Assimilation and Immersion.

“Times change. We need to change as well.” - Matt Damon, as Francois Peinaar in Invictus

It’s a funny thing, living in a land where you know you don’t belong. Well, let me revise that last statement to where you technically don’t belong as per immigration laws, travel restrictions, etc. Every day is merely a tactic in attempting to survive: waking up on time, navigating intricate metro systems, successfully navigating the metro system and having a brief moment of clarity to only realize you now have to navigate the even more complex street patterns, going to work where, even though everyone is so welcoming and nice, you feel ridiculous because you can barely communicate with them, go home, find things to do in your spare time, go to bed, and do it all over again the next day.

Monotony.

And it was in a moment of that monotony, where my roommates and I were sitting and watching some more good ol’ American cinema (Zoolander, to be precise), that it dawned on us: We don’t want to survive here. We want to live here. The times, locations, and virtually everything about our lives have changed. Therefore, like Matt Damon so eloquently stated in my favorite movie (see quote above), we need to get out there and stop resisting the change. 

So now we’ve switched it up a bit.

With our jobs underway, our side jobs sort of underway, and our plans fresh in our minds, we set out by foot and meandered all the way across the Puente (Bridge) de Aragon, which is literally right around the corner from our house, made a left, made another left, and ended up at our shining beacon of light: Portland.

We were on a mission to do something we have found somewhat difficult here thus far: make friends. Granted, we’ve only been here for two and a half weeks, but we want to live here, not survive here, remember? And much to our surprise, something strange happened: we were greeted like heroes there. An employee I will refer to as Jason greeted us and said, “Americans? Alright!!!” as though he had won the lottery (it turns out he is from California and his Spanish uncle is a co-owner of the place). Then he proceeded to introduce us to the main owner Matt*, and his friends, Stacey* and Tom*, all Americans. Matt, Stacey, and Tom were the most hospitable and pleasant people I have met in Valencia yet, with the exception of my co-workers. They immediately began asking us questions about how we were doing, where we were shopping, and told us that we were now part of the Portland family and if we need anything to go to them. Then, they did the best thing that anyone in Spain has done for us thus far: they helped us make friends.

You see, our intentions for going to Portland were not that innocent: in addition to making friends, we want to practice our Spanish so that we can become better to get past the whole survival state of mind. Portland offers something called an inter-cambio, which is essentially a language exchange. Basically, you show up, hang out, and talk to people that the owners so kindly set you up with all night. It’s like speed-dating without being remotely interested in anyone to whom you are talking. But there’s a catch: on Tuesdays, you can only speak in English and on Thursdays, you can only speak in Spanish. 

Being that there are not many native English speakers in Valencia, my roommates, our friend, and I were hot commodities. We were swarmed by people just like Fernando Torres was earlier that day as he was walking into Mestalla for training. So many Spanish people wanted to talk to us about the United States IN ENGLISH, which was funny because we wanted to talk about Spain IN SPANISH (unfortunately, we didn’t realize it was Tuesday until we got there and will be making a return trip tomorrow). And, to put the cherry on the sundae, because we are native English speakers, we get a free meal for hosting a group. Free food, new friends, and practicing speaking? Not to shabby, considering what we could have been doing that night. 

But as always, despite the good times, a little old friend called Reality hit us over the head: These people are GOOD at English. Really good. They say they come to practice, but they must come a lot. In turn, that makes me so nervous for tomorrow when it is all Spanish.....will we be able to keep up?

According to my new friends Chris* and Alfred*, yes. Very much so. We spoke a little bit of Spanish just for giggles last night and they helped me out a lot. Then they offered some real advice: You feel like you’re not good at Spanish? You’re better than you think. You just need to practice more. So, you’re nervous people will think you’re a blabbering idiot when talking Spanish? Don’t worry about it. That’s why you’re here. That’s why they’re here. This is how it goes. No, we may not have parents who were bilingual, we may not have lived in a completely Spanish-speaking country before, and we may really miss American peanut butter, but that doesn’t make us stupid when it comes to speaking Spanish. It makes us human, and that being said, humans from America who were never taught the vosotros tense extensively in school and learned more Mexican and Venezuelan dialect vocabulary than proper Spanish.

And it’s going to be okay, because we have your back. 

We’re going to live here just fine.

Now that I feel better about myself, let’s have “Sara in Spain” time. (Do you hear me @zannybato and @abhishek? This is the part where I tell stories.) Here’s a few of this week’s adventures:

• Spain may be it’s own place with it’s own people, customs, and things to do, but it never dawned on me that there is only one Hollywood. I’m teaching fifth and sixth grade independently now and in a moment of spare time, we were talking about futbol. Then the students started asking me if I knew of anyone celebrities “from movies and stuff.” Thinking they meant Spanish celebrities, I meagerly mentioned Antonion Banderas. I was quickly shown up by my sixth graders: “Oh, Antonio Banderas? So you don’t know who Andy Samberg from SNL is?” Whoa...hold it right there compadres. If there will be anyone talking about Andy Samberg, it will be this girl and ONLY this girl (points at self). Besides, you don’t even get SNL in Spain.

• Andy Samberg aside, I also made the mistake of thinking all Starbucks were created equal. Boy, was I wrong. I was so looking forward to a nice Pumpkin Spice Lattes at one of Valencia’s three (yes, I know, ONLY three) Starbucks locations. (Crazy since there are three in a block in New York....but, as usual, I digress.) I walk in and don’t see it on the menu exactly but there was a sign that advertised the “sabores de otono (flavors of Fall).” Intrigued, I asked the man “tienes lattes de calabaza?” Oh, lo siento, peru, no. Then, according to my friend Lisa, I apparently made the saddest face ever, prompting the employee to giggle. Nevertheless, my caramel macchiato was decent. 

• I teach four year olds who only speak Valenciano. They don’t speak Spanish. They ONLY speak Valenciano. That’s a time and a half every Tuesday morning. Good thing we sing songs about the weather the whole time because I doubt “Bon dia,” “Com voste?” and “Mol bet” are enough to get me by. Perhaps I should start looking for a Valenciano inter-cambio too...

• I went to the largest aquarium in Europe, L’Oceanografic, on Saturday. I remember watching a show about it maybe seven years ago and then, on my mom’s birthday, I went there. #blessed. But if you want a true analysis, the dolphin show at Sea World is better, which is saying something because the dolphin show at Sea World should really be “the bird show with dolphins and a random whale thrown in.” However, the very, very, very, VERY large shark tank was pretty nice. 

• One of my roommates works in a lab right next to the “Thank you for visiting Valencia! We hope you enjoyed your stay!” sign near the Northern edge of the city. I should reiterate again that we live right next to Mestalla, the stadium, and it is unavoidable to walk by there when getting from point A to point B. As he was walking home, he took the usual route and noticed a large group of people congregating around the entrance of the stadium. Well, curiosity killed the cat, and he joined the masses. Then John Terry walked off a bus. Then Didier Drogba. Then Juan Mata. Okay, so by this point he realized it was Chelsea FC’s bus. Then Fernando Torres walks off. Anyone who knows anything about my sister knows that she is enamored with Mr. Torres, so naturally, he snapped a picture. He then comes barging into our apartment to tell me he had a gift for Lauren. That gift was the picture posted below, which has been circulating all internet circuits for almost twenty-four hours now. Lauren, you better send a nice Thank You note. Moreover, the Chelsea-Valencia game is tonight. We have tickets. One thing to cross off the bucket list. Maybe I should email pictures from this game to the Temple University press so that they can document what they dubbed as my “pilgrimage of the stadiums of Spain’s iconic clubs.” Sorry, Temple, but this is so much better than that. #sosososoveryblessed.

As I sit here writing this, I’m looking across the street, where the man who lives in the apartment directly across from us is yet again staring into our apartment as he sits on his couch, shirtless, watching television. He does this all day, every day, If you come visit, be prepared.

In the meantime, check out these pictures!