Día del Amor y la Amistad

My best friend Matt’s twin brother came all the way from Dubai to visit Madrid for nine days, so it was quite the eventful week. Between late nights with the Australian twins and classes during the day, I am definitely burning the candle at both ends. “You can sleep when you die,” some say, but I usually just fall asleep anytime it’s remotely dark or quiet. Still, I’ll never say I didn’t live Madrid to the fullest.

     Monday night was the second round of Tandem Cañas. Even though the event is meant to help exchange students practice Spanish, there’s so many nationalities represented that most people really just want to perfect their English, the global language. I nearly died laughing listening to a Brit talk about how last semester he failed an exam that was poorly translated from Spanish to English. He just didn’t understand what to do, he said, when half the questions didn’t end in a question mark!

TANDEM CAÑAS: Practicing my Australian English with the twins, mate!

     Tuesday, I’m sitting in the cafeteria eating a leisurely lunch with two Paraguayans and a Greek. We were discussing the grievous fact that Paraguay didn’t qualify for the World Cup, and Juan was saying that the only way it could get worse would be if Argentina won, because they would never shut up about it. The Greek was delighted by this sentiment because his country, as he explained, also doesn’t get along with its neighbors. This refined, respectable Master’s student then said this superbly penetrative quote that I will never forget: “Don’t get me wrong. If someone from Turkey were sitting with us at this table, there would be no problem. But really, the Turks are #&%$#@_&^%#*&$.”

     That night, we headed over to the local pub where they sell jarras of beer for 80 céntimos each. We found a random table in the back and were sitting around shooting the breeze, like normal. Pretty soon, our beggarly pub in loathsome Getafe starts to fill up with people. What the heck! Well, it turns out that we happened to go on the night of the life-and-death revancha between fierce rivals Real Madrid and Atlético Madrid, and by pure chance we sat at the ideal table for watching the fútbol game on the pub’s TV. So there I am in the best seat in the house, wondering if Ronaldo is the quarterback or a wide receiver, while hardcore fans in their official team uniforms are jumping up and down yelling all around us. It was quite a treat from the soccer gods and it ended up being one of the liveliest nights so far. (Author’s note: turns out Ronaldo is the running back).

REVANCHA: Halftime cervezas alongside great friends

     I went out again Wednesday night, due to the unassailable rationale that it was Matt’s twin brother’s last Wednesday in the city. I pointed out that it was also his first, but I was promptly hushed. The club was called Gabana 1800, and it’s as upscale as a sinful nightclub can get. I wore my navy blazer (good call packing that, Mom) and danced to Pitbull under intense lights and smoke machines. There was a man in a blinking robot suit as well as scantily clad professional dancers - now that’s what you call high class!

     On Thursday night, the international students’ club put on a Valentine’s Day party in a disco with themed posters, candy, kisscam and all. At this point in the story, let me introduce Mariana, a girl from Torreón (a city in central México) who is also studying abroad at UC3M. I tried to ask her to be my Valentine, but it turns out that phrase is not directly translatable to Spanish. I coquettishly said to her, “¿Quieres ser mi Valentina?” and she looked at me like, What in God’s name is this crazy gringo asking me? Rather than requesting that someone be your Valentine, in Spanish you must “declare yourself” to the girl, terminology that I find to be less festive and overly earnest, but who am I to judge the very culture I’m here to learn!? Clumsy as the “declaration” was, she accepted my fake rose and we went to the party with her numerous Mexican friends. It was open bar sangria, so naturally we ended up on the kisscam way more times than I’d care to see on the club’s Facebook page. Thank you Zuckerberg for privacy settings!

     Friday night, 14 de Febrero, Día del Amor y la Amistad, I attempted to take Mariana to an at least somewhat elegant restaurant, but cheerless Getafe couldn’t even provide my most humble request. However, my heart started racing when Mariana said that all she wanted was beer and pizza anyways. Despite the steady rain and wind, it was a lovely date.

DÍA DE SAN VALENTÍN: No better Spanish tutor than one you can kiss!

     I stand firm in my belief that the best way to learn a language is by having a native-speaking significant other. You simply can’t pay a tutor for the quality and quantity of practice you get when you’re with your steady. The other night, Mariana and I spent six hours together (not all of it was devoted to talking, I grant you!), and let me promise you: there’s no stronger motivation to improve your grammar and vocabulary than under the pressure of courting someone you find attractive. I’ll admit that I was lucky; the next time I make a blunder like “¿Quieres ser mi Valentina?” it might mean a slap in the face. Forget flashcards, that’s one vocab lesson you will not forget!