Semana dos: Europe Called—They Want Their Weird Paper Back
Hola a todos y todas, y bienvenidos a otra edición de Delia (pronounced Dell-lee-ahhh for the full Spanish experience) en España. Happy miércoles (the best day of the week because it’s both the name of Wednesday and a fun substitute for a much stronger word in Spanish 😊).
I’ve officially given up on the daily-entry style from the first edition—it’s way too time-consuming. And while I may be staying up until 11 p.m. every night, I’m absolutely exhausted after squeezing every drop out of the Spanish daylight until, like, 9:30. Honestly, it’s amazing how long the sun is out here. This past weekend I went to Madrid. I left Madrid at 7:45 p.m., took a 30-minute train to Toledo (the city where I’m living), waited for the bus for 20 minutes, realized the bus wasn’t coming, took a different bus, walked up the giant mountain of Toledo (utilizing the outdoor escalators, of course), and made it back to my casa around 9:30 p.m.—and it was still light out. It’s seriously awesome.
Even so, there hasn’t been a moment yet in Spain where I’ve felt unsafe. It’s amazing how secure you can feel in a place where guns are illegal. While I’ve never been robbed in the U.S., the image I have—thanks to movies—involves some kind of weapon. Like, no one walks into a bank with a ski mask and no gun, right? Of course, there are pickpockets (which, luckily, I haven’t encountered yet), and yes, people can hurt you by pure force. But in general, I feel safe.
This article comes to you live from my habitación (bedroom) in Toledo, on a very hot afternoon with a pleasantly cool viento (wind). It’s nice to have this free time today to catch up on writing and just hang out. The time comes with a cost, however, as my Spanish professor’s father passed away today. A moment of silence for that…
Before diving into what I’ve been up to—and all the gorgeous views of Madrid, La Mancha, and of course Toledo—I want to take a second to highlight some of my observations about Spain so far.
1. Swearing.
Perhaps this is just a product of my very sheltered life in the U.S., but I feel like there’s a lot more swearing here in Spain. I don’t even know if you can technically call it “swearing,” because I’m not entirely sure how strong some of these words actually are. For example, there’s one word (which I’m not going to put here because this is a PG-rated blog) that I’d always been told was the Spanish equivalent of the F-word. And yet—I hear it about 50 times a day in my house, from both adults and kids alike.
On that note, I’ve also heard the kids in my house start swearing in English, specifically using the F-word, and it totally catches me off guard. They’re 10 and 11 years old! When I was 10, I said that “bowling sucks” at a bowling alley, and I was immediately dragged to the car, given a long and aggressive lecture about using bad words, and then sent to my room. I can’t even imagine what the punishment would have been if I’d used a stronger word.
But nope—not here in Spain. Swearing is practically part of the daily soundtrack.
Honestly, I think I need someone to give me a ranking of Spanish swear words in order of “badness,” because it’s just not something they teach you in school. And you definitely don’t hear them from your Spanish teachers (of course).
2. The kids.
I don’t know what I was expecting from the daily lives of Spanish kids—maybe something wildly different from my experience in the U.S.—but in reality, they’re… pretty much the same.
The 10-year-old boy in my house loves to watch Minecraft and “brainrot” (the words of the children not me) on YouTube. The 11-year-old girl is obsessed with TikTok. They bicker constantly. It’s kind of adorable.
Every night I get to hear all sorts of stories—group project drama, chisme (gossip) about why someone has the newest iPhone (they suspect their dad is a robber, no joke), and their very… creative worldview. Apparently, the entire continent of Latin America is just drugs and robbers. Lol.
We even dipped our toes into politics—U.S. and Spain alike. I’m still not totally sure what’s happening in Spain politically, but I’ve picked up that there’s a big issue with the housing crisis and a new law that’s about to shut down thousands of Airbnbs. There’s also a lot of talk about overtourism. My host mom definitely isn’t a fan. I won’t get into U.S. politics here, because I’d still like to be allowed back into the country after this trip. However, I will say that I am absolutely appalled by by the recent move to not allow international students to attend Harvard—effectively leaving nearly 7,000 students without a university to return to.
3. Manners.
Being a bit of a Spain aficionada, I came prepared. Before arriving, I had read many books—both in my free time and during my many years of Spanish classes—about daily life in Spain. Before heading to our host families, the Fundación even reminded us to be mindful of proper manners: Two hands on the table at all times, no feet on the table, and shoes should always be worn in the house.
Well, after a week here, I’ve seen many hands not on the table, kids walking around barefoot, and feet on chairs surrounding the table. According to my host mom, this is a newer generational thing—when she was a kid, walking around the house barefoot would’ve been unthinkable. So maybe times are changing. Or maybe everyone just has hot feet.
4. Paper size.
Why is the paper bigger here?! It’s absolutely the most annoying thing. Honestly, my least favorite part of Spain so far is that the paper is just slightly too big. Just big enough for me to notice every single time I try to put it in a folder.
It’s awkward. It doesn’t fit right. And, frankly, I hate looking at it.
Sorry Spain (and the rest of the metric world)—I’m not with you on this one.
5. Fashion.
For the first time ever, my clothes are apparently very de moda (in style). My host mom told me that her daughter really liked my long white skirt—which, might I add, I bought especially for this trip because I thought it gave off that classic European summer vibe.
Well. That’s just an American illusion. I have yet to see a single Spaniard wearing one—just literally every girl in my class.
However, plot twist: I may have started a fashion movement. This past weekend, the girl in my host family bought a matching long white skirt to match mine. Iconic. My host mom also said that she thinks my very colorful clothing is super fun. I don’t know… but it just goes to show: maybe don’t use Pinterest as your primary tool for understanding another culture. I mean, I’d read that Lululemon leggings were basically a hate crime in Spain, and that no one would be caught dead in them—or in a hoodie—because Spanish fashion is more formal.
But let me tell you:
Número uno, the kids at the Catholic school where my host siblings go wear sweatshirts as part of their very cute uniforms.
Número dos, I have seen people wearing leggings. Not out on the streets, but definitely around the house. So maybe Pinterest lied. Or maybe Spain is evolving. Either way, I’m happy I left the sweatshirt and leggings in the US because it is so hot.
6. Sustainability.
This one’s confusing. On one hand, I want to write a glowing review of Spain’s sustainability efforts. You see the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals posted everywhere—from libraries to schools. Plastic soda bottles have the cap attached (although at the soccer game I went to, they made everyone remove the caps, which completely confused me. Is it so they don’t end up as litter if someone removes them? No idea). Trees are planted in neat rows (which I assume is to protect the dry soil), and everyone seems really conscious about water use, which makes sense in such a dry climate.
But on the other hand… I’m confused.
For starters, recycling. At home, we don’t separate anything. At school, we do. Which means—I don’t know what the actual rules are. I’ll get back to you on that one. My biggest sustainability frustration (besides the larger paper, obviously) is the plastic water bottle obsession. No one—no one—has a reusable water bottle. I walk around with my giant American Hydro Flask feeling like I might as well be waving an American flag. For a country that seems to care a lot about the environment… why the aversion to reusable bottles?
One of my classmates even said her host family collects shower water in buckets to reuse. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was being reused for, but still. A+ for effort.
Okay, I lied—one more sustainability mystery: the lack of dryers and AC. The dryer thing I get. With a warm, dry climate, you might as well hang your clothes outside. Personally, I’m still not used to having all my clothes on display for the entire apartment complex to see, but it’s clearly not a big deal here.
The AC situation, though, is wild. Maybe it’s about saving electricity? I’ve seen a few units around, but they’re definitely not common. It’s May and my host mom is already walking around the house exclaiming ¡Qué calor! I cannot even imagine what August is going to feel like—but I’ll let you know when I get there. To be fair, a lot of effort clearly goes into keeping homes cool without AC—thick walls, shaded patios, white paint, tiled floors, and roofs designed to reflect sunlight. But… it’s still not AC.
7. Transportation
Oh my god, the train in Spain (or even just the local Toledo bus) is absolutely fantastic. Like, I haven’t had a more positive public transportation experience in my life. Normally, when I take Amtrak or New Jersey Transit in the States, I am on edge. I can’t tell you why—maybe it’s the fear of missing my stop, finding an empty seat, the questionable people at times, varying levels of cleanliness, the very frequent delays and engine changes in New Haven, or just the overall roughness of the ride—but I HATE taking the train in the U.S.
I brought that energy with me to my first train ride in Spain, and let me tell you, I went from super stressed to very tranquila in the 30 minutes it took to get to Toledo.
First of all, the seats are assigned—or you can sometimes choose them yourself. I chose my seat online, and there was a very nice map of the train that told me both where my seat was and what direction it was facing. I personally hate sitting backwards, so this was a fantastic feature.
Secondly, they scan the tickets before you get on the train, which is nice because I hate having to sit on NJ Transit for like 30 minutes with my phone out waiting for them to scan the QR code.
Thirdly, I was very nervous I wasn’t going to be able to find the track for the train. But there are TVs everywhere—on the platforms, on the trains, on the doors of the trains. I was very confident that I was getting on the right train.
In addition, it was extremely easy to locate my seat, as the doors of the trains were labeled with a screen showing what car it was, in addition to the seat numbers. The train loudspeaker was clear (and also speaks English), and the TV onboard had a map of where we were and what stops were coming up. There was ample luggage space. Should I continue?
Overall, 10/10 would recommend. Even if you’re not a Spanish speaker—it’s super easy to use. Grandma if you are reading this, I think even you could do it The U.S. needs to catch up.
8. Coffee
The final point I’ll mention (I’m now realizing this edition is going to be very long, and I still haven’t even gotten to my activities yet) is the coffee—specifically, the price.
While I haven’t made my way to the local (as they call it here) e-Starbucks to check prices, the overall price of coffee at the places I’ve been to has been ridiculously cheap. In Princeton, I’ve paid around $6.50 for a latte or regular coffee, from both Starbucks and the local shops. The medium latte I got a few days ago? 1,50 euros. It’s actually ridiculous. And may I add: the coffee here is a million times better. I feel no need to even spend the 1,50, as the coffee at home is just as good.
In addition, I’ve never been a hot coffee drinker in the U.S. You’ll find me in the cold New England weather with an iced coffee—same as my brother. But here? Hot coffee every day.
Dear American coffee chains: please fix this within the next three months.
Sincerely,
A coffee-addicted college student
Now onto my adventures. Since last Wednesday, I’ve been on a whirlwind of activity.
Thursday’s highlights included long walks around Toledo, which ended in an equally long siesta and a coffee—because these hills are absolutely exhausting. We found a cool librería (bookstore, not library!), which had multiple levels. On the top floor, there was an interesting conference setup ready for someone to give a book talk. I took this opportunity to get myself a new LinkedIn profile picture, pretending to give a very intellectual talk about a completely random book I picked up.
Our afternoon consisted of a tour of the Toledo Cathedral with our Spanish profesora. I don’t know if this is common knowledge or just something I missed, but apparently, a cathedral isn’t just a church. The main altar isn’t used for regular services—it kind of just exists. Within the cathedral, there are mini chapels that were privately owned by rich families who held their own services with their own religious figure (idk what they’re called—I’m not Catholic… sorry to my very Catholic grandmother).
The cathedral was also a meeting place for the wealthy and the local university. Professors would sit on benches outside while students sat on the ground, trying to etch notes into tablets. This historical detail was very much emphasized by my prof, who wanted us to sit on the ground to recreate the experience. (Spoiler: no one did.)
Friday was an adventure to La Mancha to see los molinos de viento—the famous windmills from Don Quijote. If you’re unfamiliar, this is the part in the very famous Don Quijote book (basically the Shakespeare of Spain) where Don Quijote, in his delusion, thinks a windmill is a giant and fights it, despite his squire’s pleas that it is, in fact, just a windmill.
We got the chance to go inside one of the windmills. To my surprise, the inside had been turned into a sort of shrine to the famous Spanish actress Sara Montiel, who—I think?—was from La Mancha and dreamed of owning a windmill one day. (Or something like that… to be honest, I didn’t understand much from the tour guide.)
We also got to go inside a preserved windmill (you can tell the difference by the roofs—the preserved ones have brown roofs, the museum ones are gray). It was, once again, confusing, but from what I could gather, people had to manually lift a very heavy windmill rod every day to change its direction depending on the wind. Then the windmill would spin its internal parts to grind up wheat or something else to make flour. I don’t really know. But it was a very pretty view, and everyone got their Instagram pics.
Then we drove another hour to see a very beautiful laguna. They told us we could swim in it, but after a few people got in, more and more locals started gathering to watch… and seemed to think it was hilarious. So maybe… don’t go swimming with the giant fish in a random Spanish lagoon.
On the way back, we stopped at this very questionable gas station–bar combo. I don’t know why there would be a bar at a gas station—it seems like a bad combo to me—but we just wanted to use their bathrooms.
Unfortunately, this was the worst bathroom I have ever been to. One of the toilets didn’t work, there was no toilet paper, the water was brown, and one of the professors literally said, “Don’t touch that,” when we tried to wash our hands. Oh, and also—there was no soap.
Saturday was Madrid. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I’m ready to say it: Madrid over Barcelona. Easy. It was gorgeous.
We have our weekends free, so this was a purely student-planned trip—which, of course, meant many miscommunications, problems, a bit too much alcohol consumption for some, and quite a few people almost missing the train back to Toledo. Hopefully, lessons were learned for next weekend.
Personally, I had a great time, largely because I came armed with a thoroughly researched plan and a custom Google Map of everywhere I wanted to go and how to get there. I also had my Mary Poppins–style bag stocked with everything from sunscreen to a military-grade phone charger that probably could’ve powered the entire Metro system, plus water and snacks. You name it, it was in there.
The itinerary included:
- A breakfast stop for an amazing croissant and coffee
- Plaza Mayor (which was honestly kind of disappointing—it wasn’t that big… Venice’s plaza is like five times larger and way prettier, in my opinion)
- The Royal Palace, where there happened to be some kind of ongoing ceremony/parade situation—maybe a changing of the guard? Not really sure. But the Spaniards were out, excited, and waving their tiny flags
- A feminist bookstore (unclear if this is common in Spain, but ChatGPT recommended it, and there actually seemed to be quite a few in Madrid) — I ended up with four new books for my research 😊 Good for the research, bad for the wallet
- Kilómetro Cero — the exact point in Spain from which all roads are measured
- The main park (name is currently escaping me…)
- La Iglesia Patólica — which, yes, is literally a Catholic church that worships ducks. It was… an experience
- The Royal Spanish Academy (la RAE) — the group I focused my research on last semester. They’re basically the gatekeepers of the Spanish language, a very conservative institution that decides what’s “correct”
- And finally, the Lavapiés neighborhood
Overall, a very fun experience!
Sunday consisted of me waking up very late—around 9:30—thanks to staying up even later watching a TV show with my host family. I thought I was being a bit lazy… until they all casually rolled out of bed around 11. Breakfast (if you can really call it that) happened at 12.
We had a nice lunch together around 3, joined by a family friend and her child. I tried something called Fanta sin gas—basically Fanta, but without the carbonation. It was… interesting. I’m not totally sure what to compare it to. Like I said in the last edition, I’ve never actually had normal Fanta before, so I don’t have a good point of reference. But this just tasted like flat orange soda that was meant to be flat. And yes—they bought it that way. I didn’t even know you could buy soda without carbonation. Is this a thing here? Like… can I get a Coca-Cola sin gas too? I’m not sure how I’d feel about that, but now I’m curious.
The main event of the day was un partido de fútbol—a local soccer game in Toledo. Apparently, it was a super important match for the league. Unfortunately, Toledo lost… but the way it happened was incredibly confusing. They technically won after normal time (1–0), but apparently that wasn’t enough because they had previously lost to this same team and needed to win by more than one? I still don’t fully understand. Then in overtime, the score was 1–1. The scoreboard even turned off. But as we were all about to leave, the ref let play continue, and right then and there, the other team scored. The stadium vibe immediately flipped.
When I say people were screaming the entire game, I mean nonstop chanting, yelling, banging—like full stadium choir energy. And then? Silence. The walk out of the stadium felt like a funeral. Just dead quiet, solemn faces, and simmering anger.
One thing I noticed: the crowd was like 90% male. I don’t know if soccer is just more of a guy thing here or what. Do they have a women’s league in Spain? A team? I’m not sure, but I definitely felt a little out of place.
That brings us to Monday, which has mostly consisted of writing at the casa. I battled Venmo for a few hours—an absolute showdown—and eventually gave up, enlisting my mom and brother to try from the States. Unsurprisingly, it worked way better that way. Sometimes the answer is: don’t fight the app, delegate.
I also worked on planning my weekend trip to Valencia, where I’m hoping to try the famous Paella (yes, the capital P feels necessary). I’m also curious to get a look at their version of Catalan. From what I understand, it’s a different dialect from what’s spoken in Barcelona, and some even consider it a separate language—Valenciano. So stay tuned for a full linguistic and culinary update next week.
The casa has felt very tranquilo and a little less fun today because the niños (kids) are at their dad’s casa for the week. This has made it very, very, very quiet and has forced me into more conversation—beyond just sí or qué calor. It’s kind of weird, because the reality is I’ve never really had conversations like this. I don’t want to say they’re pointless conversations (as my dad would put it)—quite the contrary, actually—as I feel I learn the most about Spanish life from them. But I simply don’t always know how to respond. I mean, usually I get it right, since 7 out of 10 times a sí or a laugh is the correct move, but I’m still figuring out the small talk—or maybe it’s considered medium talk—about my host mom’s day, or my day, or the town chisme.
I think I need to find some more adjectives or phrases! It’s a process, and I know it will take time, but I definitely lack the patience.
Tuesday:
Another tranquil Spanish day here. Of course, I had class in the morning, although it was quite hard to motivate myself to get out of bed—as el calor ha aumentado (the heat has increased). Tuesday boasted a high of 32°C, with jueves (Thursday) expected to reach up to 36°C (96.8°F). I think I’m going to melt without aire acondicionado. And it’s still only May!!!
I did get the chance to go to a café between my 9:30 class and lunch. I think I mentioned this before, but my first class ends at 11, and the second one doesn’t start until 15:00, so there’s this awkward block of time. Anyway, the cafetería was interesting—it was some kind of Asian-Spanish fusion spot, with low tables and cushions on the floor to sit on. I didn’t mind, especially with the heat.
I tried a café bombón for the first time, which is espresso with a condensed milk situation. Not a fan. It was very, very, very sweet. But I did enjoy the hours-long conversation that followed. I sort of feel bad because online it said they closed at 2, and we left at 1 p.m., but they closed the doors and turned off all the lights right after we walked out.
Apparently, I’m also using too much electricity at the casa. I was working on the blog midday with the light on—because it’s kind of dark in my room—and I got a lecture about how expensive electricity is in Spain. My bad. I felt really bad and profusely apologized. I did know this information before, but I didn’t realize that using one light would cause such an issue.
And that brings us to Wednesday. I’m still confused about whether Wednesday should be part of this edition or the next. I’m going to go with the next edition, because I think there’s something nice about waking up to a beautiful blog post. It feels very New York Times. Anyway, I’m loving my life here and as I wrote in my Spanish class this morning, someone might have to drag me on the plane in August to return to the US because I’m not sure I want to leave.
For fun—and to bring you along on this Spanish-learning adventure—I’ve included a few Words of the Week. Most of these come from everyday life around the house, which is something you definitely don’t get at Princeton. Like, sure, I can talk about la hegemonía, liminalidad, or mercantilización in Spanish, but the second I need to do laundry or talk about curtains, I’m lost.
Some are just what I call “Spain words”—I knew different versions of them, but this is what I’m hearing here.
🧺 Around the House:
- Sábana encimera – top sheet
- Sábana bajera – fitted sheet
- Funda de almohada – pillowcase
- El frigorífico – fridge (Spain-specific word; in Latin America it’s usually refrigerador)
- La lavadora – washing machine
- Aseo – restroom/bathroom
🪟 Other Words:
- Cortinas – curtains
- Burla – mockery, taunt, joke (context is everything with this one)
- Un empate – a tie (in sports, like that tragic soccer game)
- Espada – sword (relevant in a land of knights, cathedrals, Don Quijote, or the young boy in my casa who has a light saber because he is afraid of going to the bathroom in the middle of the night because of the oscuridad (dark))
That’s it for this week!
Que tengáis un buen día y nos vemos el próximo,
Tomo nota para el semestre próximo: más lavadora, menos hegemonía. No sé qué pensaría Simone de Beauvoir de esto…
¡Jajaja, totalmente! Simone de Beauvoir también tuvo que lavar ropa alguna vez, aunque seguro reflexionaba sobre la opresión entre ciclos de centrifugado. De hecho, sería una forma excelente de analizar la estructura del texto en Contextos: entre el detergente y la deconstrucción.
Hilarious as per usual.