On People

The night before I was leaving for Paris, a knock at my door caught me off guard as I was heating up some manzanilla (chamomile) tea in the kitchen. I opened it and was surprised to find a stocky, short, older man in leather shoes and a button up shirt carrying a plastic bag of tools, “Buenas Noches!” he declared, kissing me on both sides of my face. He is our landlord’s father and he embodies the Andalucian warmth.
Needless to say, I was relieved and entertained as he started puttering around my JUST cleaned kitchen (phew!) and ranting about how Chinese pipes are cheap and break easily. I just smiled, standing flamingo style in the door frame. Wilson, you’ll be pleased to know I was representing in my 80’s esque nike shorts and a turquoise “Athens Marathon” t-shirt --I normally wouldn’t dress in such bright running gear but doing laundry is a pain..thus I hold out until I’m desperate. Back to the point, we had a leak of an unknown substance in the kitchen. Will and I were both really worried about leaving a growing leak over the weekend while we were in Paris, but our landlord is usually unreliable and difficult so we weren’t holding our breath.
I didn’t tell you, it was already 11 pm at night. So, I’m standing in my kitchen, waiting for him to yell from the bottom floor to turn on the water to see if the new pipe would hold. I would hold the flash light for him and babble on about my favorite places in Cordoba and about my recent travels. He noted that the water barely came out of the kitchen sink (my plight since January) and I told him that we had both just acclimated to the lack of water pressure in the apartment. He waved his finger, offering the Spanish “tsk tsk” and pulled out a pocket knife to scrape the remnants off the filter in the sink...now we have actual water flow to do dishes, madre mia. Next he insisted on tackling the sink in the bathroom and the shower. He went down to his house to see if he had a spare chain for the shower--ultimately, he couldn’t fix the shower but he said he was going to come back with a new chain on Monday..so believe it or not, a few weeks before I leave I might have a proper shower. Just maybe.
Anyway, it was such a strange experience. Normally, when a maintenance man comes to your house at home you barely talk to him and leave him be. In Posadas, we were working as a team until 12:30 am, doing the double cheek kiss, and talking it up. I hope I bring that warmth back home with me, because it’s really nice to feel that connection with another person.
People are just so funny, in subtle ways. I find myself observing people everyday, just watching and wondering about them. There is a woman that lives opposite me in a small house. She has electric white hair, tanned skin, and a dirty apron on every morning. She sweeps her balcony dutifully and then just stares out on the street. I can feel her eyes on me every morning and sometimes in the afternoon when I go running--this is going to sound strange, but I try alternate my dressing styles so she doesn’t think of me as a sloppy caucasian. I feel bizarre putzing around Posadas in my red U of A baseball cap..but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t sport the baseball cap. I feel at home in Nike running shorts and a baseball cap. I don’t know what that says about me.
Another person I often wonder about is the man that sells lottery tickets on the main street. I pass him every morning on my walk to school and he stares at me as I’m walking up but then never says Buenos Dias. I was thinking about saying good morning to him next time I see him, but I always chicken out. Definitively, I’m going to say good morning when I see him on Tuesday..it’s just not right to see someone everyday and not exchange a greeting.
When traveling, I often meet all sorts of people. In Greece, a British boy named Simon will always be in my memories--he was so curious about people because he had been raised in a town of 700 people in Durham. He was one of those rare people that you meet who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body. I also have strange experiences. On a train to Malaga, a man was yelling and ranting for an entire hour. I was getting more and more agitated as time passed, I wasn’t sure what he was yelling about--I thought he was in a fight with someone next to him that I couldn’t see. I looked up because I could feel his eyes on me and when I did-- he was staring at me from across the row--just staring, not bothering to look away, and just yelling nonsensibly. I put on my head phones and tried to not given into discomfort. Believe it or not, he was louder than my iPod on full volume with sound proof headphones. At the end of the trip he gave both Will and I pictures of Jesus..it had a calendar from 2002. Oh and by the way, he was traveling alone. Nice.
On the AVE (the high speed train) to Madrid from Cordoba yesterday, a man decided to interview me. It wasn’t comfortable conversation, it was an interrogation. I don’t know how to explain it. After watching Vicki Christina Barcelona on the AVE, he out of nowhere decided to start asking me questions. He turned to me and said, “Vives en Madrid?” and I told him No, I lived in a small town near Cordoba. He then interrogated, “Que te gusta sobre Cordoba?” as if it was a trick question, I told him I liked many things in Cordoba--for example, La Mezquita and the Alcazar. It was just so strange. He would stare at me intently when I responded, so much so that I felt uncomfortable. Have you ever met those people that just unnerve you? I can’t explain it, because I know the questions sound general enough--but they were intense..he would sit and think before asking me another question in a severe, serious tone. When I told him I was going to Paris, he kept going on and on about how romantic Paris is. I was very excited to get off the train.
I’ve written before about how horribly confusing the Madrid airport is--but to reiterate, it’s a complete black hole. My flight to Paris was on Ryan Air (first and last Ryanair flight..thank God) and I had no idea which terminal it would be out of because it didn’t say so on my e-ticket. I figured I had allocated enough time to traverse the metro from Puerta de Atocha to get to T4 which is about 3 changes in the metro station ( 45 minutes ish). The metro was really hot, and I got turned around at Tribunal station. There isn’t anywhere that says “Nuevos Ministerios” which is the stop I needed to change at to get to the airport--so you have to rely on people who look like they know where they’re going. Every time I take the metro in Madrid, I tell myself that I’m going to get it right this time and not get turned around--but sure enough, every time, at the same station, I get completely confused. But anyway, as I was sitting on the Metro sitting across from the usual PDA couple, (they are EVERYWHERE and it’s exhausting) and to be honest, the past few that have made me feel awkward were American couples. It’s like the girls are marking their territory by being overly affectionate with their boyfriends. It’s probably my own fault, it’s like watching a trainwreck, you can’t NOT look even though you don’t want to, and they probably think I’m eyeing their nerdy boyfriend. Girls. Anyway, I decided to ask the man sitting next to me if he knew the logic to the terminals. He said not really and laughed, but he did say that he thought that Ryan Air was in T2. He was really helpful and even offered to help me carry my bag while I went to ask information. People can be so nice. He also couldn’t fathom that I was living in a village in Southern Spain. He felt really sorry for me--but I told him I enjoyed it mostly. He couldn’t believe that. He then ranted about the Andalucian accent (insert smile here) and he said that he’s sure nobody could understand what a village in Southern Spain is like, especially someone from the United States. I think I agree, I don’t know if you guys can imagine what my everyday life is like here. I wish you were here, to experience this with me. Somedays are more challenging than others, but, the one given in my life is that everyday will be an adventure of sorts.