*Journal Entry: Feb. 13, 2012*
Ever since I arrived in Spain I’ve been in a constant state of near-hypothermia (I might be slightly exaggerating [only slightly]). In any case, you get it. IT. IS. COLD.
Well, at least for my poor Floridian hide, it’s freezing. The kids from Massachusetts and the Great Lakes region walk around like it’s no big deal, but I’ve been living in Florida since I was 13. The Sunshine State! On Christmas Day I went outside wearing flip-flops and a t-shirt! I have no tolerance built up to handle this sort of temperature. But then again, those kids from up North see a palm tree and they freak out. I just politely nod and smile at their enthusiasm.
“WOW!!! Look at the palm trees!!!!!!”
“Um… Yeah… palm trees are… pretty awesome?”
But back to the temperature. This coldness might be a bit more tolerable if the building I live in had central heating. But — yeah, you guessed it — it DOES NOT. In fact, it’s often the case that it’s warmer outside during the day because you can at least stand in the sunlight. So, even while I’m indoors my jacket is buttoned, I’m wearing a scarf, and I’m constantly rubbing my hands to keep them from going numb. There are only two occasions during the day when I feel warm: when eating soup, and when showering (now that I have asserted my dominance over the Bigot Spigot [see “The Shower Hates Me”]). On top of that, this week is even worse, because we’re experiencing a cold front that came in from Siberia.
I kind of want to fast-forward to mid-March when it’s nice and warm, but I also don’t, because that brings me one month closer to the end of my program. I’m already starting to feel sad about the fact that my time in Spain eventually has to come to an end.
I mean, don’t get me wrong: I actually do slightly kinda sorta miss the United States, maybe, a little, perhaps. Honestly I do. I especially miss my family, and my friends, and that sense of security that comes from being a local. Here I’m a foreigner, and it still doesn’t feel natural to me. I relish these breaks when I can write in English, because sometimes I miss the ease of speaking my primary language. In Spanish it’s constantly a bit of a struggle, especially because it’s Castellano, and there’s a whole new set of language rules and colloquialisms and pronunciations I have to learn (Yes, I’ve started lisping my Zs and Cs because I’m forced to by my host-mom. “Dónde está la Platha Nueva? Grathias.”).
There’s also the culture shock. Well, for me it’s become more of a culture curiosity. But that topic deserves its own post. For now, to sum up this post about the temperature here:
The only reason I know my fingers are still attached is because I can see them.
And they’re very mad at me.