I made it to Sppppainnnn! It’s beautiful. I love Europe. I love its streets. I’ve been here a few hours and so far there have been approximately nine thousand times in which I really, really wished I spoke Spanish. I should really, really be able to speak Spanish, and am very much regretting that time I decided that Latin would be more valuable for the SAT, and then just ended up spending four years in a classroom while a very large man shouted at us about various mythic wars. (I learned no Latin.)
It began before I even technically entered the country, whilst deplaning, when I accidentally touched an old Spanish man’s butt.
Me: Mi Scusi.
Man (irked) Que?
Me: Uh sorry. That’s Italian. Sorry. Pardon? That’s French. I AM SO VERY SORRY.
Man: (unitelligible, walking away)
Moreso than any country I’ve ever been to, Spainards, so far, will just — not speak to you in English. Like at all. You are left floundering, gesturing, While they watch you try, staring at you like, I’ll just wait while you get with the program. Also you should probably find yourself a cool scarf because I pretty much don’t want to talk to you unless you’re wearing one. It’s not arrogance, though, it’s — assuredness? Reminds me of Icelanders. We are better than you, but we’re gonna like, play it cool, and not make a big deal about it, while you catch up. Just — take your time. We’ll wait.