A Young Reader’s Guide to the Spanish Exile Blog

Put a bullet in your brain
And it takes all the pain away
- David Bowie

I’m beginning to understand why Spain hasn’t been a world power since the 1500’s. EVERYTHING takes a long time to do here. Everything is a line (or a queue as my dear Irish friends would say). It took two days to recharge my pay as you go phone. And they are very insular and racist against things non-Spanish. It’s nothing for someone in a bar or restaurant to yell “hey Columbia” to a Columbian person behind the bar, “Una otra cerveza,” but I get the sense it’s not all completely in good humor. And if you don’t speak perfect Spanish, they may not give you what you want, even if it would be easy enough to surmise it from the context. It seems both ironic and fascinating that while the rest of Europe is opening itself up to the idea of being European (thanks to the EU), Spain is becoming more withdrawn. It could spell ugly times down the road, at least economically, if not otherwise.

There was a horrible racist incident here while the Spanish national team was qualifying for the 2006 world cup. I don’t know who the opposition was but every time a black player touched the ball, he would be greeted with monkey grunts and the throwing of bananas. I mean – wow! Fucking crazy. FIFA (The Football Association) punished Spain severely by making them play the next home to an empty stadium, which is devastating economically.

I knew there was an anti-Muslim sentiment here, a reaction to the Madrid Metro bombing of March 2004, as well as the conquest of Spain by the Moors hundreds of years ago. And the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition show a failure to accept diversity.

Actually, the Spanish penchant for staying out all night and partying was a contrast response to the decades of harsh dictatorship under Franco. Their social life was the only thing they could really control, so they partied like it was 1599.

Anyway, just a little background for you into a very complex and unique country. But the racism is hard to take. Then again, I’ve lived in the Confederacy for the past eight years.

Anyway, to finish up, here’s a list of terms for our young readers for the past, present, and future:

Mel: My sister, Melissa, also known as Missy, Seester, the Sleestack, or the Voice of America, as she has been my steadiest contact during my sojourn, as well as the point person for my finances back in North America.

The Martian: Martin Kelly, my Irish friend

The Mural: the local bar across the street

The Puta: (the whore): My land lady and housemate

Jamon: Any number of 167 ham products

The cell: My 7 x 8 room

The Russian Bird: Natasha

El Dude: My Alias

The Bell or the Flem: Kate from Belgium

Darth: She who shall not be named, strong in the ways of the Sith

Cerveza: Beer

Celsius: No fucking idea

Metric system: ditto

Truly clean laundry: A thing of the past

637 251 685: My phone number, in case you ever really need me for some odd reason. The country code is 34. You may have to add +34 to the number. I really don’t know how that works now that I am local.

Keep rocking kids