No matter what your level of a non-native language, there are some things that simply don’t translate. And the only remedy for this is your least favorite answer: time. But as you’re getting situated and feeling more and more comfortable each and every day, you start to realize that there are a few things that every person everywhere can relate to, that every person everywhere does.

Universals. When you’ve lived in the same place for so long, I think it’s easy to forget that universals exist, that there are people all over world who do things that you do. These things create a place where a common bond can be formed, an understanding that exceeds language barriers. As I’ve just crossed barely crossed the threshold of my two month anniversary in Valverde del Camino, I’ve realized that never in my life have I been so in tune to these universals as I am ahora mismo (“right now”).

My universals here? Let me tell you about them.

1. Body Language: Otherwise known as ‘nonverbal behavior,’ body language has been my right-hand man with my friends. Yes, my Spanish speaking abilities are above average, but it still has taken me a bit of time to reignite them and better them (and truthfully, it’s an ongoing process). In the meantime, from day one with my Spanish friends, I learned how crucial it is to hone in on body language. The clues it gives you into not only a person’s present emotions but also their personality in general is astounding. Where words fail, body language rarely, if ever, does.
   And body language is something easy to ignore when you’ve been hanging out with the same group of people for an extended period of time. What may have seemed like a harmless joke actually has put your friend on the defensive without you taking a moment to realize that it’s hit a soft spot. That person you think is shy and unfriendly may just need more time to warm up to you. A look, a posture, a movement, they’re all less trivial than you may think.
2. Facial Expressions and Hand Gestures: Some people are naturally very expressive with both facial expressions and hand gestures when they’re having conversations, but other than tacking that up to a personality trait, you probably don’t think above and beyond that. 
   But particularly when I first arrived here in Spain - and frankly, long before that - I hadn’t been using my Spanish to speak at all. I’d use words here or there in text messages or online, but given the way non-native languages are taught, conversation isn’t stressed nor taught, leaving me with a boatload of anxiety when it came to speaking to someone in Spanish. Stepping off the bus on September 25, I was thrown head first into a world where it’s no numerical struggle to count how many people I know here that can hold conversations in English. When in Rome, right?
   Now, I hardly ever have to ask someone to repeat what they’ve said or explain it to me in a different way, but when I first got here? Oofdah. If it weren’t for my friends facial expressions and hand gestures - and their amplification upon knowing how much they helped me - I would’ve been walking away from many a conversation with a giant question mark over my head. Keep this in mind the next time you’re talking to someone whose native tongue is not English. Whether or not they ever get the chance to tell you, I promise you they’ll be appreciative.
3. Patience and Confidence: Though not normally related, in the context of speaking a foreign language, I think they go hand-in-hand. Patience and confidence are crucial elements to having a successful conversation in another language.
   If you are the one speaking the foreign language, you need to be confident in your ability to try. You absolutely are not expected to speak perfectly, but you have to be willing to put yourself out there and try. It’s noted, trust me. (Remember that crazy thing called body language? Yeah, that.)
   You also have to be patient with yourself. Don’t beat yourself up when you forget a word or a verb tense. Find a way around it. Let’s say you’ve forgotten the word for “ball.” Instead of standing there hopelessly racking your brain, describe it. “It’s round. You use it in sports. It’s something you can play with. It bounces.” Better to have reached an understanding of what word you were looking for through a long-winded explanation than to stand there staring at someone, both of you with blank looks on your faces at a standstill.
   Patience, however, doesn’t apply solely to those trying to speak a foreign language. It applies to native speakers, too. Don’t scrunch up your face when it’s taking someone a long time to complete a sentence. Don’t make a face at a mispronunciation. Maintain your facial expression to be as normal as possible, as if you were speaking with someone who knows your native tongue perfectly. You don’t want your impatience, whether conscious or subconscious (though preferably nonexistent), to show on your face. All that does is make someone more nervous, and the conversation is going to take a nose dive - and fast.
4. Music: When all of the above fall short, there’s always music. Regardless of what language the lyrics to a song are in - or if it even has lyrics at all - music prevails. I was reminded of this last night when my new roommate, Margaret, started naming off music groups, particularly ones that have some connection with Seattle (her hometown) and Massachusetts (where she went to college). Not many words are needed when two (or more) people realize that they like some of the same music. It’s easy to settle into the common knowledge that there is mutual appreciation for something. Songs sound the same no matter whose ears are listening. Lucky for us here, too, that Spanish people like a lot of American music. Listening to music in another language is also a great learning tool! I’ve downloaded a copious amount of Spanish music to help fine-tune my ears.

By no means is this list comprehensive, but my senses have been heightened in a way I never knew was possible, and if I can help other people do more than tread water while vacationing or living in another country that speaks a language foreign to them. Y como he dicho antes (“And I like I’ve said before”), the rest is all up to time.

While the economic crisis is still incredibly prevalent in Spain, this hasn’t stopped many families from having an apartment or house in the city as well as a house in el campo (“country/countryside”) - or at the very least having a family member who has one. My friends and I were trying to plan a little getaway during the puente de Noviembre to no avail, and we weren’t having very good luck. That is until our friend Manu secured us his relative’s house for Saturday and Sunday.

What good fortune! That same weekend, there was a festival happening in a town very close to the house - La Feria de Niebla (Niebla being the name of the town). From what I’ve been told, it’s a big medieval festival, complemented by the town’s rich historical landscape, that’s home to apparently the best patatas bravas.

The sun was shining bright as we all began to arrive at the peña Saturday morning, preparing to set out in a caravan of vehicles to el campo. And then all of a sudden, as we were crossing our t’s and dotting our i’s, it began to rain, and I mean rain. Bamboozled by Valverde’s weather once more (and it’s not just me - the natives, too!), 99.9% of us had left our raincoats and umbrellas in the cars. Being the tonta (“idiot/fool”) who actually did full on make-up and curled my hair for a trip to the countryside, I had a bit of an internal panic going on. Saved by the two umbrellas we managed to scrounge up from inside the peña, we traded off using them to run to the cars and out of the sloppy downpour.

Fingers crossed the whole car ride to el campo that the weather would clear up, we arrived at the most charming little house, nestled into the backdrop of nothing more than rolling hills and greenery, aside from one other house nearby. The isolation that exists in the countryside in Spain is a beautiful thing. More than anything else, it helps you - or at least it helped me - realize that all you really need is good company, no matter where you are in the world. And that, dear readers, I had in spades.

Dashing through the rain into the house, arms packed to the brim with food, drink and sleepover necessities, we ran through the front door, bedrooms were divvied up and so our weekend commenced. Tables and chairs were pulled together into the main room of the house by the fireplace, and a collective “digging in” took place - a long snack time that turned into lunch eventually.

As the grub began to soak in, my friends and I split between a rousing game of RISK and poker. (I gravitated towards the latter, obviously. #makelovenotwar) The music was turned on, the laughter and drinks were plentiful and nobody minded that we were more or less trapped indoors, thanks to the weather that never really got any better.

7:00PM rolled around, and the group decided that the rain had lessened up enough to attempt a jaunt at the feria, so we threw on our coats and piled into the cars. The car I was in (consisting of Carlos, Miri and myself) was the second to last to leave, and we had barely got out the gate to the house and onto the road when we realized the car behind us hadn’t moved. Thinking it just wouldn’t start, Carlos headed back on foot towards the house while Miri and I decided to take the momentary pause of our excursion to smoke a cigarette.

Time passed, and time passed. Everyone started texting back and forth, and the people from the cars ahead of us got out and started walking back to see what was going on. Turns out, gracias a la puta lluvia, that the final car of our caravan was stuck - and good -  in the mud. First, we tried having a few people in front of the car pushing. Nada. Next, we tried having a few people in front of the car pushing while boards and things were shoved under the front wheels to get them unstuck. Nada. Finally, after a hunt for something to tie the back of that car to the front of another, a metal twine of sorts was discovered and tied from the bumper of the stuck car to the front end of another. All of the elements combined in our favor to eventually get the car unstuck! Hurrah!

The funniest part of all this? By the time we got the car unstuck, no one wanted to go to the festival anymore, for fear of other cars getting stuck on the road on the way there. So instead? We all moseyed back inside and proceeded to get drunk in our pajamas, including but not limited to a rousing game of Twister.

I had at least three fits of uncontrollable laughter where I had to run outside to take some deep breaths and rein it in a little bit. I swear I never stop laughing here, and I say and mean that with all the love and happiness possible! It’s a rarity for me to not have a smile on my face, and I feel so grateful that I’m surrounded by such an awesome crew of people that make sure that smile stays there. There’s no one else I’d rather have had my first overnight trip in el campo with then these folks.

Gracias a Americanization, the younger generations of Spanish people have slowly but surely adopted Halloween as a holiday here in Spain. By no means is it celebrated exactly the same or to the extent that we celebrate in the United States, but it does the trick for an American abroad!

To Spaniards, por lo menos (“at least”) in my pueblecito (“tiny town”), Halloween is all about the spooky and scary: lots of black and red, spiderwebs, scary jack-o-lanterns, vampires, witches, zombies and so on. The “funny” and what I’ve dubbed “intellectual” costumes of Halloween are all but lost on them, unfortunately. Por ejemplo (“For example”), I wanted to dress up as a “Freudian slip,” meaning that I’d take a slip and cover it in Freud’s theories (ha ha ha). I found it on the Internet somewhere, and I thought it was brilliant, but when I asked my friends if people would understand it here, they had to stifle their laughter as they shook their heads. 

Instead, I made an impromptu cat costume for during the day at work at my colegio, made complete with eyeliner for whiskers and lipstick to paint my nose, as well as cat ears made quickly with crayons, paper and flashcards (for support) that I bobbypinned in my hair. Let me tell you: I think more people smiled at me and told me I was pretty that day than any other since I’ve been here. When I was jokingly moaning about that to my mom, she said it’s because it gave people an excuse to really look at me and notice how pretty I am - probably the “mommiest” answer she could’ve possible given. What are moms for if not for an instant boost of self esteem, hey?

For the evening, I popped over to the store in between giving private English lessons after school to buy some Halloween decorations for the peña. A bunch of us got together early in the evening to deck the place out for the evening’s party. We cut open big black plastic bags to hang in front of all the doorways and tape to the walls. We hung fake spider webs, paper ghosts and jack-o-lanterns and black balloons from every place imaginable. They had saved some of their decorations from the year prior, including cups they had cut jack-o-lantern faces into and put candles inside for ambiance. It was quite the task, but worth the time and effort to have a great backdrop for the party!

Armed with limited options for face paint, I scurried home to begin my transformation into Halloween costume #2: Day of the Dead-style face make-up, complete with my skull tanktop, skull scarf and muscle leggings. Maybe not the most cohesive costume ever, but I was working with what I had and felt pretty lucky that I had brought along a few things that worked just fine for a Halloween costume abroad. The only thing I spent money on was face paint, totaling maybe 3 euros tops - my most wallet-friendly Halloween costume to date!

“Selfie” before heading out to the peña.

Miri and I all painted up, hanging out outside of the peña.

The night was a complete and utter success. When we plan to have a party, above and beyond the normal pre-gaming before a night out, everyone brings a dish to pass, potluck-style. We kicked off the night, chatting around tables and sampling everyone’s comida (“food”) before turning out the lights and letting the candles guide our dance party.

After a good stint in the peña, we headed down to our normal watering hole, La Estación: the only place in town where people who dress up for Halloween go. Albeit not everyone there was decked out for Halloween, but they had decorated the place a bit for the holiday, and everyone was in good spirits, admiring the costumes of the others who had donned their Halloween best.

Oh, and how did I forget to mention the best part about Halloween in Spain? The next day, November 1st, is always a holiday, meaning no one has to work the day after Halloween, meaning that you can stay out for as late as you want on Halloween, meaning that you don’t have to worry if you have a bit of a resaca the next day. How great is that? I can’t remember the last time I actually got to celebrate on the day of instead of the weekend prior.

In addition, a lot of people take small vacations this weekend, depending on what days of the week the dates fall. It’s called the puente de Noviembre, which literally translates to the “bridge of November.” Obviously, that doesn’t make sense, but here, from what I can understand from what I’ve been told, they typically refer to “long weekends” as “puentes,” because the days “bridge” together to create a long weekend, usually because of a holiday. 

[HINT: There’s a blog post in your future about my puente de Noviembre. Stay tuned!]

All in all, I’d call Halloween 2012 a success! It was the first ‘American’ holiday I celebrated abroad this year so far, and my Spanish friends certainly did not disappoint. I can’t wait for them to taste my pumpkin pie tonight for Thanksgiving!

One of my most favorite things to do back home is to have girls’ nights. It sounds hokey and exclusionary, but sometimes you just need a night with your lady friends: eating junk food, gossiping & discussing romantic interests, watching movies & maybe getting drunk while you’re at it.

Moreover, I have a general tendency to get along better with males than females. My core group of female friends, for the most part, has been with me for a long time, and quite frankly, it’s hard for other girls to come close (though, I will admit, some definitely have!). There are also many traits I see in female behavior that drive me absolutely bonkers, hence why I have a lot of male friends.

HOWEVER, I truly believe it is absolutely necessary (for me) to have girls’ nights. Living at 2468 in good ol’ Riverwest with Kristin and Anai, we had many nights like these, and they are some of my fondest memories about living in that house. Luckily for me, my best lady friend here in Spain, Miri, is basically exactly the same way, which is a large part of why her and I understand each other well. And now I’ve set the scene for my story.

Two weeks ago, it was a chill Friday night in Valverde del Camino. Cinty, who lives in Huelva but who has been dating a boy here in Valverde for about three years, was in town, and her, Miri and I spent a large part of the afternoon together. We sat at my dining room table, eating fresh, warm castañas (“chestnuts”) - my first time - and candies from the local penny candy store, talking and laughing the hours away. On our way to the peña later on, we were conversing about having a girls’ night, since we had had so much fun during the day together. And all of a sudden, it hit us: why not tonight?

We informed the boys of our plan and set off to the grocery store to pick up all the essentials:

These girls knew exactly what we needed to have a proper girls’ night Spanish style. I couldn’t help but giggle in my head the whole time, because although what we bought wasn’t what we buy at home, all of it made perfect sense for what Spaniards would want at at a night of this style. (And yes, your vision is fine; we did buy four bottles of wine for three girls. But we only fully drank two of them. The third was opened yet unfinished, and the fourth was not even touched.)

Post-grocery store, we walked the goods back to my apartment, and Cinty and Miri headed to their houses to grab their sleepover essentials. Meanwhile, I prepped my apartment for their arrival: washing dishes, setting up the computer to watch scary movies on, changing into my PJs and so on and so forth. When they arrived back at my apartment, we ended up having quite the feast. Frankly, I think our eyes were bigger than our stomachs.

As we ate, Miri showed me photos and videos of past parties with all of the peña, and I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. If there’s one thing the Spaniards know how to do it’s having a good time always. Also, they have a panache for throwing surprise parties a lot for people’s birthdays. (I make note of this, because no one has ever thrown me a surprise party, and selfishly, I’ve always wished they would. AND it’s likely I won’t be here in Spain for my birthday next year, so I don’t think my Spanish friends will get an opportunity to do it.) The best part, perhaps, was after the fact when all the boys were wicked embarrassed I had seen these videos of them super hammed, but they were good sports about it.

Thanks to a noisy downstairs neighbor, we soon thereafter pumped up the jams and had ourselves a dance party, as well as a photo shoot in Photo Booth on my computer. This includes, but is not limited to, the following photo and a video of us dancing to “Gangnam Style” in its entirety, which will not see the light of day on this blog.

Once we could dance and pose no more, we shut off all the lights, cozied up and popped in “The Blair Witch Project.” (Dubbed into Spanish with English subtitles, hilarious.) I had, surprisingly, never seen this movie back in the States, and I have to admit that I was positively frightened. I never willingly chose to watch a scary movie by myself, but if I’m with other people who want to, I will. I guess if I had to choose a ‘type’ of scary movie I prefer, it would be a psychological thriller, like this one, because to me, they have more substance.

Almost directly after finishing the movie, a knock came at my apartment door. Besides the fact that this scared us half to death, given the movie we had just watched, it was also almost 3:00AM. We figured it had to be Hermes or Jesus and the boys coming to give us a fright, since they were aware of our plans for the evening. Boy were we wrong. Cinty and I stayed put on the sofa, while Miri went to go see who it was. And now comes the story that has been told more times than I count in the past two weeks ever since it happened.

Standing at my door, much to Miri’s surprise, was a man in calzoncillos rojos de Papá Noel (“red Santa Clause boxers”). And nothing else. In what she describes as a very bizarrely poetic and proper form of Spanish, the man told her he’s my downstairs neighbor (which is not true; he’s just sleeping with the woman who lives below me and owns my apartment) proceeded to ask her if we had a Cruzcampo (the most well-known Spanish beer here in the southern region of the country) he could have. Miri said no. He proceeded to say that they had heard noises up here, so they thought there might be people who would have a beer for them. Miri said no again, that we were watching a movie and that’s what they heard. He proceeded to shoot off a quick apology for disturbing us and went on his way.

We immediately shut and locked all the doors and windows in my apartment even though there was no imminent danger; it was more so to gossip about what had just happened with less chance of them hearing us. Somehow the bottom door to my apartment, the one that opens up to the stairway up to my unit, was unlocked. I guess I forgot to lock it after Cinty and Miri came over. Never well I make that mistake again. Once the man was back in the bottom apartment, all we could hear was my neighbor yelling at him. I learned (of course, only after signing my lease for this apartment) that the woman who lives below me, the owner, is one of the town drunks. Apparently, she went to the main plaza in town, which is right around the corner from our house, totally and utterly naked and shouting. (Sad I missed that spectacle.) She also is not let into many bars around here, because she’s notorious for coming in, drinking and then not paying, with the excuse that she has no money on her.

But the story doesn’t end there, folks. Nobody wanted to sleep alone after watching that movie and having that man come to the door, so we dragged the other matresses in my apartment into my bedroom and proceeded to sleep in the same room, in true girls’ night fashion. At 8:00AM that morning, we were all peacefully sleeping when Miri’s alarm clock on her watch went off. I probably heard it and just rolled over and went back to sleep, and Cinty didn’t stir. Miri, however, did wake up, regretting not turning off the alarm before going to bed, when out of nowhere she hears the very obvious sounds of my neighbor and the man in the red Santa Clause boxers ‘having relations.’ Truly, the icing on the cake.

And so completes my story of the first of what I’m sure will be (and I hope will be) many noches de chicas.

A long title, I’m aware, but it pretty well sums up last week for me - though, of course, I’m still going to tell you about it. I don’t know what exactly was the cause of it all. It was just one of those times where a bunch of little, mildly upsetting things amounted to a whole lot of frustration and trying not to cry.

I will tell you that 99% of the time I’ve been here has been out-of-this-world fantastic. And I really mean it. By the grace of who knows what, I have an incredible group of friends here who have my back through thick and thin already. And we’ve barely known each other a month. I can hardly believe it myself. The genuine generosity I’ve received from not only them, but also from many other people here in Valverde del Camino has been astounding. I am forever indebted to them all, though they’d tell you I’m not and that’s what friends are for and that I’m being ridiculous.

But there are moments, of which there were many last week, where I was at my emotional limit. One example? Walking up to a café on Sunday and having a group of young women (I’m guessing around my age) straight up laugh at me, in my face. I know I shouldn’t worry about what people who behave like that think. I know. But I can’t honestly sit here and tell you that it didn’t hurt my feelings. I understand the basis of it - that this is a small town and people stare at people they don’t know - but they laughed in my face. That is something I would never do to anyone who came to Milwaukee that I didn’t know, which is why it’s a problem for me. It’s just plain rude, or mal educado, as the Spanish would say.

Another moment? I’m working a lot. Too much, probably. Because not only am I teaching at the school during the day, but I have private lessons every day after school, and even on Fridays when I don’t go to the school. The reason for this is to make additional money that will make traveling easier, etc., but also, I won’t get paid my salary until at least late November, if not, December. (Hopefully not later than that.) This government program insists on waiting until every last school has gotten in the paperwork on every last auxiliar before anyone gets paid. While my school is extremely on top of things, there are clearly others that are not. That being said, aside from help from my gracious, loving parents, which I am very lucky that they are able to assist me, the money I’m making in my private lessons is the money I have. Punto pelota. (“The end/That’s final” etc. You get the picture.)

Moreover, one of my lessons, which was of a much different format that to be honest wasn’t working for me, was causing me a lot of stress. From the desires and expectations of the parents and caretakers of the children to the children’s behavior, it was wearing on me - and hard. It got to the point that I was struggling to hold back tears on the car ride home and had to walk it off for awhile before going to hang out with my friends. (Vague sounding, I know, but I’d be happy to go into detail for you in another less public format.) That being said, I think I have taken care of that issue for me as of yesterday. I finally got the ganas (“desire/will”) to stand up for myself and talk to the mother, and I already feel like a huge weight is lifted off my shoulders. If that means next week, I don’t work for them any more then I’m okay with that. I’ll miss the good moments, but they don’t make up for the stressful ones.

And if that wasn’t enough, my mom had surgery on Tuesday on her shoulder that continually dislocates, and while the surgery went well, we got news that her blood clot came back. It was impossibly hard for me Tuesday night to get that news from so far away. My friends knew as soon as I walked back in the house that something had happened. They could tell by the look on my face, I’m sure. But yet again, they couldn’t have been more supportive, including one friend of mine who has now become the person I’m texting every night, all thanks to the unexpected, but much appreciated, support he showed me that night.

You may be wondering what helped me forget about all this and what turned my week right around? For one, my mom got to meet two of my Spanish friends, Miri and Carlos, on Skype, and it was adorable. The moment warmed my heart more than you could possibly imagine, especially when my mom made a Facebook status after the fact that read: “Skyping with my daughter from Spain and meeting some of her new wonderful friends was priceless! Sending my love over the water today !” If you didn’t already know, my mom is the cutest. I shared the status with my friends, and they were equally as touched.  That’s one point for uniting people I love from all over the world.

The second moment happened this past Saturday night. We kind of went balls-to-the-wall on Friday night, in an impromptu semi-celebration of my one-month anniversary in Valverde del Camino. Needless to say, I had the resaca (“hangover”) of a lifetime the next day, but somehow managed to rally and go out again on Saturday (though admittedly I took it much easier than the night prior). I had talked to my girlfriends at home about Skyping into their pre-game session for Halloween on Saturday night, because by the time I’d be getting home, they’d be getting ready to go out. I got a call from Megan while I was at the peña talking about going home anyway, and I told my guy friends I had to head home to Skype with my American friends.

Immediately, they were shouting about wanting to come to Skype with them, too, because after all, they still hadn’t seen the inside of my apartment. I was all for it. So accompanied by six dudes, we all left the peña and headed back to my apartment. The end result of the Skype call was better than I could have ever imagined. For one, they understood basically nothing of what I said, but we all still had so much fun. Lots of international laughs were shared. They were making silly faces in the background the whole time, pretending to make out with each other and the what not. Even those of them who know little to no English were trying to say things in English to my friends. My American friend Joe mooned us, which was only too perfect because my Spanish friend Juan is notorious for flashing people his culo (“butt/ass”). Imagínate.

Moral of the story? There was a lot of international love shared this past week, and it still fills me with warmth at the mere thought. Being able to join the people from home that I love with the people from here who I can easily already say I love was a beautiful thing, and I hope it happens many more times in the future. I’ve already had some of my other Spanish friends tell me that they’re sad they missed the Skype session and that they have to be included in the next one. Get ready, kids.