Um Poquito de Gracias

In my fanaticism of Spain I’ve read quite a bit about the culture and norms of the country. Now that I am here I am daunted by that which I do not know. In fact, on my first day it seemed I had forgotten the entirety of my knowledge of Spanish altogether.

The taxi driver who took me from the airport to the apartment seemed very frustrated that he was giving me good advice on where to get off and which route to take, and all I could do was understand every other word and nod.

“M-30?” I would ask. Of course, I had no idea what he had said about M-30. I knew it was a highway, and one near barrio Moratalaz where I’d be staying. “Si, M-30,” I’d say. He looked at me in the way one finds oneself looking at a victim of stroke trying to eat soup.

Eventually I regained my command of the Spanish language, by which I mean I am now understanding every other sentence instead of every other word. This is less confusing to me and, somehow, more frustrating to the speaker. Still, I am trying, and continue trying I will.

However, as I said above, there was little I read that prepared me for what I’ve found of Spanish culture. One article in particular, written by a man who loves Spain, noted the fact that the Spanish tend to drop “por favor” and “gracias” from every day conversation, and that can come off to foreigners as bit … well, rude. And it’s true; not that Spaniards are rude, of course, but that “por favor” and “gracias” are reserved for special situations. I went to the supermarket last night with the woman from whom I’m renting my room. It was a great experience and, frankly, I couldn’t have faced that supermarket without her. However, I did note that there was very little “excuse me” and “pardon” as we shoved through the crowds- and as they shoved back. It was the crowd’s fault for being there, and all I had to do was this simple errand. Viva yo.

The contrast to this is another personal experience. It started when the airline lost my luggage (as of this writing it is still not recovered). So I showed up to the apartment with nothing but a bag full of a laptop, some books, and a number of other things that are completely useless when all one wishes to do is clothe oneself. I mentioned this is my second conversation with my other roommate, Angel. Now, keep in mind that this is my second conversation with the man, the first focusing mainly on where to find cheap groceries and the proper time of the month to buy a metro pass. (The answers, in case you’re wondering are, in this order, “Lidl,” and, “At the beginning.”)

When I mentioned that my luggage was lost that I had yet to retrieve it his eyes went wide and he immediately began dispensing advice. Contact the police, raise hell with the airline, and talk to his girlfriend. Then he went straight to his own closet and began pulling out shirts for me to wear. When he returned to the bathroom, where I stood mouth agape, he worked out a system whereby we would use separate razor heads on the same handle and that way I could shave. All of this he did in between noting how noble (a word which I believe has a slightly different connotation in Spanish) I was and it was wrong that this should happen to me, and we would take care of it immediately. Except for the “Gracias” which I threw at him as he threw me his belongings, there was no formal politeness about it. But it was still the most polite and instantly helpful I’d ever seen.

If it means tossing away every, “After you, sir,” and, “Please-and-thank-you,” we have, I wouldn’t mind seeing a little more of the Spanish version of politeness in the world.