TEFLees in Spain

Learning to live in Spain is an adventure.

Adventure is such a positive word. It makes you think of Tarzan and James Bond and Christopher Columbus and Toby McGuire. But we forget… we forget that for an adventure to be an adventure, we also need Captain Hook and Kryptonite and Valdemort and the Big Bad Wolf. Overcoming obstacles, getting over the struggle, and remaining noble in the face of adversity are all requisite for hero status.

Spaniards often criticize the Anglo-Saxon tendency to live for work. And this is probably a valid argument, although we counter it with our own critique of Latin work ethic. If you aren’t careful, it is easy to pull yourself out of the culture you live in and see it all for all that it isn’t.

For example, the banks in Spain are open from 8.15 to 2pm. I am not sure what these people do in the afternoon. I do not know why no one else is angry about this. I have a sneaking suspicion that all bank managers spontaneously convert to pumpkins at 2pm and don’t want anyone to be the wiser.

Whatever the reason, I needed to go to the bank at 8.15 in the morning on the way to work (which isn’t actually on the way) to claim and collect my bank cards which the bank is apparently unable to post to my physical address.

I waited by myself in front of the bank, just my ipod and me. Twenty minutes later, I was starting to get concerned, as it was still just Eminem and me. Twenty MORE minutes later a very well-dressed, relaxed Spanish man greeted me good morning and explained that Yolanda, who usually opens this branch (of the nationally recognized bank, situated in the middle of a city with 4 million inhabitants) was on vacation, so no one was able to be there until 8.40.

I took this in stride. I explained to him that I just needed my bank cards. Unfortunately, the safe takes 20 minutes to open. As I was already late to work, this was not an acceptable option. I was just about to leave peacefully when he advised me that it was just silly for me to open an account so far from my place of work. I took this very personally. This was my very own Gollum, withholding my precious ring.

I turned my very sleepy not-yet-caffeinated self around and told him in my very best pretend grown up Spanish that in some countries, you can do business in any branch of the bank where you open an account. That in some countries, customer service is important and things open when they say they will. That in some countries, businesses stayed open for reasonable amounts of time and they were convenient for everyone to go to. I told him that it was better not to have a bank account than to have my money and bank cards trapped in an un-openable box in an un-openable bank with a national bank that cannot function when someone goes on holiday.

I stormed my Anglo-saxon self out of that bank and onto a bus. When I got to work, I opened an email from my sister. She was stuck at work. Someone was on vacation, and she had to cover. She hadn’t seen her husband in ages, because someone was sick at his work as well. But, of course, they couldn’t just shut down!

The longer I sat in front of that email, the more I started doubting the American emphasis on work… how we arrange our lives around it, define ourselves as parties by it, subject our families and friends to its schedule. And then, I was glad that the bank manager’s sister would never have to read an email like the one that I was reading. And even though I desperately wished I had a bank card…the glass really is half full. I do love living in Spain, because here in Spain, we work to live.