Culture Shock

I finished my last article by concluding that Alcala isn’t really that different to Leeds – and judging by the weather we’ve had some days (storms and torrential rain that floods the roads) I could verify this once again. I have even had to swap shorts and skirts for jeans on particularly chilly evenings. Sort it out, Spain! I complain, yet there have also been some gloriously sunny days where the temperature has hit 30 degrees Celsius and I have been able to don my sunglasses.

My sunglasses. Huge, tacky and providers of no UV protection whatsoever. This is what happens when you naively put your trust in free ‘gifts’ from magazines. Instead of, as the publication claimed, keeping me ‘cool’ in summer and within the realm of high fashion, the offensive item makes me stick out like a sore thumb among the Spaniards. Combined with the giant map I picked up from the tourist office on my second day, I may as well have been walking the streets of Alcala wearing a T-shirt bearing the word ‘Extranjero’ (foreigner).

Although my sunglasses are ridiculous, I became almost dependable on them during my first week here – I managed to contract conjunctivitis in my right eye after just four days in the country, which spread to my other eye shortly afterwards. Not particularly possessing the desire to bare my temporarily disfigured face in public, I took to wearing my sunnies solidly for three days – including inside shops and residence halls – which, although admittedly attracted some odd looks, also vastly improved my relationship with the previously despised item.

In the previous article, I avoided any explanation of Spanish culture in favour of describing the, quite frankly, mental nights out. Having lived here for over two weeks now, I feel I ought to expand slightly on this subject. The first things that come into peoples’ minds when quizzed on Spanish culture are typically: fiestas, bullfights, siestas and a relaxed, maybe even lazy, attitude. For me, the first culture shock was that all the shops shut at two o’clock in the afternoon for the traditional siesta, or a long and leisurely lunch. As students, we are only just waking up at that time. What to do? Get up early to go about our daily business? After staggering in at five o’clock that morning? Luckily, we are saved from this daunting thought as everything re-opens at five in the afternoon, and remains so until about nine in the evening.

Secondly, the Spanish are a very sociable people and it is considered rude to not say ‘hola’ and ‘hasta luego’ as you enter and leave a shop, or when you run into someone who lives in the same building as you (regardless of whether you know them or not). Not so much a culture shock as adopting a more friendly and open attitude, and leaving the stereotype that the British like to keep themselves to themselves. 

Thirdly, Sunday nights are buzzing. Whereas in Leeds, most people would perhaps be on the couch watching TV, catching up on some work or getting an early night in preparation for uni or work the next day, in Alcala the main plaza is brimming with people of all ages and a hubbub of activity.

 

Fourthly, the Spanish are far more relaxed than the British. I have already mentioned the liberal attitude of the bar staff towards alcohol, however, the police (of all officials) seem to share this attitude. When some people I know were ‘caught’ drinking on the street before hitting the clubs, the police informed them that they couldn’t consume alcohol there and suggested that they move to a park! Fantastic – that will really help to cut down on the rising levels of binge drinking in the country. There is, however, no point in debating this standpoint. As well as actually quite liking how chilled out everyone is here, I would never contemplate contradicting a Spanish policeman. A far cry from the stereotypical image of a British bobby, these beasts are fully armed, wear huge black boots and look like they are carved out of stone. Therefore, whatever these supernatural beings say must go – and if us getting tipsy in a park on sunny afternoons is what they want, well, who’s to complain.