Either Spain's weird or I'm weird or we're all weird.

I've been in Salamanca for a whole week now, and the big things, little things and weird things that set it apart from the United States (or at least the South) are already becoming apparent. I was prepared for the electricity conservation, short showers, big lunches and expensive restaurant water before I came, but other Spanish, ah, "quirks," caught me off guard. For example:

• Like the honey badger, Spaniards don't care. They just don't give a shit. No one here says "I'm sorry" or "Please" or "Excuse me" or "Thank you!" This is soooooooo bizarre to me. In Chattanooga and Columbia, you apologize when you nearly bump into someone. You say "hello" or at least nod at the person passing you on the sidewalk. You thank your waiter when he refills your bread basket. You hold the door for the person behind you, and sometimes for the five people behind you. You might even make light conversation with the person in line behind you at the store. Not so here, mis amigos. It's not than Spaniards are mean or mannerless - in fact, I've been blown away by some of the friendliness and humor I've experienced already. They just don't waste their breath with unnecessary words.

• Spaniards look really good. All the time. People in Salamanca go to morning classes or meet friends for coffee wearing what I would wear to church or to dinner at a restaurant. No T-shirt/norts/hoodie combos here! And everyone wears black A LOT. Just in case there's an emergency funeral or game of flashlight tag to attend, I guess. This is particularly weird compared to South Carolina, where I'm used to wearing pastels, shorts and white clothes any day it's over 70 degrees - which can happen any month of the year.

Sadly, I can't walk around Salamanca looking like this. Not okay.

But these dresses are okay.

No. This whole photo is just so American. Unacceptable.

YES. Suave. Note the fedora.

This shirt is passable, meaning I wore it Sunday and didn't get thrown out of the country.

• The guidebooks lied. Spaniards don't follow the Mediterranean diet. Hahaha. Oh, no. Let me tell you what they eat here in Salamanca. They eat bread, followed by several dozen varieties of red meat, likely fried, accompanied by more bread, which is also usually fried. They chase this down with some sort of cheesy bread or pasta with an eggy/potato-y dish on the side (bonus points if no ketchup is offered). Then more meat. At this point, as you struggle to not die, the Spaniards around you smile innocently and ask if you would like a small piece of fruit as dessert. You do, of course, because this is your last chance to eat produce until the next meal's dessert. After this, you are sometimes given a SECOND dessert of chocolates. They make you try one of each kind. So you do, because one does not simply turn down free European chocolate. And then you get really, really sad because you know that you don't have the magic Spanish genes that will allow you to eat like this twice a day and never have a BMI of over 20. You try to explain this to your host mom and she just chuckles menacingly, like "Eat all of this or I'll force-feed it to you, my skinny American hija."

An average breakfast for one in Salamanca (I'm only half-joking).

My first vegetables in days!

• There is no concept of personal space. Now, I am a fairly touchy person. I have a hug quota that has to be filled each week for me to stay sane. I will pick fuzz off of the back of your shirt. Can we fit all twelve of us on the couch? You betcha. But Spain is a completely different story. What the great citizens of Salamanca lack in verbal pleasantries, they make up for by being in your face, touching you, all the time. Professors, store employees and people in the street stand six inches from you, putting their hands on your arms and making direct eye contact as they speak. Many people greet each other with a kiss, or beso, on each cheek. My host mom did this the very first time we met. So did an old man in the Plaza who stopped by our bench and talked about his life for fifteen minutes. And nobody has a problem squeezing past you in a store, even if it means practically knocking you over in the process (after which, of course, they don't apologize). And people don't swerve to walk in a large arc around you. Today, I took a long walk along the river on a practically empty two-lane bike path. Every single runner passed me with less than six inches to spare between us. What the heck? But I'm getting used to it. I no longer think I'm about to get mugged every time someone brushes past me on the street (but I keep my hand on my purse just in case, MOM.)

See? Plenty of space.

But the view was worth it.

• All of the Spanish babies ride around in mobile sleeping bags. This is my favorite thing about Spaniards so far. It's currently pretty cold here, and if you need to get somewhere, you're most likely going to walk. You obviously don't want your small child to get frostbite, but mere pants and shoes are for peasant children. What to do? Why, stick your whole kid in a tiny sleeping bag before putting him in the stroller, of course! It's adorable. I die. The United States needs to jump on this bandwagon ASAP.

Like this, but mostly black. None of this bright-colored rubbish. And the babies here are way cuter, sorry kid.
http://www.thriftyandchicmom.com/2010/12/snug-bug-bag-stroller-blanket-giveaway-ends-112/