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‘Cause last time I checked, sex in cars was pretty awkward. I don’t see much of what goes on inside Spanish families. But let’s just say women from the South of Europe are used to expressing themselves and talking about how they feel – often at high volume. Spanish people just converse in tones that sound (to us timid anglophones) like someone losing their shit. Maybe she longed to go back to making out in the park with an unemployed guy who uses lots of hair gel and “goes clubbing” for fun – whatever that means. Or really moving air of any kind – especially if you’re indoors. I’m shocked that I’m still – barely – hanging onto a shred of sanity, after all that.
You might see her do it with friends – shouting and waving her hands, in a group of 9 people who are all talking simultaneously. If you should somehow become the target of this conversational shouting – and you will, if the relationship lasts longer than a few hours – the best thing to do is just breathe. It might not even be an argument – at least by her definition. You’re saying, “But last weekend my mother-in-law made Anyway, much like dating a Spanish girl means you’ve forgotten about any summer plans that don’t involve lying on a beach for 3 weeks, you’d also better forget about Sunday plans that don’t involve rice and saffron. I’m sure I’m not the only guy this has ever happened to… I suspect this is just a myth created by the scarf industry to make sure she spends 11 months a year wrapping her neck.
My friend Nina over at Nina’s Sweet Adventures has written an article about dating Spanish men.
Because actually, dating Spanish can be quite complicated – ask me how I know.
After, we hopped on the green line to Park Güell, but instead of sticking around by the entrance of the Gaudí park, we went much farther up, to the “bunkers,” a secluded wooded area where we had a picnic and watched the brilliant sunset as he softly played The most romantic verse I had ever been serenaded with before Barcelona was something along the lines of Baby Bash’s ‘Suga, how you get so fly,” so needless to say I was thrilled to hear him recite a verse from Pablo Neruda’s 100 Love Sonets while sitting under a tree at the at dusk.
While most men I had been romantically involved with before saw admitting feelings as a weakness, my Spaniard happily admitted that he liked me and wanted me to be his girl for the entire summer before I left Barcelona. I found myself literally stuck, needing to come up with an immediate reply since we were sitting in the tiny cable car on our way up to Tibidabo.
And inspired by her, I figured I’d make my contribution to the conversation…
Of course, long disclaimers at the beginning of blog posts are all the rage these days, so lemme just say: Yes, I’m generalizing.He who talks loudest – and who isn’t afraid to interrupt or talk over people – wins. Of course, as a Buddhist, I practice patience and compassion on the reg. And what better way to develop patience than to wait, compassionately, for someone who needs 45 minutes to blow-dry her hair before leaving the house? Paella with the in-laws is one of those things that ruins expat relationships left and right, because to many Spaniards, it’s completely non-negotiable. It’s a few weeks or months off, and you don’t think much of it. Plants give off oxygen during the day, but at night they shoot poison gas out of their pores and you’ll die asphyxiated in your bed. The relaxed attitude towards the passing of time is one of the things that draws many foreigners into Spanish life… But she prefers speaking English when you’re together. Camping is okay, though, because that’s outdoors, and it’s different air. And that was where he was doomed to spend his holidays, till death do us part: sleeping on a sofa-bed in the kind of place where Clint Eastwood would have gone to film a spaghetti Western. If you want to learn English without the pain and discomfort of trying to make an intercultural relationship work, head over to my “professional” blog at – I’m actually capable of some level of seriousness, if I’m being paid. If you don’t, for some reason, enjoy spending three weeks of every summer with sand up your asscrack and bored to tears in Benidorm… You’re on her territory, and you’re following her rules: less than half an hour late counts as “on time”.