I knew that I would experience some interesting cultural nuances while in Spain, but I didn’t expect to notice some of the things that either affect my everyday life or just make me laugh.
Toilet Paper
Of course we have toilet paper in my host family’s apartment, thank goodness. But I’ve only been to one bar that has provided this essential commodity. While many trashy bars in the US only offer empty cardboard rolls or soggy paper on the floor, most bars in Spain simply don’t even pretend that it ever had a presence in the stall. It took me a few awkward nights asking “tienes papel?” of my next-door stall neighbor with either no response or a laugh and a “no” to realize bars just don’t provide it. I keep forgetting to put tissues in my purse when I go out, so I’ve gotten really great at drip-drying.
Short Showers
Another bathroom related issue that’s not as gross, but challenges me more day to day is my host mom’s insistence on short showers. Because of the economic troubles in Spain, electricity and water are exorbitantly expensive at the moment, so I knew before arriving that I would have to cut down on my shower time. However, I thought that 5-minute showers were quite speedy, since my usual time exceeds 15 minutes, but my host mom asked me on my second day if I could try to shorten it more. I make short showers more fun by competing with myself to see just how short I can make them. This lately has included forgoing shaving, or shaving half a leg one day at a time. It’s still chilly enough that I generally wear pants, but once it’s skirt season, my patchy legs may confuse some people. Maybe it’s a good tool to keep guys at the bars away.
Well-behaved dogs
Dogs (and their wastes) are everywhere around the city. This is great, since I adore dogs, but I’m used to my giant golden retriever and golden doodle, who respect my dad (Mr. Sir, as he refers to himself in front of the dogs), but will ignore any command in favor of food. Or squirrels. Or a child (generally because children drop food). So Spanish dogs don’t seem like real dogs to me for two reasons. First, none of them weigh more than 10 pounds. Second, they don’t walk on leashes! There’s trash and food everywhere on the sidewalks, not to mention thousands of pigeons everywhere, prime for chasing. But these dogs stay at their owners’ sides, only leaving to mark trees. I don’t know if they’ve all had private lessons from Cesar Milan or if Spanish dogs are bred differently, but I’m certainly impressed by their discipline. There are a lot of “Mr. Sirs” walking around Sevilla’s streets.
Greetings
I probably should have looked up common Spanish greetings before arriving in Sevilla, but that slipped my mind, along with looking up how to say underwear. When I first met my host mom, I was a little shocked when she kissed both of my cheeks instead of shaking my hand. I knew they did that in France, because my uncle lives in Paris and always reprimands me for air kissing instead of actually kissing both of his cheeks. So immediately after my host mom’s kiss greeting, I was terrified that I had offended her by not kissing closely enough. She didn’t seem to mind though, thank goodness. However, I definitely forgot the appropriate Spanish greeting when my host mom was leaving for a date with her novio. She stopped to introduce him and I instinctively stuck out my hand before having that “oh crap” moment when I remembered that I should have stuck out my cheek instead. But he shook my hand without hesitation, so either that’s another appropriate greeting, or he’s just a very polite man. I’m working on remembering that kissing here equates hello.
Overall the culture shock here has been minimal, but the few differences I have run into have either amazed me (dogs who say no to food!) or have grossed me out a little bit, but there are ways of fixing that. I’m going to buy Kleenex to-go packs this afternoon.
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