Los días primeros

I arrived in Madrid lost. Physically and metaphysically. As soon as I got off the plane I saw mountains and thought, "Huh, mountains. Didn't know those would be there." I really knew nothing about the country or city I'd be living in. Except that they speak Spanish here, albeit a form of Spanish I'm not very familiar with. All I knew about Madrid was that it wasn't where I'd been. Despite popular opinion, I didn't move here to go traipsing around Europe drinking wine and smoking rolled cigarettes like some new millennium Bohemian. Honestly I needed an escape (A 23 year old feeling lost, without a direction for her career, love life, or general future? Recession or no I recognize the cliche). I could've gone to any city, any country, or any dimension. It wouldn't have mattered to me, because honestly I didn't really know where I was or where I was going in the first place.

And then I got here and I really was lost. After careful calculation, I realized my fist week here I spent, on average, 20-30% of my waking hours lost. My maps, my Spanish, my sense of direction, were all failing me. Needless to say I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of running away to a country blind.

But meandering around Madrid somehow felt right. Like I was supposed to be there. Hippie Dippie, I know, but I believe in fate (at least in the "Choose Your Own Adventure Sense", where each decision, each moment of free will, sends you to a different page, but a page that's already been written nonetheless). And all the sudden things started falling into place.

I met great people at my hostel; fellow world wanderers and lost souls.
I found a great apartment. The room may have previously belonged to Thumbelina, true, but it comes with some awesome roommates, including a Irish-loving Spaniard with immense patience for my falty Spanish, a fellow vegetariana, and one of the most laidback, yet observant dudes I’ve ever met.
And I’m writing. Again. Finally. Sigh.

So everything seems to be falling into place.
K Suerte.

K learns Spanish: Lesson 1

Que mono- How cute!
Literally translate it means “What a monkey.” Apparently the primate look is in here in Spain.
See also ponerse mono- to get cute or dress up.

Patosa- clumsy/klutz. See K.

El Chino- As in Voy al Chino.- A cheap general store (that has everything) and is run and owned by Asians.
Note: Un Chino does not have to be run by Chinese people. Here in Spain all Asians are aggregated into the same group, los Chinos. Less than politically correct, yes, but this also makes the phrase a great way to recognize Americans. If they hesitate/feel uncomfortable using the phrase El Chino, chances are they feel racists saying it and grew up in the politically correct society of the US of A.