Leaving on the early train to Madrid tomorrow, then right off to Salamanca. Just staying the night (in some random hostel on a street I don’t believe I’ve been on), then returning the Spanish phone to Sherri and recogiendo mis maletas from Francisca. Also, I need to get me some falafel and fries (with that amazing garlic sauce!) one last time.
I called the family tonight, partly to burn away some of those extra euro on my phone that I’ll never get refunded. Also wanted to talk, though I was thinking of waiting till I had my old phone in the states again.
Strange how I feel about Salamanca now, I’ve enjoyed several other cities more, but it was still fun to really know the streets in one of them. To be able to walk half drunk amongst what could’ve been a maze if I didn’t lived there. Frankly, the people there (over 30 at least) are not very open, and this is the problem I had. Of course, Francisca was great, and plenty of them were probably very nice too, it’s just that (for the majority), you can’t expect me to keep impressed that you speak “el mejor castellano en el mundo” if you’re too stuck up to speak it with me, if you switch into english and refuse to switch back the second I flounder or fail to speak in your precious Salmantino accent.
I cracked the joke today about Salamancans not talking with me when I was visiting the Orihuels in Benissa (between Valencia and Alicante). In that area, as in Barcelona, they speak Catalan. Granted, it’s a different dialect that everyone from the area prefers to call “Valenciano”, but it’s a subset of the same language. The point is, it doesn’t really matter which language you speak, and getting super precious about your own only shuts away contact. They were very nice, of course offering me an immense amount of food both because they’re from southern europe and because I’m family. I messed up at Spanish more than a few times; I assigned the wrong gender to “ciudad” and at one point commented on how much cocaine there was in the cake. (coconut=coco, cocaine=coca, I think you can see where I went wrong from here). Alicia, Jose’s wife, even corrected me a few times, but at least they heard me out. Same with Jorge and Maria from Murcia. Same with most people in Cordoba and Granada, and in Barcelona.
I could write more about the family, but I think I’ll save that for private discussions. Those who want to know will obviously hear, and I do have a couple of fotos that I’ll email as soon as I can. But that’ll have to wait into I’m in the city.
3 days?!!
