Etnosur Redux and Cultural Conversation

Etnosur was an amazing experience last year, because it was my first time. This year, I went again, partly because it's free, partly because it features amazing indie music, partly because the attendees are mostly hippies and I feel comfortable, but mostly because it was a chance to see my friends from my pueblo. It had been too many months since my last visit to Villacarrillo, and honestly it was like almost nothing had changed since Etnosur 2014. One thing that did change slightly was the language barrier; I joked that last year, with their strong Jaén accents, I understood 20%. This year, ....30% (just kidding, it's a lot higher than that).

Two Etnosur faves: Chocolata & Befunkbop

What didn't change: we're still young at heart, Etnosur was still an awesome 3-day botellón (outdoor drinking party), and I'm still part of the family. This having been my second year in a row attending, I felt more comfortable with my experience. I knew how to pace myself, when to pack it in, what food to eat (fresh fruit is so important), when to time my coffee and energy drinks in order to dance all night, what to wear (the cold evenings were a refreshing change from Jaén's heat), and how to sleep (a quiet flat and earplugs are essential for me).

I returned to Jaén with a Spanish friend, and we had the most interesting conversation about culture shock. She lived in Leeds for a while to study and learn English. I told her that I loved Etnosur because although people looked at me a little bit, due to the nature of the festival I didn't feel like an alien being Asian. Meanwhile, on the streets of Jaén, people almost break their necks staring at me, and it makes me uncomfortable. She, on the other hand, thought there was something physically wrong with her in Leeds because over there, hardly anyone gave her a glance, even though she's beautiful. Of course she eventually learned that in other parts of the world, staring is a big no-no.

We also talked about racism, specifically how people sometimes maliciously yell “¡China!” at me. She said it wasn't racism, rather it was people being assholes and picking what they consider the weakest part of me. It could be someone's face, skin, fatness, skinnyness, clothes... whatever assholes intuitively believe will hurt you, they'll use it as a weapon. For my friend, due to her exotic features she'd been called “Moro” (Moroccan) time to time, but she brushed it off and attributed it to people being anything from jokesters to jerks (to whom she'd respond '¡Que te den por culo!' or “Go f*** yourself.”) To the Canadian, it's racism. To my friend, it's the Spanish 'anything goes' nature. We concluded that this was why we love cultural mixes; we learn something new every time.

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!

Reaching Out

The work day has ended. You're about to exit the room and head home, when I suddenly ask, “Hey, want to walk home together?”

You're confused, as I never ask this. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just....don't want to walk home alone today.”

“Alright. Let me grab my coat.”

We stroll out of the building. “So, how are you adjusting so far?”

Tiredly, I reply, “It's okay. It's a lot, having to switch English groups all the time, plus the sheer number of students, but I'm getting used to it. Poco a poco, ¿no?” I say, smiling.

“Do you like Jaén?”

“More than in the beginning, for sure. There's lots to do here. I haven't visited everything, but there's time. I'm here for a while.”

“And is there anything you don't like?”

My pause lasts ages. “The racist things people say.”

You blink, and stammer “What?” You weren't expecting that. You thought I'd talk about the crazy drivers, the strange weather, the hills when walking.

“Yeah, sometimes when I'm on the street, kids yell '¡China!' But not in a good way. I can tell when there's hate behind what they're saying. I guess I can't be surprised,” I reason, my voice and my steps growing weary. “There's not a lot of us here.”

You're shocked. “Yeah, but that's rude. No matter if they've seen someone like you before or not, that's not nice.

“You deserve respect. You're a person that deserves to be respected.”

I feel a huge burden lift off my shoulders, and with relief, I smile at you.