Lesson 8: Don't say "yes" to everything the maid says

One of the benefits of my apartment is that we have a maid. Unfortunately she seems to come at the most inconvenient times, during my siestas. Last week I arrived from a long morning of training, and in desperate need of a nap, to find the maid had beat me home. My bed was stripped so I couldn't sleep, so I stole some extra covers from the closet and made it myself. After an hour of fighting to sleep against the vacuum outside my room, I finally gave up.

When I left my room the maid greeted me and was asking me something about making the bed. I tried to tell her not to worry and that I had already made the bed, but she didn't seem convinced with my answer. She kept walking into my room and pointing at the bed and asking, (what I thought was) "Do you want me to make the bed?" I could only repeat myself so many times and I had to leave to go back to work, so I stopped arguing and just answered OK to everything she said. When I arrived back home from work I found a cute surprise. My sheets had been changed, again. Only this time they were replaced with a more feminine cover.

 

 Yes, those are the least heterosexual cows which say SEDUCTION and ATTRACTION and are covered in hearts. Lesson learned. Don't say yes to everything the maid says, but more importantly, dont piss her off- she knows where I sleep.

Lesson 7: Keep your keys on you

In Spain, front doors lock automatically. So you always need to check to make sure you have your keys on you before you leave. Apparently that goes the same for casa rural rooms (See: Not your typical wedding weekend), as my roommate found out on my behalf. You wouldn't have thought they would lock automatically just by looking at them, they were large wooden doors that must have been on loan from a nearby castle, but late Saturday night I found myself trying to break into one (sans battering ram).

After arriving back from Disco Escandalo (Scandalous) in Mejorada, everyone but Sara and I went to bed. I told my roommate (Sara´s Cousin´s boyfriend) to leave the door open so that I could get in later. He didn´t realize that the door literally needed to be open, and after an hour of talking, I returned to my room to find the door shut and locked. I, of course, didn´t have the key on me, so I began knocking quietly. My door was the last door at the end of an expansive hall with high ceilings and six rooms of these heavy wooden doors. It was after 4 am in the middle of nowhere, so the slightest tap sounded like a dictionary being dropped from a 10 foot ledge onto the stone floor. However, it only reverberated around the halls, he couldn't hear anything inside.

I stopped knocking, the last thing I needed was all of Sara's family to wake up to find the two of us standing in the dark hall in the middle of the night. So I suggested we go outside and tap on my room window, because his bed was closest to it and it wouldn't make as much noise. We slipped out into the back where it would have been pitch black if not for the moon and millions of stars. It was cold and quiet and we had almost made it to my window when we heard a giant dog barking nearby. Sara reminded me that the owners told us they had two mastiffs on the property that were there to keep strangers away. Sara was worried that they weren't locked up, and as positive as I was that they were, I didn't want to be proven wrong. So we high-tailed it back to the safety of the house.

Inside, we decided the only way to get inside was with the spare key from behind the Romanians' desk. I was apprehensive at first, and was even debating sleeping on the small couch in the den, but I didn't think finding me passed out on a sofa would make the best impression, at least not the first weekend. Unfortunately the desk was in the lobby, just in front of the Romanians' room. So if we made too much noise we could wake them up, and who knows what they would do to two people snooping around their desk where all the keys and money are kept. I had my thoughts but I kept them to myself.

We checked all the drawers and boxes around the desk and proceeded to hunt through their dresser behind the desk. I found a set of keys in the cupboard of the dresser and ran down the hall to see if they would finally grant me access to my room. They did. We were able to go to bed without waking up Sara's family, or being killed by giant dogs or crazy Romanians.

Not your typical wedding weekend

Between stalking people with purple hair (See Obs 2), castle climbing, and an exploding toilet, I didn't have the most traditional wedding weekend. It didn't start on the right foot either when I realized, once I was out in the cold and dark of the Talavera train station, that my jacket hadn't made the full trip and was flying off to some other Spanish city. The wedding was going to be held at Sara's Uncle's house in the remote town of Mejorada. However, we headed to Segurilla, the next town over, where our hotel was located. It wasn't really a hotel but a grand 12-room mansion, ran by a Romanian couple in the middle of nowhere, called a casa rural.

I didn't realize how rural it was until I asked to use their iron for my shirt for the wedding. They led me- ok us, Sara and her Mom as well (I have seen horror movies before and I wasn't about to die alone.)- down to the basement where we were greeted with a "professional" ironing machine, cerca 1972. Before throwing my shirt under the iron I asked her to demonstrate first. She snatched a napkin, put it unde the iron, and without even pressing down all the way, the napkin turned from a silvery white to a charred brown. I decided my shirt was just fine the way it was and scampered back upstairs.

Back upstairs we were getting hungry. It was almost 10p and we were still waiting for the rest of the family to arrive, so we decided to make our way into town for some dinner. It was surprising that in a town that small, with only one restaurant, how no one seemed to really know where that one restaurant was. We received different directions from three or four people along the way before we finally found it. We ate well, but before we had paid the bill, Sara's Uncle busted in, grabbed us and took us outside where I was bombarded by 20 members of Sara's family. We all left for a pub in the city before finally calling it a night (See Lesson 6).

The next day was the wedding, which was not your traditional wdding, because both the bride and groom were getting remarried. It was held in the living room of Sara's Uncle's house, and instead of white, the bride wore a glamorous green gown. Of course after the (five minute) ceremony we ate like at a traditional wedding. We toasted between mouthfuls of various pintxos, jamon, lemon sorbet, steak, and cake. After digesting, we went for a hike around the ranch, played games with the kids, and later took over a sketchy bar, where I did my best James Brown impression. We also got free drinks at the bar, including kalimotxo (coke and red wine) served in giant glass boots.

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Sara and I stayed up talking in the lobby. When we finally went to bed I found the door to my room was locked. Sara and I eventually broke in around 4:30a (Lesson to come). After breakfast Sunday morning we all drove over to the Medieval town of Oropesa for the day, where we went castle climbing. Afterwards we went for another stroll around the ranch at sunset, where of couse I sprained my ankle and had to hobble the last couple km back to the house in the dark. That wasn't even the worst part. Sara's family is full of doctors, so of course when they got word that I had been hurt they all rushed over to examine me. Eventually I was propped up in the kitchen with a bag of ice rubberbanded to my foot and 8 people looking over me.

Later that night, back at the casa rural, our toilet exploded around 2a. I still have no idea why. We were sitting in our room and all of a sudden we heard a gush of water which we thought was the shower. When we went to check it out we realized it was the toilet and it was starting to flood. I didn't want to call the Romanians- I was afraid they would terrorize us for breaking it- so we just turned off the water, put down a few towels, and went back to bed.

Overall it was a great weekend. Sara's family is incredibly nice and genuine and were always trying to communicate with me in one language or another. The food was amazing, as always. We drank lots, we danced, we made fools of ourselves- I guess it was your typical wedding weekend.

Lesson 6: Make your own decisions... in bars

After just meeting Sara's Mom's side of the family for the first time, I was swept up and taken to a bar in Talavera to have a celebratory drink. Everyone was asking me what I wanted to order but I had no idea. It was a tough decision. This drink order would be the first impression that her family would have of me, so I couldn't mess it up. If I went with a familiar beer, it would probably be American and they'd think I'm some patriotic American who only drinks American beers. If I picked one of the hundred off the wall I might choose a bad beer, or worst, a beer that associates me with something bad.

My safest bet was to ask the barman for his favorite drink. He obviously knows more about beers than myself, and that was how I commonly ordered back in the States. -Spain is different. While everyone else was given pint glasses, I was handed an hour glass-shaped glass with a wooden handle. I had never seen anything like it in my life! Of course, the entire family is watching me at this point, judging me with their eyes. "Oh, he's the American who thinks he's better than everyone and orders the most expensive beer in the bar." -Grand. I tried to sneak behind a column to hide my goblet and my embarrassment. Both showed noticeably.

Observation 2: Dye in style

(First, let me apologize for the delay in posts. For those who don't know, I was just given a new job so now I work about 40 hrs in 4 days. The good news is, I have more money to go on more trips. So, I'm sorry for those of you who kept checking for updates, but I won't keep you waiting any longer.)

Apparently there's a new trend spreading through Spain, old ladies with bright hair. Every where I go, I am bound to see at least one person along the way with red, pink or purple hair. And I'm not talking about a dye job gone bad, I'm talking about hair so bright you could see it with your eyes close. Lady Gaga's got nothing on these girls.

I would understand if a few misguided, rebel teens and twenties wanted to spice up their life, but we're talking 50, 60, and 70 year-old ladies here. Think about how embarrassing it would be if you were in their family and they died. "We were going to have an open-casket ceremony, but the pastor wouldn't allow it." Honestly, they should be fined for disturbing the peace.

So please, ladies, if you're reading this... leave the hair dying to drag queens and pop singers.

Observation 1: Cristiano is Portugese, right?

I was walking past the newsstand the other day when I noticed 25 Cristiano Ronaldo's staring back at me. Holy crap! This guy is on the cover of every magazine! And I don't just mean the sports ones... He's on the cover of Boats and Fish, Home & Garden, and Exercises for Senior Citizens. Ronaldo is a narcissist and I'm sure even he is sick of seeing his own face.

Yo andaba pasado un kiosko de periodicos el otro dia cuando vi 25 Cristiano Ronaldo's mirando fijamente a mi. Dios mio! Este hombre esta en la portada de todas revistas! Y no los deportes solamente... El esta en la portada de Barcos y peces, Hogar y Jardin, y Ejercisios para La Tercera Edad. Ronaldo es narciso y seguro que este harto de ver la cara suya.

Lesson 5: Watch your step

Wherever I go I pay special attention to where I step. Not because the pavement is lined in special tiles only found in the Basque Country, or because there are many hills and uneven sidewalks. No, because you must always be cognizant of dog crap.

There are dogs EVERYWHERE. Everyone seems to own a dog or two (I even witnessed a dog walking another dog- I swear to you I did.) and takes them just about everywhere: to the bank, the shops, even to restaurants. Dogs are free to wander the city and many aren't even accompanied with a leash. So of course it is no surprise for me to tell you that there are a few casualties.

You can always find a dog "mine." Don't get me wrong, the streets are cleaned multiple times a day, but you have to be on the look out. The one time you turn your head may be your last... Though people will try to tell you it's good luck. Bull (dog) shit. They just want you to feel better about having just ruined your shoes... again. (Un)Luckily for me, I've stayed clear of them, but we all know it's only a matter of time.