Full Immersion, Borderline Submersion, Possibly Drowning

People always say that the best way to really immerse yourself in a new country is to live with a home-stay family, especially when you’re trying to learn a new language. And I’m going to have to agree with the masses on this one, though at first I had my doubts.

On my journey towards becoming low-maintenance, living in someone else’s home is probably both the biggest help and greatest challenge. You never realize how much you go to your fridge or cabinets and just peruse and maybe graze a little until you’re living in someone else’s house and don’t feel comfortable being the free-spirited glutton your family knows and tolerates.  Also with your own family, it’s a whole lot easier to turn down what’s being served and opt for a PB&J or something more appetizing, especially if you’re a vegetarian like myself.

I was super nervous about being a vegetarian here, probably because in the orientation the program alums, without provocation, declared, “If you’re a vegetarian *chuckles*, good luck!” By some stroke of good fortune, and probably also because I indicated I don’t eat meat on my application, I was placed in a home where they have a vegetarian daughter.

In a home-stay, you get to know your neighborhood and city a lot better, which is awesome. As I mentioned in my last post, I’m trying to become a local at this café by my house, both because I have a coffee addiction and also because it has a great ambience. I may have even started calling myself a regular and dubbing it "my café", but I was quickly knocked off that high caballo when I tried to study with my friend Leanna there and we couldn’t find it.

It was literally there one day and gone the next. Now I know they’re closed on Mondays, but it really cramped my style. We needed WiFi (wee-fee) for our projects and went to 2 Starbucks where it wasn’t functioning and where they didn’t accept my gift cards (after I started drafting in my head a post about how gift cards are the universal currency  bonding us all together much like math is the universal language). I was almost late to my cita with Ignacio, my 68 year old amigo, and all of this led me to realize I’m going to need a lot more time here before I figure things out, but it was cute I thought I was on that level already.

Now that I’ve been living with the host family for three weeks, I have become super attached and I express this to the best of my abilities. A few days ago, I was telling my host mom, Carmen, that she’s the best and she just laughed and asked why. I answered with a simple explanation because I have the verbal skills of a Spanish toddler, but the fact of the matter is, she’s the best because she is so patient, so helpful, and literally sustaining me.  Since Carmen doesn’t speak English, she always speaks slowly to me and especially with words in the kitchen, will point to things and tell me what they’re called. She asked my roommate, Caroline, and I to go the grocery store for 4 “berenjenals” and we had absolutely no clue what that meant. After she explained it a little and sort of mimed the shape, I caught on and showed her my phone. “Tengo un emoji”, I beamed and proudly pointed to the eggplant graphic, which turns out is the right one. Once again emojis have helped me to communicate what words just couldn’t. (smug smiling moonface)

Here’s the dish Carmen made with the berenjenals. They’re filled with peppers and tomatoes and a salsa de crema and they were really divine. I tell her all the time that she’s a better cook than my mom at home and she is too humble to accept this as a truth, but I know Mom wouldn’t mind and would in fact, agree. I asked her to teach me because there may come a time, God willing, where I am deemed capable of living on my own and must provide for myself and cooking is a useful tool in situations such as these.

She also laughs at me because I’m obsessed with these really little spoons they have, I think for coffee, but I use them and their little forks when I eat my meals. If I’m being honest, it’s because the meals here, especially lunch, are so long, and I’m too fast of an eater for this stop-and-smell-the-roses lifestyle so the little silverware forces me to slow down and I’m still the first one done usually.  I told her when she asked about it it’s because “Me gusta sentir como una gigante” or that “I like to feel like a giant”, which in retrospect probably makes me sound like some sort of oddball but she’s accepted this about me, because that’s just what moms do.

I also have a super cool host brother who is a little older than me. The mysterious man I stumbled upon in my new house that very first day turned out to be who he said he was and now we see each other all the time. Carmen explained to me when I asked what Victor does that he was a “go-go”, which I didn’t understand, but with a bit more pantomiming on her part, (mostly hip thrusts) I gathered it means “hired dancer in a club”. Now, Victor doesn’t like going to clubs because his job for 3 years was working crazy hours dancing in balconies to house music.  He does however still take great care of himself and lifts 3 times a week; I asked him about his regimen and three days is really all you need. He does competitive lifting and I invited myself to attend and cheer like a good little sister ought to (just ask my brothers back home how fun I was at their games), but he respectfully declined.

When I went out the first weekend in Madrid, I think it brought back some memories for him. Kapital is one of the most famous clubs here and Victor was a go-go there! It has seven levels, each with different music and vibes, and it also is where I unintentionally ordered at the bar what I soon realized was a chocolate-milk based beverage but I wasn’t even mad.

My most uncomfortable home-stay moment was my first weekend in Madrid, before my housemate from USC arrived. I hadn’t seen Carmen in a few days and I was a little confused about that and I was pretty sure I was home alone but my room is kind of off to the side, so I couldn’t be certain. I decided I should probably go mingle or seize the day or both, but as soon as I opened my door, one of my family’s hairless cats ran inside. I picked her up and tried to get her to leave but it felt like rubbing an elderly person’s sun-kissed arm wrinkles plus she had possibly half a dozen nipples. Naturally, I couldn’t handle that, so I set her down promptly and she scampered over to the table by my desk and jumped probably 4 feet to the windowsill and out the open window.

I live on the fourth floor, which is really the fifth floor because the first floor is just the ground level here so we are not in a position where you can just jump out windows if you’re feeling like a little parkour. I looked out it and didn’t see her anywhere and started cursing (in English I’m ashamed to say, despite all the practice in Spanish) and running around. “¡Necesito ayuda!” I screamed and Victor, like a knight in shining armor, except not really because he wasn’t wearing a shirt, ran downstairs.

I explained as well as any distraught illiterate could that your cat has jumped out the window and I’m so sorry and it might be my fault but I’d love for us to find a way that there’s no one to blame in this situation.  He ran into my room and somehow hoisted himself effortlessly into the windowsill himself; it would’ve been beautiful if I wasn’t so distracted by my catslaughter guilt.

He called to Nea and we heard her meowing which normally I’m not into, but this time, was music to my ears. “No hay problema, no te preocupes”, Victor kept saying and he explained, in some English, bless him, that it’s okay for Nea to go outside because she will come in through a different window when she wants to but the nameless other cat, won’t, so don’t ever let him out.  Just then Carmen came home and was able to sweet talk the cat back inside with some fish or catnip or something and we all had a good laugh about it together and then later in the privacy of my own room, I had a good cry.

I took this shot to commemorate the occasion, our first real family bonding event. I look forward to many more to come, but would prefer they don’t involve the cats or myself feeling like an accidental murderess.

Here I am with both cats, blocking them from the window, and herding them without direct contact.

Why merely immerse yourself in the culture when you can fully submerse yourself in it? After all, the fastest way to teach a child to swim is to toss them in a deep pool or really any body of water.

That's not actually true but I am trying to commit whole-heartedly to this experience. I don't actually recommend throwing children into any traumatizing situations if you want them to love you or care for their safety. But home-stays are great!