There are a lot of differences between the first and second semesters spent abroad. Second semester you can´t help but feel a littler wiser, a little more informed, a little more comfortable in Madrid. First semester you feel like there´s an inside joke everyone gets except for you.
In Madrid they play a game. Here´s how it goes: Person A walks on to the train, and persons B, C, D, E, F, G (and so on...) stare. They analyze your shoes, your posture, your clothes, your soul. We were told Spaniards are curious people- but the first time you get the metro-staredown its a bit uncomfortable. Its all in good spirits, I´m sure, yet you feel a little on the outside.
By the next stop, or for many of us the next semester, you get participate in the game on the winning team. You watch the poor outsider get on the metro, unsure if its even the right train. They look around, trying to read the complex map, while the old Spaniards, thinking they´re sly, silently observe this odd specimen in front of them.
There are more unspoken rules of the game in the Madrid Metro. Perhaps king of all- walk on the left, stand on the right. I´m talking of course about the golden rule of escalators, cherished and strictly followed by all self repecting madrilenos. Those who dare defy the rule are subject to fiery looks of disapproval, taps on the shoulder, and curt ´perdona!´s. I myself experienced some harsh reprimanding for not being aware of the unspoken rule of all rules.
Yet this is the beauty of being a second semester student: I walk down the escalator this morning, down the left side of course, and politely ask the extanjero standing in front of me to move. Confuzzled, he quickly shuffled to the right, allowing me to pass only to see another stander just a few steps down. I decided, rather than being rude, to simply stand for the remainder of the ride, turning around to see the looks on the witnesses´faces. One woman, clearly from Madrid, gave me a laugh and an agreeing shake of the head, acknowledging what she must have thought was my deep pain and frustration with this person not knowing how the escalator works.
She leaned down and said something to me in Spanish with a laugh. I nodded my head, agreeing and laughing (even though I didn´t understand a word). But I´m quite sure it was something meant only for another madrileno.
I felt at home.
In Madrid they play a game. Here´s how it goes: Person A walks on to the train, and persons B, C, D, E, F, G (and so on...) stare. They analyze your shoes, your posture, your clothes, your soul. We were told Spaniards are curious people- but the first time you get the metro-staredown its a bit uncomfortable. Its all in good spirits, I´m sure, yet you feel a little on the outside.
By the next stop, or for many of us the next semester, you get participate in the game on the winning team. You watch the poor outsider get on the metro, unsure if its even the right train. They look around, trying to read the complex map, while the old Spaniards, thinking they´re sly, silently observe this odd specimen in front of them.
There are more unspoken rules of the game in the Madrid Metro. Perhaps king of all- walk on the left, stand on the right. I´m talking of course about the golden rule of escalators, cherished and strictly followed by all self repecting madrilenos. Those who dare defy the rule are subject to fiery looks of disapproval, taps on the shoulder, and curt ´perdona!´s. I myself experienced some harsh reprimanding for not being aware of the unspoken rule of all rules.
Yet this is the beauty of being a second semester student: I walk down the escalator this morning, down the left side of course, and politely ask the extanjero standing in front of me to move. Confuzzled, he quickly shuffled to the right, allowing me to pass only to see another stander just a few steps down. I decided, rather than being rude, to simply stand for the remainder of the ride, turning around to see the looks on the witnesses´faces. One woman, clearly from Madrid, gave me a laugh and an agreeing shake of the head, acknowledging what she must have thought was my deep pain and frustration with this person not knowing how the escalator works.
She leaned down and said something to me in Spanish with a laugh. I nodded my head, agreeing and laughing (even though I didn´t understand a word). But I´m quite sure it was something meant only for another madrileno.
I felt at home.
This gives me tingles of excitement about someday being able to feel this way in Italy... or anywhere I'm sure would be just as eye-opening. Just a note- is confuzzled an official word now? ;)
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