Steve(n)Scotland: The Dry Perspective on a Wee Wet Land: My Geriatric Spanish Adventure

I’ve written and rewritten about my experience in Spain three times already in a desperate attempt to make myself sound culturally sensitive. But then I realized that this is my perspective on things. I don't need to make Spain feel good about hosting me. No need to sugar coat my less than desirable experience.

So “how could I not like Spain,” you must be asking. Well, quite simply, Spain makes me feel like a senior citizen.

Let me explain:

1) Spaniards party hard…and late. I’ve never been one to like staying up late anyways (I think my college roommates can vouch for that). Which is why everyone was so surprised when my ill-informed self committed to go out to a club our first night in Spain. I should have guessed that this would be a late night when the pre-gaming started around midnight. We didn’t even get to the bar until 2am and the club until 4:30am. By the time I got back to my hostel, it was nearly 7am. Spain makes me feel elderly, because while the lively “youngins” are out until 7am, I was tucked into my bed every night at midnight or 1am.

2) Spaniards take naps (or sorry, they "siesta"). And when in Rome, right? I'm not saying I didn't take naps in college. But those naps were because i pulled an all nighter to finish a paper. These "siesta" naps are just to get through an average day. Emily and I integrated ourselves right quick into this siesta business. And just like that old adage about black girls, “once you nap, you never go back?” Ever since, I’ve been napping just to get through the day.

3) Spaniards eat late. And Steve Dry does not. So whereas most of the people in Spain are eating dinner around 10pm, I'm ready at 6pm. I'm getting weird looks from the waiters at the restaurants. Even the old, short, purple haired Spanish women were looking at me weird. I kept wishing that Spain would adopt the [name that family restaurant] senior citizen deal, where you get some tuna melt or fish sandwich for half price before 4pm. I always wondered who capitalized on the deal. And now I know, it’s me. It turns out my father was right: I actually am a 60 year old man.

4) Spain had me coughing like an elderly chain smoker for at least two weeks. Why you ask? Apparently they disagree with the rest of the world and all of science which "suggests" that smoking kills. Nah, they're too good for that. They don’t have a surgeon general’s warning on their cigarette packets and smoking is permitted inside all indoor establishments. This killed me (figuratively…and at least a little bit literally). I think if there hadn’t been smoking EVERYWHERE, I could have dealt with my other issues. But Spain went to far there.

Of course, I did tons of great things in Spain. But let’s be honest, I’m a far better complainer than anything else. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves on the rest of my geriatric Spanish adventure.