spanglo-briamerican

Hola from Málaga!

It’s now my sixth full day in Spain and I’m getting more adjusted and more confused everyday. The biggest barrier is…wait for it…the language. While I lived with a non-English speaking family when I studied in Sevilla that was three years ago and I’m realizing that practicing a language is the best way to keep up your skills, so that’s what I’m going to do for the next nine months. The nice thing is that los Malagueños really seem to appreciate the fact that you’retrying (no matter how horribly) to speak their language. The city is so touristy and diverse that they must be used to people feebly asking questions in Spanglo-Bramerican (a confusing hybrid of Spanish, British and American) that they don’t respond with the death glares I used to get. Also, people seem very enthused by the idea of learning English so I’m hoping to find an intercambio or two in order to practice my Spanish and have a Spanish friend – win win!

Language difficulties aside, Málaga is simply beautiful. I live off a side street of Plaza de la Merced, which is a vibrant and busy square filled with coffee shops, bars, and apartments and is very near to the touristy areas of the city with their kitschy stores and numerous photo ops. I have embraced my inner tourist, I think that’s the only way to go. I’m very clearly not Spanish (complexion, height, general mannerisms) so I figured I might as well get out my map and my camera and have a field day. Despite the fact that I get lost at least three times a day I think I’m starting to learn my little corner of Málaga.

My apartment itself is great; my room is little but just what I need for this situation. There is also bathroom with a fully functioning toilet thanks to my secret skills as a Spanish plumber, living room, dining area, kitchen, spare room and terrace where I sit and drink my tea and eat my toast in the morning. Very Spanglo-Briamerican.

What I didn’t realize before I came was how popular teaching English in Spain is. There is a hostel across the street from my apartment and upwards of 80% of the people staying there are teachers, mostly Brits or Americans. There is a nice camaraderie that develops among all the people who are away from home; everybody realizes how overwhelming it is to be in a new country speaking a new language so there’s a willingness to help that is absent in the states. We had a couple teachers stay with us for a few days while they looked for an apartment and we were saying the other night how you feel like you’ve known people for much longer than you have when you’re here.

Since I got here last Wednesday night the majority of my time has been filled with running necessary errands like getting a Spanish phone and setting up a Spanish bank account. The bank was one of the most overwhelming experiences of my life: I started out in the wrong line, got some stares, a dog was rolling around on the floor so I was clearly distracted by him, and was convinced that I would get deported for some reason, but in the end made a friend, Ricardo, who is learning German and commends me for moving to Spain. Gracias, Ricardo. Aside from the bank and phone store, I’ve gone to the supermarket and farmers market (both of which are directly parallel to my apartment), various tourist locations, an internet café and the Chino Shop. Spain, in all its politically correct wisdom, openly refers to the bazaar-style stores that have everything you could ever want to purchase run by Asians as Chino Shops. I can’t follow that up.

My roommate, Sarah, had her golden 25^th birthday on Saturday. During the day we went to the beach on the Mediterranean, which is a 10 minute walk from my apartment, a fact that still blows my mind. At night we celebrated in true Spanish style by going out to a discoteca and getting home when the sun was rising. The bars here are one of two types: small and dingy or large and fancy. I’m partial to the former but dancing in the discotecas is a pretty great time. The DJs are about 35 years behind the times at the smaller bars and 10 years behind at the discos, so no matter where you go you can sing along the entire night, which I love. We’ve also realized that Spaniards don’t put their arms up when they dance, so you can see all the Americans with their hands up when you’re out.

Those are my big updates for now, I’ll have more soon once I start work on Friday!

The beach

My apartment building

Some pretty plaza just around the corner

The very touristy Calle de Larios, I love it

Some pretty building