“You’re studying abroad in Spain? That sounds like fun. What will you be doing there?” Months before leaving I was repeatedly prompted with this type of query at every dinner party or family gathering. After a few rounds of responding with, “going to art class in the Museo del Prado, taking classes at a local university, and excursions to Galicia, Barcelona,” it sounded exciting, but almost predictable. Yet again and again, weeks before I even started to pack, I was probed to describe dreamy expectations of my upcoming experience in every aspect.
“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time there.” I nodded. “Once, maybe ten or eleven years ago, John and I went to Madrid for a day on the way to Barcelona and…” I nodded more. I heard lots of unspecific stories about how much they liked the Prado and how great it was to see the flamenco dancers, but nothing very concrete. At this point, after I’d dispensed my class schedule and planned intercontinental trips, I regularly whipped out one conversation piece.
“I read that they eat a little differently in Spain, etiquette-wise. Apparently you are supposed to keep both hands visible during the meal, as in on the table not on your lap. They also don’t eat butter with their bread and always keep the fork in the left hand, no switching.” My grandmother and her friends particularly enjoyed this topic at a brunch once, but I thought it was more fun-fact material, solely for pre-departure chatter.
However, at our first dinner, the fun-fact became more like our first challenge. Dr. Carmela Hernández, our Resident Director, repeated the same facts I had been both sharing and largely ignoring at meals. As we struggled to eat our fish, she filled us in on many more tips. Never yawn with arms stretched in public. Look at people in the metro, it’s okay, it’s normal, it’s entertaining. Don’t walk barefoot. Try to eat your hamburgers with a fork and knife. It’s gra-thi-as.
Three days in, and many plates of rabo de toro (bull’s tail), croquetas, ceviche, and chorizo later, some of us are still missing our mouths and dropping our food on our napkins. Nonetheless we are one step closer to being Madrileños and qué será, será, tapas in our laps and all.