The Importance of Food to a Spanish Housemother
Traveling abroad for the first time can be scary. Especially if it’s to a country where you don’t speak the language very well and just aren’t sure exactly what to expect.
Culture shock wasn’t a worry for me since my parents are bilingual and I grew up in a diverse state. I even took four years of Spanish in high school, though that was 10 years ago, and I didn’t retain much.
However, after traveling over 14 hours from Los Angeles to Valencia with fellow students Alycia, Caitlin, Matt and Gustavo and then being thrown immediately into the hands of people who only speak Spanish, it’s a tad overwhelming. My new roommate Alycia and I are at about the same proficiency in the language, except I understand more and she puts more coherent sentences together.
From the moment our cab driver, Miguel, dropped Alycia, Caitlin and I off in the middle of many tall, Mediterranean-style buildings, we knew that this would be a different life for us.
Miguel walked over to a nearby building, leaving us outside his taxi, and spoke to the buzzer while the three of us stood there confused. He then scurried over to another building farther down the street and did the same. After five minutes an older woman came down from the first building, and went off in Spanish. The only thing I understood right away was “Me llamo Maria Dolores. Mi es tu madre.”
She spoke about as much English as I spoke Spanish.
Before we knew it, we were stuffed into a four-person elevator, suitcases in hand and Dolores told us we needed to unpack “muy rapido!” We didn’t know why we had to be in such a rush.
Within the first 30 minutes, we started to get the hang of the speed of her Spanish, and realized that we were going to school that evening to meet with our classmates.
Alycia and I unpacked our bags and got ready to go, while Dolores coached us to look “muy guapa” for the evening. She also asked us about the types of food we enjoy eating and if pizza was one of them.
We cheerfully agreed added a few things like patatas fritas and fish, but also mentioned that Alycia is a vegetarian. Confused, Dolores, asked us to explain exactly what that meant for her. We talked about the lack of meat in Alycia’s diet and Dolores seemed worried about how she would be able to cater to Alycia’s needs. She then brushed it off and said we needed to go, but not before she checked on whether we were fully unpacked.
Dolores walked us to school with Caitlin and her housemother, Ana. Ana and Dolores talked, allowing us to take in our surroundings and talk about how much we needed to practice our Spanish. When we arrived at school, Dolores told us to just buzz up to her apartment when we arrived back home so she could let us in.
After meeting with the class, we decided to walk around the city for a little bit and get cheap tapas at a local restaurant. Little did Alycia and I know, this would be the beginning of an even bigger struggle that would occur when we got home.
It was near 11 p.m. by the time we walked back to our new home, and Dolores casually asked us what we did. At that point, I could smell that she had something in the oven and realized that earlier in the evening, she asked us if we liked to eat pizza. We didn’t know that meant she was going to make us dinner as well, but Spaniards typically eat late meals.
She was in shock and seemed upset that we already ate, but Alycia saved us by saying we were “mucho hambre,” which was not completely wrong considering we hadn’t eaten much since very early that morning.
Dolores, pleased to know we were still hungry, started to make plates for us with salad and half of a pizza each. She didn’t realize initially that she gave me the vegetarian portion of the pizza, and insisted that my side had meat on it. In our broken Spanish, we explained that Alycia had the meat side instead. When Dolores realized we were right, she apologized and made sure we ate every last bite as she asked us about our lives until almost 1 a.m.
Being forced into a new situation can be very stressful, but also a very rewarding experience. Culturally, this is what Dolores is used to — specific meal times, finishing every last bite of food and eating meat daily. Since we are in her home, we found that it’s best to conform to what her lifestyle is like.
At the end of the day, all that matters is that Alycia and I do what we can to make the best of any situation. We are learning about a new culture, and we can only hope that it will get easier from here.
