The path of the year abroad never did run smooth, something
I discovered three nights ago whilst being the model student I am and trying to
email a lecturer. The internet cut out. This has happened on a few occasions in
Spain, for about 15 minutes, I’m met with a Vodafone message in Spanish on my
screen, then a little wiggle of the router later, I’m up and running again.
This time however was different. Two and a half hours later, in a fit of
frustration I went to bed. It’ll be fixed in the morning. Wrong.
I rang my landlord in the morning, who instructed me to call Vodafone. After several attempts, they weren’t about to let me speak to them, and I am ashamed to admit…I raised my voice. “I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND, THIS IS IMPORTANT AND I AM A STUDENT WITH WORK TO COMPLETE”. Still no luck. Maybe it’s because I shouted at poor Luisa the Vodafone worker in broken Spanglish, but that’s beside the point. Well actually, no that is the point. I like to think I’m a fairly intelligent person. I can speak quite easily in Spanish and French and go on with my day like it’s no big deal. But when I get flustered, in a shop, café, or down the phone to Vodafone España, I suddenly become a bit Manuel from Fawlty Towers. My accent takes a cross-continental trip from Spanish to Norwegian, I forget how to pronounce my own name and before you can say “Que?” I’m out the door, face redder than a bullfighter’s flag. It is true, I am not graceful when leaving either, muttering to myself about how silly I have just been, and having to call my mum to recover from whatever ridiculous statement I have just attempted to make to various retail workers.
But of course, it’s not all awkward encounters and a growing list of shops I can’t visit because I’ve embarrassed myself in them already, I actually do get it right sometimes. One café in particular where the old man behind the bar refers to me as “cariño” – Honey – and gives me extra biscuits with my coffee. Maybe he pities me, but ignorance is bliss, so I’m happy to accept. I feel like I have improved somewhat too. I’m dropping “hasta luego” like it’s nobody’s business and if you need someone to order you a plate of potatoes, cariño, I’m your girl. There is one other way in which I out myself as being an Erasmus student. Shall we play a guessing game? If you guessed “pasty skin, blonde hair and wearing dresses” you’re the winner! I’ve been heckled a good few times, and the odd looks of “why isn’t she wearing a puffa coat and Uggs?” has been shot my way. But you see, friends, I leave this siesta loving nation in exactly four weeks. So I have come to a conclusion. My pins deserve to see the light of day. No matter how chalky white and bruised they are (told you before I was clumsy), my lesson to you all is this. Life is too short to hide your legs from the sun. Just wear suncream, because Aftersun smells funny. Maybe this alienates me from the Spanish community too, but hey, I look good with a bit of a tan, so I shall carry on my clumsy, awkward journey into España, one terribly structured sentence at a time.
I rang my landlord in the morning, who instructed me to call Vodafone. After several attempts, they weren’t about to let me speak to them, and I am ashamed to admit…I raised my voice. “I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND, THIS IS IMPORTANT AND I AM A STUDENT WITH WORK TO COMPLETE”. Still no luck. Maybe it’s because I shouted at poor Luisa the Vodafone worker in broken Spanglish, but that’s beside the point. Well actually, no that is the point. I like to think I’m a fairly intelligent person. I can speak quite easily in Spanish and French and go on with my day like it’s no big deal. But when I get flustered, in a shop, café, or down the phone to Vodafone España, I suddenly become a bit Manuel from Fawlty Towers. My accent takes a cross-continental trip from Spanish to Norwegian, I forget how to pronounce my own name and before you can say “Que?” I’m out the door, face redder than a bullfighter’s flag. It is true, I am not graceful when leaving either, muttering to myself about how silly I have just been, and having to call my mum to recover from whatever ridiculous statement I have just attempted to make to various retail workers.
But of course, it’s not all awkward encounters and a growing list of shops I can’t visit because I’ve embarrassed myself in them already, I actually do get it right sometimes. One café in particular where the old man behind the bar refers to me as “cariño” – Honey – and gives me extra biscuits with my coffee. Maybe he pities me, but ignorance is bliss, so I’m happy to accept. I feel like I have improved somewhat too. I’m dropping “hasta luego” like it’s nobody’s business and if you need someone to order you a plate of potatoes, cariño, I’m your girl. There is one other way in which I out myself as being an Erasmus student. Shall we play a guessing game? If you guessed “pasty skin, blonde hair and wearing dresses” you’re the winner! I’ve been heckled a good few times, and the odd looks of “why isn’t she wearing a puffa coat and Uggs?” has been shot my way. But you see, friends, I leave this siesta loving nation in exactly four weeks. So I have come to a conclusion. My pins deserve to see the light of day. No matter how chalky white and bruised they are (told you before I was clumsy), my lesson to you all is this. Life is too short to hide your legs from the sun. Just wear suncream, because Aftersun smells funny. Maybe this alienates me from the Spanish community too, but hey, I look good with a bit of a tan, so I shall carry on my clumsy, awkward journey into España, one terribly structured sentence at a time.
