Alpujarra: Off the Beaten Path

I love Málaga. I begged my friend for us to go there one weekend, and just lie on the beach. But the night before we were set to leave, her Spanish friend impulsively* invited us to do a “pueblo crawl”, which is like a pub crawl but with (slightly) less alcohol, more food, and no rave music. 

*This is what it's like to have Spanish friends. More often than not, something will happen spur of the moment and you have to decide whether to seize the moment, or be a wet blanket. I chose to go along.

La Alpujarra basically consists of tiny towns on the south side of the Sierra Nevada. They're all "precioso", as my Spanish friend loved to say. She was more excited than I at first, although curiosity got the best of me as we drove along the windiest roads I'd ever been on. In fact, I saw a passenger throwing up on the side of the road. Readers beware.

Following my GPS, and using my friend's knack for chatting up strangers at gas stations, we eventually found the first pueblo, Pampaneira. In stark contrast to Jaén's scorching sun, it was cloudy and cold here due to the high elevation. I had to throw pants on. As I scrunched my hands into the pockets of my sweater, we wandered through the tiny central plaza, checking out a wedding (again, my friend 'spur of the moment' ran into the church to check out the start of the ceremony), some jewelry, and then searching for food. We settled on a pub located off a tiny path, where we indulged in house wine, a massive platter Alpujarra-style with fried potatoes and select choices of meats, and a strange cheese-dessert. We drunkenly laughed and talked about life.

We moved on from pueblo to pueblo. All tiny, all with the smallest walking paths this side of Morocco. At our last one, Soportújar , we discovered why it was called the "Witches' Village”. There are many legends surrounding the practice of witchcraft here, and this place wasn't afraid to show it. We found many statues dedicated to witches, and even a site overlooking Soportújar where allegedly rituals were performed. It was a little creepy wondering if witches indeed had practiced here.

I was happy to have visited a region where most auxiliaries don't travel to. It was a slice of life that was nice to see.

Managing Mannerisms in Spain

As much as I love being Canadian, I can't maintain my mannerisms in a country as different as Spain. Here's how I deal with Spanish customary behaviour:

Canada: Always saying please, or using matrices to frame a request.

Spain: "Give me..." / "Open the door!" / "Shut up!"

Solution: In Spain, people make their requests in a very direct manner. If I don't start my request with “Please,” I make sure to say "Thank you."

Canada: Be on time.

Spain: 10-30 minutes late is no big deal with friends or performances. For appointments, school, and transportation, it's best to arrive on time.

Solution: Whatever time my friends say, I add minimum 15 minutes. It still feels weird to me, but it's better than showing up too early, like that one night I was alone,wearing a costume in the middle of a park in a pueblo.

Canada: Make dinner plans with friends days, sometimes a week, in advance.

Spain: Receive a call 10 minutes before, to meet at a bar.

Solution: This drives me crazy, but it's something many of my friends do. Since moving to Spain, I'm much more relaxed about accepting and making invitations. And feelings aren't hurt if I cancel or if they do.

Canada: Eating lunch with one's parents is, at most, a once a week thing.
Spain: You better come home for lunch, or else!
Solution: I remember feeling angry when a spanish girl in our group couldn't attend "The Last Lunch" with our friend who was about to go home for good. The spanish girl's excuse? "I have to go home because my mom prepared lunch for me." I thought, "Just call and tell her you won't be there."
When another friend did the same thing, a spanish person explained, "If someone's mom has made lunch, it's really rude to not come home to eat it, unless you advise her well ahead of time."

Canada: Let the man call you for the first dates.

Spain: Sometimes, you have to set the dates first. Last year, I waited and waited and no one followed up on their request to meet for a coffee or movie. I've since learned that sometimes, the woman has to make the first move.

Solution: I do this the first couple of times if I have to, but then I sit back and wait to see if the guy sets up the next date. If he doesn't, I assume he's not interested and move on.

Canada: After as little as a couple of months, a couple starts using the terms 'girlfriend/boyfriend', and perhaps even meet each others' parents.
Spain: Woah, slow down nelly...
Solution: It's confusing for us North Americans, but here some couples don't use the term girlfriend/boyfriend until it's very serious. One Spanish guy told me he knows of couples that refer to their partner as 'my friend', and don't meet each others' parents, after a year of dating. People are much more casual and relaxed about relationships here.

Canada: The customer is always right.

Spain: The customer can go f*** himself.

Solution: This doesn't always happen, but it's inevitable. I remember Javier, the owner of one of my favorite pubs in Villacarrillo, who seemed so rude and brisk with me my first few months in the village. Turned out, that's just the way he is. He's actually a funny guy and I'm used to his manner now. In fact, I take things way less personally, which is a nice result of moving here.

Canada: Asian people can be Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Thai, Indonesian.....

Spain: All Asian-looking people are Chinos.

Solution: I tried to fight the fact that 1) Spain's exposure to Asians had been limited for many years, and 2) anyone with small eyes is called “Chino/a”. Even some Spanish people are nicknamed that. I no longer get crazy angry, rather if I pick up a good vibe from a curious person, I smile and say, “I'm Canadian. And my parents are from the Philippines.” Usually people get it and if I make a new friend, bonus points!

Is there joy in being alone?

Last year, I wrote about how hard it was to be a tourist alone in the small towns of Jaén. There seems to be a general consensus that people do everything together, and being alone seems to be regarded as the worst thing in the world. Eating solo and going to events solo is just not done in Úbeda and Villacarrillo. In a pinch, when you're hungry there's no problem standing at the bar and downing a coffee or a beer and a tapa. But it's rare for a woman to do it, nevermind an Asian woman.

Because of my new fear of going out alone, I'd been missing out on a lot: concerts, the San Isidro party in the countryside, and foodie events, just to name a few. So when the opportunity came to watch my student perform in a flamenco show, I decided to bite the bullet and go alone, as none of my friends were interested. I didn't care if I'd end up sitting alone with strangers. This was going to be my first time watching flamenco, Carmen was one of my favorite students, and I wasn't about to repeat my abysmal track record of missing out on opportunities.

When I arrived at the theatre, Carmen's mother spotted me and I told her I didn't have a seat. She prompted me to sit with the family. I detected a slight air of confusion as to why I was alone, but we chatted and the awkwardness disappeared quickly.

Carmen - always in the centre, because she was an excellent dancer.

Los niños bailando!

As soon as I saw Carmen perform I thanked my lucky stars I'd gone to the theatre. She was a spectacular dancer – maybe even the best one! She didn't look like a teenager; she had the air of a woman – her movements spelled confidence from years of training. I was awestruck.

After the show, friends invited me to a verbena - an outdoor plaza party with live music and a bar. I went to bed early – 3:30 a.m. is early for me now – while the band was still churning it out.

Vervena

 The next day, I checked out Corpus Cristi. This is a yearly event where people decorate the streets with olive tree trimmings, flowers, coloured sawdust, and pebbles, amongst other things.

Near the end of my walk, I suddenly felt hungry and was glad I'd gone alone. If I'd been with a group I would have felt obliged to stick with them, or perhaps go to a bar and spend money I didn't have. Instead, because I defied the norm and took a chance, I had great experiences that got me in touch with local culture.