Another Anniversary; or, Back from a Hiatus

So I’ve started out  for God knows where 

I guess I’ll know when I get there.

~Tom Petty, "Learning to Fly"

When you move from one country to another 

you have to accept that there are some things

that are better and some things that are worse, 

and there is nothing you can do about it.

~Bill Bryson

I've sold my car, thrown in my job, I'm 34 years old

I think it's time I saw the world, and not Australia.

~The Fall, "I'm Going to Spain" 

It's been a while, y'all, but all is well in Spain!

During my writing hiatus, we've had company (best thing about living somewhere where people don't have to have a time-consuming security background check, spend 2 days traveling, and pay a ton of money to see you---that's Cuba---is they actually come to see you). My sister and family visited, and friends we met in GTMO visited. We did a little traveling in the area (and even a day trip to Portugal---not for the weak, and not suggested in a day).

Albufeira, Portugal: only a few hours away,
and definitely worth an overnight trip

In case going back to school, watching American football games on base, and changing leaves did not give us a clue, much cooler weather (including wind and/or rain) and need for sweaters both signal that fall is finally here.

Fall also means a big anniversary for us---late October marks the date that we started our adventure living overseas.

A little over 6 years ago, I didn't know what to expect when we took the plunge by walking away from a home, a great job I loved, and a lifetime of memories for both of my children. It wasn't easy, and there are always unexpected trials and tribulations that come with living overseas, but I am so happy we made this choice.

From the beginning I wrote about our new adventure (and I was much better then at being consistent) and started a blog from Cuba with the words, "Hola from Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, our new home!" It is very difficult to explain to many people the draw of living in a foreign country (especially a Communist one), and I started writing in part to try to explain that we really, really are sane people. 

For the majority of life overseas, we lived in Cuba. Although it is technically outside of the United States, and it has its own absolutely maddening set of difficulties that comes with living on an isolated island (with no access to the rest of Cuba), this last year of living in Europe finally feels like we are REALLY overseas.

And with all the festivals and day trips and amazing adventures I've written about here, with all the epiphanies that come with living and learning another culture, there is something else: sometimes it's not easy.

Small things, like grocery shopping, is challenging. You don't touch produce here---you have to wear gloves before you bag (and weigh) everything. Oh, and everything is sold in grams, so brush up on the metric system. 

That grocery store, by the way, won't easily have things that are comfort food items for us. This includes peanut butter, coffee creamer, breakfast cereals, and specific cuts of meat. Canned goods are almost nonexistent. People cook from scratch here, which I guess is do-able if you work full time and don't expect to eat until 8 or 9 pm. It's still a struggle for me.

Almost all businesses (including the grocery store) close on Sundays and during siesta time, which is generally from 2-5 pm. Plan accordingly, and even after a year in country, kick yourself every single time you forget.

Need clothes? There are big chain stores and independent clothing and shoes stores. Just don't expect sizes to be the same, because they aren't. And if you have big feet (larger than a 9) and are female, expect to buy shoes online. I don't know where tall/big feet Spanish women buy shoes in this country.

If you need new sheets for the bed, buy them in an American store (the NEX) or online, because beds come in different sizes in Europe, too. 

Adapt to eating much later. When you show up to a restaurant at 7 pm, don't be shocked that it's not open yet. Expect strange looks when you show up for diner at 8, because you are probably there before the wait staff shows up.

Food is just. . . different. Living on the coast means lots of fresh fish. Don't be startled when it comes out with the eyeballs staring at you. Octopus is great, but it also looks like. . . octopus, suckers and all. If you don't like the idea that you are eating an animal, you won't adapt easily to restaurant experiences here. Get brave and talk to the fishmonger, because if you want to buy fish to cook, you will see many things you don't recognize nor know how to prepare.

Lost in Translation:
Rape is monkfish, a very ugly but tasty fish with an unfortunate Spanish name

Don't look now, but there is a shrimp staring up from the paella. 

Nothing is spicy. Is doesn't mean everything is bland, but some things are. We've eaten out with American friends who always pack hot sauce. If you don't like fried food, it's a struggle. If you want just vegetables as a course or a full meal, it's a struggle, too. This is the land of fish and pork. 

When getting a hair cut, knowing a few basic vocabulary words may help in advance. With that being said,  I finally learned how to tell my hairstylist, "Do whatever you want!" It's hair and will grow if I hate it. . . and so far, he's done a great job of making me happy.

A haircut + color means a leap of faith and some funny small talk in the process

Spanish businesses, etc run at their own pace. It can be a lot slower than what rushed Americans are used to handling. You find out that everything closes for siesta and for Spanish holidays---and there are a LOT of Spanish holidays. Something that takes 1-2 steps in the U.S. can take 4-5 in this country. 

One of the most fun trips this summer was taking the ferry to Cádiz with friends we met in Cuba. This was especially fun because the ferry is a big part of life on GTMO, and once you've lived there, you just naturally love traveling on a ferry. We had a great trip, got ready to head back across the Bay and found out---oops!---the ferry workers were on strike. You have to navigate public transportation and plan for things not always going smoothly. Thankfully there was a bus, but it made for a long wait on a particularly hot day. 

(That being said, I fully appreciate that Spaniards who lived under a dictatorship until the 1970s are able today to peacefully protest through a strike. City bus drivers and garbage collectors have exercised this right more than once since we've been here).

Figure out what electrical items can be used with an adapter and which things need the transformer. It's all about volts and amps and after a year, I'm still not 100% sure when I plug something in if it's going to blow a fuse or start smoking. Also stress out when buying 220V items, since they cost about twice as much as 110V (American) items.

The dishwasher, washer and dryer, and microwave all have mysterious buttons and all have writing only in a foreign language. I can't even imagine life for someone living in Asia; at least most Spanish words are easy to figure out (and thankfully, there are sometimes pictures). However, the dryer doesn't vent and has a reservoir that has to be drained. The dishwasher has to have salt added to it. All take about 3 times longer to cycle than in the U.S.

Not that I loved cooking to begin with, but figuring out how to convert ºF to ºC (and measurements back to metric) is a challenge.  Need 100 g of butter for your recipe? You'll do better to eyeball it from the ginormous chunk of butter sold here as a unit than trying to figure it out. Thankfully, I don't bake much, because there are several types of flour and sugar I've yet to decipher.

Driving with new signs, speed limits in km/h (metric, AGAIN!), and crazy roundabouts can be exasperating. Motor scooters weave in and out of traffic, and from what I can gather, ALWAYS have the right-of-way, no matter what. Getting cut off in traffic, having to parallel park everywhere, squeezing a compact car into a sub-compact parking space, having someone hit your car in a parking space and not bothering to let you know---these are experiences of driving a car in Spain.

If you are an American and work for an American company or the government, chances are you will get paid with American dollars. Depending on where you live, you may (or in our case, may not) have access to an American bank that exchanges American dollars to Euros. If you live in a house, buy groceries, or buy gas, you will need Euros. Lots of Euros. Learning how to transfer money from an American account to a Spanish account (without the option of taking in a wad of dollars and taking out a wad of Euros) is not too difficult, but it's a tedious process and has to have a few days to process. If you withdraw Euros from a European ATM with an American bank ATM card, you will pay big fees (at least $5 fee, and there's a limit of how much). It's way more difficult than I imagined. 

The biggest heartache is not seeing family but once every year or two. We get tickets back to the US every 2 years with my job. Even when people travel here, it's never enough time to see the people you love.  Having to text, Facetime, or talk on the phone (and I won't even get into the time zone differences) while figuring out how things really are back home is an exercise in telepathy as much as reality. 

The main frustration while living here is communicating. I studied Spanish in college (and lived in Mexico for a semester). I spoke it for several years as a Spanish teacher, and then took off 10 years to teach only  English, became a school librarian, moved to Cuba (where, ironically, nobody really spoke Spanish), and expected it to come back to me after I soaked it in via osmosis. Well. . . it didn't. People here speak with an Andalucian accent. It's like studying English as a second language in London and moving to South Mississippi to work. Some things get lost in translation.

Nonetheless, I am amazed at what we've managed to do. We've bought a car (and dealt with the title and paperwork), talked to repairmen who've come to the house, gotten cell phones and internet in town, explained hair cuts, ordered food, had clothes altered, bought various items at hardware stores, bought a bed and had it delivered, opened a Spanish bank account, and visited dentists, doctors, and pharmacies all while using Spanish/Spanglish. It's a constant communication breakdown. I've gotten the wrong menu items more than once, have had to make a follow-up appointments to get what I really wanted, apologized many times for what is technically textbook Spanish, and have had to resort to pantomiming, drawing pictures, or breaking out an online translator when all else fails. 

Then there are those miraculous days, when I order a meal, chit chat with neighbors, ask for directions, and talk to a store clerk and return home to realize, oh my god, I did that all in Spanish and didn't even have to think about it. 

We've improvised, we've observed and copied what others do. We've learned patience and how to shrug things off. We've asked for help, we've bitched and vented to other Americans who understand the struggle, and we've laughed. Good lord, how we have laughed these past months. Somehow through it all, we've adapted.

It's amazing. And it's one of the best things about this wonderful, crazy experience of living overseas.