Taking Bromance to a Whole New Level

The tremendously prestigious and reliable source that is Urban Dictionary defines the term bromance as the complicated love and affection shared by two straight men. I was definitely familiar with the term before coming to Spain, but I cannot claim having actually experienced any bromance with my own eyes. However, that is probably due to the fact that I have very few straight guy friends, none of whom really know each other well enough to merit bromance.

Therefore, I was rather shocked--and confused--when I began noticing the relationships shared by the guys in my dorm, and probably in all of Spain. Despite the entertainment value of this Spanish bromance, it is actually incredibly refreshing to see males show their heterosexual affection for each other, without chest bumping and trying to one-up each other in physical activity. In Spain, guys not only slap each other on the back, but also hug. A lot. At clubs, they dance with each other, jokingly, yet fearlessly. They adore taking hundreds of pictures together, on any occasion, and always have their arms around each other in said pictures. Kissy faces are not a rarity either.

One of my friends, upon observing Spanish bromance, once commented, "Spain is one big gay bar!" That may be partially true, considering the straight guys here are generously more physical than in the United States. It is also definitely more difficult to spot the actual gay guys here. I'm friends with several boys whose orientations I still have not yet figured out (help is appreciated). Nevertheless, does it really matter? I have come to the conclusion that it does not. Boys will be boys.

I Love Burgos in the Winter

I am well aware of the fact that a considerable amount of time has passed since my last entry of note, but in my defense I have been rather busy dealing with the multitude of little annoying things that accompany settling into a new place, especially if said new place is in a different country on a different continent. Fortunately, I have several hours of free time to write right now while the crazy Spanish snow storm rages outside. Tomorrow, I have to go deal with my bus card, which mysteriously doesn't work. Dealing with municipal problems in Spain is synonymous with a generous helping of twisted bureaucracy and awful customer service. But I digress.

For the past week, I've seen pretty much all of Burgos and experienced a huge dose of Spanish culture, which is--at least to me--stronger here than in Madrid. I am happy to report that I enjoy Burgos immensely, which is a relief because although I thought it was pretty when I first visited in November, I was not thrilled by its size and feared I would be bored studying here for five months. Thankfully, at least at the moment, I no longer feel that way. I get along superbly with the other two girls from Boston University and all three of us are highly entertained by the raucous Spaniards on our floor who constantly yell obscenities at each other while pounding on doors and attempt to pepper their castellano* with heavily accented English phrases. I can't complain; they pay for my colimochos.**

Residence life aside, I see Burgos in a completely different way than I did that one day in November. It is a small town, but it does not lack life. Bars and cafés are always full and there are always people dando una vuelta.*** There is a reason I always mention bars, cafés, and strolls when I write about Spain; it is not a trend, it is Spanish life. La vida española**** centers around social life in a way that is wonderfully refreshing from the constant rush of the American people. People actually enjoy life here. I mean, if I had spent my entire life in a town with an enormous gothic cathedral (Spain's third largest), 30 cent bus fare, and one Euro champagne, I'd enjoy life too. And I do.

*typical Burgos drink of red wine and Coke

**Castillian Spanish

***going for a walk

****Spanish life

Madrid vs. Paris

The Metro

The Madrid metro is clean, punctual, and every single platform has a counter that informs you how soon the next train will arrive. The Paris metro is not so clean, only a few stops have countdowns for the next train, and I saw multiple people hopping over the turnstiles. I've never seen that in Madrid, although it would be considerably easier because the Madrid metro does not have a turnstile and a swinging door at each thruway. Furthermore, while the doors on the Madrid metro do not open until the train has completely stopped, people hop off the Paris metro while it is still moving. I was waiting for the train to stop so I could safely get off, and the Parisians behind me got impatient and a little pushy, like New York drivers at a fresh green light. However, the speed of the Paris metro slows the Madrid metro down to a crawl. The Paris metro literally zooms from stop to stop, taking me through ten stops in fifteen minutes.

Eating Outside

In Madrid, a person eating on the street is seen as an aberration to society, with the exception of ice cream in the summer. In Paris, people galavant down the streets eating sandwiches, crepes, etc. I am so accustomed to never seeing food on the street, that I was legitimately surprised to see people in Paris eating on the street. And then I joined in.

Cold Weather

When the temperature drops below 60 degrees, the madrileños* don their pea coats. When the temperature drops below 50 degrees, the madrileños walk around in down coats and thick scarves. The weather in Paris was in the high 40s/low 50s when I was there. The Parisians did not look like abominable snowmen. They were wearing pea coats and trench coats because they, like me, do not believe that 50 degrees is cold enough to dress as though they are headed to the wintry forests of Siberia. For that same reason, outdoor terraces in cafés were not empty. People were enjoying their coffees outside in the chilly Paris air, coats and scarves included, but outside nonetheless. Terrace seating in Madrid is not even available anymore.

Staying on the Right

On escalators and moving walkways in Madrid, those who want to stand keep to the right so the walkers can walk through on the left. The Parisians spread out all over the place, barring those who wish to walk. In the airport, I witnessed some very confused Spaniards trying to walk down the moving walkway past a group of Parisians--without much success.

Creepy Men

I was a pretty big hit with all the creepy men of Paris, who appeared out of nowhere to tell me that I had nice eyes or some merde** like that. An old man clacked while walking past me. I was even addressed as vous*** by someone older than me. I was standing on a bridge, taking pictures of the Seine, when a man walked up to me and asked, "Comment allez-vous****?" I actually understood him, so it gave me even greater satisfaction to mumble, "Je ne parle pas français.*****" In Madrid, the only compliment available is guapa****** and no one in his right mind would use usted******* in such a situation. Maybe blondes are more rare in Paris than in Madrid and thus merit vouvoyer.********

*people who live in Madrid

**shit

***formal you (French)

****how are you

*****I don't speak French

******pretty

*******formal you (Spanish)

********to address someone using vous