My prior eight months in Santander and Madrid, plus my travels around Europe, allowed me to get a firm grasp of the Spanish language. Just as I thought I knew what Spanish culture was when I arrived in Granada, I figured I could hold my own speaking Spanish to my new friends. Well, it turns out that the latter followed suit with the former; I didn’t know as much as I thought I did, or as I said before, it was just the tip of the iceberg.
In actuality, I did get a good grasp of Castilian Spanish. But like in America, there are various types of dialects spoken depending on the geographic location; the same goes for Spain. Pedro and his friends spoke Andaluz, obviously spoken in Andalusia. This dialect is hands down the most difficult in Spain, even to other Spaniards, and gave me the most trouble. (More on dialects in Spain later). As my second weekend in Granada approached, Pedro invited me to Huesa.
I really didn’t know what to expect. The only things I knew were that many people in this village have never seen an American in person, only in movies. I had a feeling many people were going to ask me questions, and I have to admit, I was a bit nervous about the language barrier. In Huesa, especially, it was like the people were speaking to me in fast-forward. They also “ate” their words, meaning they didn’t pronounce the “j”, “s” and pretty much the last half of anything that came out of their mouth. I would liken it to a New Yorker—fast speech where the words seem to blend together. After arriving, we went straight to his mom’s house to eat.
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| With the DJ at Pedro's summer house |
Man, did I feel welcomed. I was ordered to sit down—after the customary two kisses on each cheek of course—and eat till I was stuffed. Unfortunately for them, this was a big mistake. I have to say I eat more than the average American person and way more than the average European; their small portions just don’t do it for me. Three plates of food and half a loaf of bread later I finished. Pedro had previously warned his family on my food-disposal capacity type of stomach, but I guess they didn’t believe him. After finishing, I think I left them speechless because the only thing they could muster up to say was “how the hell….?” It’s usually customary to ask guests how they liked the food, but I guess in my case it was different. The second thing they said to me, after looking each other in the eyes, was that I was a pozo sin fondo. No, I’m not a well that never ends, as the literal translation says, but rather a “bottomless pit.” Thirdly and finally, came the much awaited question, “was it good?” I successfully made the o-so-important and customary first question move down the list to the third.
After eating, Pedro was anxious to take me for a ride around the town. You heard right, a ride, and not a walk. He told me that in Granada, a city 50 times the size of Huesa, he walks everywhere. But in Huesa, it seems that him and everyone else would rather drive ten seconds down the street. I had no problem with this, as he let me drive anytime I wanted. We really didn’t make it far until he saw some friends—remember everybody knows each other in this village. From what I remember, it was Basilio, Vicky, Victoria, Roberto, Laura and a few others. They were planning some of the nocturnal activities that Pedro warned me about.
We stepped out of the car and I was greeted by a flurry of people. Pedro supposedly told them that an “Americano” was coming so everyone was eager to meet me. Talking about the basics was easy—where you from, why you here, etc.—but Pedro usually came by my side to help me interpret the slang into more formal speech. It only took a few minutes of them talking to figure out, and persuade Pedro, where the night’s festivity was going to be held: Pedro’s summer house.
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| Having fun |
It was right down the road, had enough beds for everyone to sleep in, a pool, big backyard and the other pueblo’s fair was right across the street. Right before sunset, we made our way to the festival. There were rides, games, booths, and a drinking tent that was right across the street. Imagine the line for the best ride at the Raleigh Fair; this was the size of the fair in Huesa. What it lacked in size however was made up in how close everybody was with each other. It was like going to the Raleigh Fair and knowing everybody. I was introduced to almost half of Huesa that night. By the time the weekend ended, I had met pretty much all the youth in the village. When the fair was drawing to a close, our night was just getting started.
Pedro and a few of his friends commented a few hours before that the music and ambience at the summer house were going to be like a club. Music, food, dancing, and in my case understanding, were going to be the main attractions. When he said music I thought of the typical boom box or stereo with a cd or two. Fortunately, I was wrong. The DJ from the biggest club in Huesa showed up, along with all his equipment, and put on quite a show.
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| View of the lake from the cliffs |
Let’s fast forward to the next the day (late afternoon to be exact). I drank a little bit too much water the night before, as Pedro did, and we woke up a little late to a strong knock on the bedroom door. It was Pedro’s brother, Juanma (Juan Manuel), telling us that lunch was ready. Just like my vacations in the Caribbean, I woke up from a long night and went directly to the lunch table. Pedro’s mom could look in our eyes and see we needed to wake up some more, so she recommended taking a swim. I am so glad she said that.
This jogged Pedro’s memory and after calling a bunch of friends, we headed to the cliffs. This wasn’t exactly what Pedro’s mom had in mind, but I still have to thank her for the wonderful reminder she gave her son. I’ve been cliff diving many times, but have never done it surrounded by jagged cliffs and multiple Spanish people. We all jumped a few times, had a picnic and headed back to Huesa. On the way, we randomly stopped in another village to compliment our half-full stomachs with tapas. A siesta (nap) seemed to be calling our names and when we got back, we did just that.
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| Relaxing on the rocks after making a few jumps |
Late Sunday evening, Pedro and I headed back to Granada. His mom packed his car with food—this gave me déjà vu as my mom does the same—and we were off. We laughed about the whole weekend, and laughed about how people laughed at me when they took advantage of my lack of understanding of the Andalusian language. Going to Huesa, however, was undoubtedly the best learning experience I had in Spain. Our friend Martin invited us to Linares, his hometown, the next weekend.
Stay tuned
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