I got up there and Sara's mother asked if I wanted anything to drink. I said not, but she was in disbelief, so she continued asking me. After about eight times, I finally gave in and told her that I would take a Cola-Cao, which is basically hot powdered hot chocolate. You have a glass of warm milk and then spoon in some teaspoons of the powder, mix until everything is dissolved, and there you have Cola-Cao. While Sara's mother went to prepare this in the kitchen, Sara's father, a former truck driver and what I like to think of as the product of the Franco regime (a very conservative, anti-world, some would say fascist, regime that ruled Spain from 1939 until 1975, with a very brutal initial period), and very much a reminder of my own father in some opposite sense. I am not sure if he dislikes America or if he just has some strong opinions about our country or what, but he always refers to me as the American, and I apparently speak American while his son, Antonio, who spent a year living and working in Manchester, England, speaks English. Again I am not sure if he really likes the world, but I think that Sara has told me that he has some opinions that are difficult to change (sound like my father at all? :-P ). He and I were alone in the living/dining room with Sara's niece, Ainara (eye-nar-uh), and he wanted to show me the American film that was on the T.V. It finally came on and he got all excited, telling me "Look, look, an American movie." I looked and it was a Western, which I came to learn later is one of his favorite genres of movies. He told me that Jack Nicholson was in the movie, but I did not believe him, so he pointed him out to me. Then he felt like he had to show me the Jack Nicholson shades that he has, so he rummaged through the drawer and finally pulled them out, showing me how cool he looks. He explained to me that he has another pair in the car for when it is sunny. I thought it was so funny. After this, he insisted that I take a seat. I said that I was fine on my feet, trying to be polite, but he kept insisting that I take a seat, which I continued to deny. Finally, he gave up hope on telling me to sit down and told Sara to tell me to sit down, and so I finally gave in. Sara then told him that since I am American, you have to use your manners to get me to sit down rather than just telling me in the form of a command to get me to sit down.

Sara's mother came back into the dining area and served me the Cola-Cao along with a plate full of muffins and these other little pastry things. Typical Spanish mother thing to do, I think. Rufi does the same thing. Whenever Sara and I decide to meet at Rufi's house for an afternoon or something, she always leaves us coffee, some cookies, and whatever else there might be. Whenever Will and I would have wine, she would always give us these bean things that go well with wine. We were sitting at the table last night and she brought us olives to eat. Maybe it is just the people that I am getting to know that do this, but I like to think that it is the entire country. I could not get over how hospitable these people are. Never will I ever get over their hospitality. Yes America and my family are very kind and hospitable as well, but I think there is something different with the Spanish. I do not think that Americans as a whole would be go to such lengths for a friend of a family member. I am pretty sure that my family would do this, and do indeed do this, but the rest of America I am not so sure about.

We sat there eating our little snacks, chatting, and watching the barely one-year-old Ainara dance and stretch and do cute baby things. As is the case with most small children, they are incredibly scared of me because of my size. I suppose that this happens not only with small children, but with people of every size and age. However, after playing around and making faces and trying to get Ainara to laugh, she finally warmed up to me and gave me a kiss when we finally left. It was precious.

This then leads me to another point in my post. Later last night, as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I hit another tough post in my stay here in Spain. Just a few days ago, I had strong feelings to just get out of the country and get back to the States. I do not want to insinuate that I do not still have these feelings, but just that I went the opposite direction last night. I was thinking about all the great people I have met here that I see on a regular basis that I am not going to see regularly anymore. This makes me sad and also makes me feel like I do not want to come back to the States. I am going to come back for sure, so do not worry one bit, but I just thought I would share the stages I am experiencing while here in Spain and how extreme I get. Hahaha. Maybe that is too much information or simply too silly, but I think that the stages I go through are interesting. As of right now, I can delineate a few of them:

1. First few weeks/months here. Too distracted to really miss home, too full of a schedule and too much in awe of everything that is so new and different and old to really think about home. I am completely and totally absorbed in the moment, in the here and now. 
2. Middle few months are neither here nor there. I am not at either extreme, that is to say, that I neither miss home dearly nor am I doing cool things every moment. The new and exciting of Spain dies down as it becomes the familiar. 
3. Two months before I leave, and around the same time that I would be done with school in the States (early to mid-May). This is the worst time of year because I usually get a really bad case of spring fever and just want to spend all of my time outside and not studying. This is also around the time that I realized how much I missed home and how much I wanted to get back home, because of the reasons I have just stated here.
4. As we approach the one month mark before my return to the States, I realize what I am giving up to go back home. I realize how great the people are here, how much I am going to miss these people, and how lucky and fortunate I am to have this opportunity. My first semester of college, before I transferred to Luther, this time of the year was tough: I had just gotten to become really good friends with a lot more people, my friendship base had widened, I had become more comfortable with my surroundings, etc, only to have to give it up and move on to something else. I feel like the same is happening now. I am just getting comfortable with everyone, I am starting to meet new and exciting friends, and I realize that soon I am going to have to go. Hopefully I can do something to combat this feeling and phenomenon. 

Anyhow. That is it for now. A novel as always. See you soon, America. Stay...American.