Tag Archives: Spain vs the US

La Comida—Spain’s Most Important Meal

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Spanish food, American food. Spanish meals, American meals. Spanish life, American life. How are they similar? How are they different?

Okay, I’m going to stop sounding like a blue-book exam right about now.

In Spain, you may hear people say the following:

  • Salimos después de comer.
  • ¿Cuándo vais a comer?
  • Paramos para comer.
  • Te dieron de comer, ¿no?

I’ve figured it out—the Spanish day isn’t structured around the clock (not really). It’s all about la comida, lunch. (In high school we learned the word almuerzo, which isn’t the same thing in Spain. Almuerzo tends to be a mid-morning snack, whereas la comida is lunch around 2 or 3 p.m.) This led me to tell Mario that people are fixated on eating lunch! It plays such a central role.

In the states, we have morning until 11:59 a.m., afternoon after 12 p.m., evening after about 6 p.m., and night after about 9 p.m.

In Spain, morning is until you eat. After that it’s la tarde (literally “the afternoon”) until you have dinner. After dinner, it’s nighttime. For me, it’s still weird to hear 7 p.m. being referred to as 7 in the afternoon, but I’m getting used to it.

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Photo from Hayley Comments

Eating must be pretty important for Spaniards! Of course, you know it is. Most Spaniards I know would not want to spend their lunch hour in front of the computer with a sandwich in their hand. Indeed, this is the antithesis of the traditional Spanish lunch.

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Dad and I eating in San Sebastián, Spain

What is the (traditional) Spanish lunch about, then? It’s about …

… taking a real break. Don’t give me any 30-minute lunches, I’m talking at least an hour and maybe two. Of course, if you have a job, it’s shorter. Mario has a full two hours to eat, but since we live in Madrid, going home for lunch would just be silly. In small towns it is much easier to do this. Nonetheless, most Spaniards take a break, even if it is just to sit down with work colleagues in the office.

… first plate, second plate, fruit, dessert, coffee. At least in la casa de mis suegros, this is how it goes, almost always. You can shake things up a bit by having small appetizers for the first course or making the fruit the dessert. My father-in-law has fruit, dessert, and then sometimes a small cookie with coffee. Sweet tooth? Nah.

… the three o’clock news. Unless it’s a special meal, the news tends to be on while we’re eating. This doesn’t mean we always pay attention to it. Before the news comes on, we watch The Simpsons. Because of the timing, a lot of Spaniards end up watching the Simpsons, a fact I attribute to its immense success here in Spain.

… la sobremesa. A word with no real English equivalent, sobremesa is the chat after the meal, as people linger over coffee, sweets, and liqueurs. As people are generally content with their bellies full and the wine flowing through their veins, there can be some really intriguing and enlightening conversations that occur.

… la siesta. This is not as true as it once was, but many do pause to take a short nap, whether it be on the couch or in a bed! I find that the more I eat, the more I want a siesta! Of course, when we’re having dinner at my in-laws’ house, we generally don’t eat lightly.

La comida, besides meaning lunch, literally means “food,” emphasizing the meal’s importance for many Spaniards. As I live here longer and longer, I am beginning to love the concept and embrace the (outdated?) concept of sitting down with loved ones and pressing pause for a moment.

What do you love about the Spanish idea of la comida?

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Why Are You in Spain?

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Ah, the question. The question. I ask it a lot of others; they in turn ask it of me. I love and hate this question, because I love knowing other people’s stories, but I have no idea how to answer it without starting off on some ten-minute-long storytelling session, leaving my questioner with his/her mouth agape and mind reeling by it all.

So, let me just ask you, readers:

Why are you here?

Now that I’ve asked that, I can tell you why I’m here. As it says on my about page, I came to learn Spanish. I stayed for a boy. Mainly.

Would it shock you to know I kinda sorta hated study abroad? I was old enough not to get homesick, but I still did. I did not like living in a teeny-tiny room in an old nunnery with walls so thin you could hear your roommate typing late at night. I didn’t like having to wash my clothes in the shower because the laundry room charged upwards of $10 a load. (This was back when the one euro equaled something like $1.50.) I didn’t like feeling as if it were impossible to make friends except for drinking buddies and intercambios who weren’t really interested in hanging out with me after hours. I didn’t like seeing my bank account drain slowly down to almost nothing.

But I did like learning Spanish. I did like that, and so I dove in headfirst, as much as I could. I got another intercambio because one just wasn’t enough. I spoke to all the waiters in Spanish, even if they insisted on speaking to me in English (the bastards). I studied vigorously, even when all of my classmates were basically taking a semester off. I traveled as much as my budget would allow. I learned to love red wine, olives, and tortilla de patata.

But there was so much I didn’t know at the end of my stay! I didn’t know how to tapear, I hadn’t mastered the subjunctive, I had never had a real Spanish friend that I could text and ask to hang out with. This bothered me. I went back for my senior year unsure of the future and what would happen after May 2009.

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As senior year wore on, I had a decision to make—find a job or go back to Spain? I chose Spain, specifically Salamanca. I was excited to experience a new side of Spain, to live in my own apartment, and meet Spaniards. Oh yeah, and improve my Spanish.

I got back to Spain in September 2009, a year and three months after I’d left Toledo. A few days later, I met Mario. He came to the door of the place I was interning, and I was unintentionally rude to his friend and him, but he still went out to dinner with us. The next day, I pretty much asked him out, and the rest was history. My mother waited patiently by the computer to hear updates about this guy I talked about all the time, even though she’d warned me not to fall in love with any Spaniard (only because that could keep me far away from her). Oops! I was head over heels after a few weeks. After a month, I met the family. After three, I was ready to stay indefinitely, if it meant we could be together.

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Staying in Spain is not an easy task for many reasons. There’s bureaucracy. There’s homesickness. There’s cultural differences that drive me crazy at times. There’s times when I get so sick of Spanish, of struggling to find the word that I just want to scream, pack my suitcase, and get on the next plane to Chicago. Get me outta here! Mario knows this more than anyone. Luckily, although he wouldn’t feel the same way, he sympathizes as best he can.

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There are some expats that love Spain much more than I do (although, don’t get me wrong, I do love it), and they’d stay forever if it were up to them, boyfriend / girlfriend / husband / wife / lover or not. I wouldn’t, though. If not for this husband of mine, I’d be in the States, where my family is, where my friends are, where my history is. Living in another country wears on me, and I’d love to be able to just hop in my car and drive to my parents’, but right now it’s just not possible.

Right now we’re here; right now this is our home. It may not be for forever. That’s okay. When I married a Spaniard, I gave up that right to certainty about where home is. Home is here. Home is there. Home is Zamora, it’s Crawfordsville, it’s Bloomington, it’s Salamanca. It’s Spain and it’s the US. That’s why I’m here.

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What about you?

Third Culture

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In our guest room a flag hangs from the wall above the bed. No, not a yellow and red flag; this one is red, white, and blue. You know—the stars and stripes. My dad bought Mario this flag to remind him where he should (eventually) settle down. My dad would like it very much if we moved back to the US, preferably yesterday. It has a prominent place in our home, this flag. Why?

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Vacationing in Sevilla

We live in Spain. We carry out the day-to-day of our lives, of our life, in Spain. We speak in Spanish and eat Spanish food. Yes, we do all this, all this Spanish stuff. We are Spanish.

But though we reside in Spain, we dream about living in the States too. We speak in English and watch American TV shows and movies. I make brownies and cookies and other American dishes. So we are also American.

Valorio en Agosto

In reality, he is Spanish. Born and raised in the heart of Castilla y León, with family roots that go back centuries, Mario is as Spanish as they come. Zamorano, really. His dark hair and eyes betray him. His telltale accent, his pronunciation of the z and c in the true castellano accent, his love for lentejas and  cocido and jamón and tortilla, his concern for his parents never to worry unnecessarily … he is Spanish.

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He is Spanish, and I am American. I speak English with the typical accent of many modern Americans, an accent that is almost impossible to pinpoint. I don’t worry about my parents worrying. I like basketball much more than football (soccer), and I don’t really enjoy eating a big meal at two o’clock in the afternoon. It still surprises me when children are out past 9 p.m., especially on weeknights.

Spanish American Wedding

Though we feel as Spanish and American as they come, we also love each other and each other’s culture too. So together we make our own culture, a third culture: a Spanish-American culture. We make stupid jokes: “Sweetie foot” (because pie means foot in Spanish) or “Estoy espalda” (literally “I am [a] back”). We eat tortilla for dinner and chocolate-chip cookies for dessert. We watch the Simpsons in Spanish.

We also compromise, just like any other couple, bicultural or not. We decide on the best way to clean the house. We let each other get away with things. We do things that don’t seem logical to us at times, but we do it because it’s important to the other person. I may or may not vacuum an insane amount of times per week.

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Just call us the Spanish-American Institute of Couples.

The Foreigner at the Table

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I’ve eaten many a meal with Mario’s family. His friends, too. But it wasn’t until recently that his cousin pointed out to me that, well, I eat funny. No, no, my chewing habits are just fine, thanks. But what’s up with your hand?

Think long and hard about what you do with your hands while you eat. Inspired by this post about Spaniards’ eating habits, I came up with my own list of the way Spaniards find us guiris weird at the dinner table:

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  • You eat with your left hand on your lap.
  • You cut your meat and then switch the fork to the other hand. And then you put your left hand back on your lap. Why do we do this? I did a little research, and it seems there are two styles to eating, “American” and “Continental” style. Forbes calls our style of eating the “Switch and Switch” style. Apparently, the Continental Style came about from wanting to be unthreatening at the dinner table. You know, if you put your hand in your lap, it could be because you have some sort of weapon hidden there.
  • You don’t eat fruit after meals. A very common practice in Spain, this one. In some families, fruit is the dessert, although there’s no way this would fly with Mario’s family. We have a theory that the goloso gene is there, but it’s diluted for every generation. Mario’s grandmother used to put sugar on her salad. Yeah, you read that right. Mario’s dad cannot pass up dessert for anything. Mario is goloso, but not nearly as much. Maybe our kids won’t even like dessert? That’s yet to be seen. But fruit? Always. It can be as simple as apple (make sure you peel it!). It can be a fruit salad (macedonia), strawberries with milk (a lite alternative to strawberries and cream), or even compota de manzana, but fruit is essential.
  • You eat things really hot or really cold. This could be just a family thing, and I tend to think it is because my husband’s aunt likes her food steaming hot. But what is with these people and lukewarm soups? My father-in-law somehow even manages to enjoy room-temperature coffee, and I just can’t. Nope. However, keep in mind I grew up with a father who refused to eat things that weren’t nearly boiling hot. This same man put his chocolate candy bars and Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies into the freezer.
  • You don’t use bread para empujar. I do love bread. Yes, yes, I do-ooooo. But before I came to Spain I never used it to push food onto my fork. But gosh, does this make sense. Salad eating is so much easier now. Thanks, Spain!
  • You don’t watch TV while you eat. When I was growing up, watching TV while eating was not the thing to do. It was usually a sign that you had nothing to say and that you were bored with the company. Now, Mario’s family won’t have it on if there are guests at the house, but with just the family? You bet. It’s usually The Simpsons on Antena 3, followed by the news. Such cheerful mealtimes we have with all the doom and gloom.

  • You don’t drink coffee after your meal. Okay, this is not the most universal of all my rules, but it still counts. Coffee is very often drunk after the meal. My Spanish family drinks it right in the glass, which I found odd at first, but they soon adapted to bringing me a nice mug. Mario has decided to mess this rule up for me by not drinking coffee at all and preferring tea. He’s a strange one.
  • You don’t take a nap afterwards. There is nothing better than eating un buen cocido followed by a half-hour nap. I’m much more of a bed-napping person, but many of my in-laws do it quite well on the couch. My mother- and father-in-law have mastered the eyes-half-shut television-watching position.

So what do you think, are Spaniards weird? Or are we?

Spain Blogger Confessions

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You all already know I’m not the starry-eyed Spain enthusiast that some bloggers are. I do like Spain, of course—I just take it in moderation. Some days enough gets to be enough. So I thought I’d confess a few things that you might not have surmised from my posts. It’s okay to be honest—really, we’re better off for it!

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Okay, Kaley, less “Blah, blah, blah” and more fun!

  • I don’t try everything. I don’t care how good you insist it is, I don’t want to try morro (snout) or criadilla (bull testicle) or oreja (ear). I’ve tried orejas already and never again!). If this makes me unadventurous, sue me.
  • I hate dubbing. I refuse to watch TV shows dubbed. In any language. Please, try to tell me that The Big Bang Theory is just as funny in Spanish. No. Just no. So yeah, this means I watch a lot of TV in English, which is bad for my Spanish learning. But I really don’t like Spanish TV or movies. Neither does Mario. 
  • I’m still patriotic. No, I’m not blindly patriotic. I understand the US has its flaws and is not God’s chosen country, but I still love my country and miss so many things about it—barbecues, the openness, the informality, the ease with which I navigated any and all social situations … en fin, so much!
  • I don’t idealize the Spanish lifestyle. Sure, Spain is known for relaxation, sun, and siestas. But the truth is, many Spaniards work endless days and get little to no rest. Nowadays the unemployment rate is sky high. I think that Spaniards definitely get it right with regards to enjoying food/drink, eating healthily, and walking, but they’re not perfect. They’re not inherently less lazy than Americans. They’re human—just like us.

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Spain + America = Success

  • I have a love/hate relationship with blogging. Sometimes (most of the time), I love blogging. I love the relationships it has created, the opportunities it has given me, the wonderful feedback I get from it. At others, I feel intimidated by other bloggers, worried that no one likes me, afraid that what I say will cause someone somewhere to become angry with me. I’m often envious of other bloggers’ success because I wish that I could achieve that same level of success without compromising any of my principles.

So, what about you—anything to confess? C’mon, spill it.

How to Host Thanksgiving in Spain

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Having hosted two Thanksgivings in Spain, I now consider myself an expert, obviously. That’s just how these things go.

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  • Buy a female turkey, una pavita. I had no idea before 2010, but smaller turkeys are tastier

 

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Mario helped too!

  • Have a pinche, a sous chef. Mario’s father, Jesús, was my sous chef, and the best one there could possibly be. He spent the whole morning chopping, cutting, and just generally being helpful. Also, he is totally relaxed. Find one of those.
  • There will be bread. This is Spain, how could there not be?
  • Stand up to the idea of primer plato, segundo plato. Stay steadfast in your American-type meal and have your guests eat everything off the same plate. The horror!

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  • Let someone else make the dessert, even if they make it differently than you would. This year, we didn’t have the traditional pumpkin pie; rather, we had a sort of pumpkin cake. No big deal. We ate some pumpkin, okay?!

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  • Drink local wine. Better yet, have another person bring that local wine, especially someone from Toro!

There you go, my recommendations for a Spanish-American Thanksgiving. Go forth, and roast yourself a turkey!

Learning to Live in Spain

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Have you all read my interview over on Expats Blog? If not, head on over to read my interview and leave a comment on my profile page if you’re so inclined.

Other people to visit: Erik, Erin, Hamatha, Lauren, Cat, and Christine.

One of the questions I was asked in my interview was “If you could pick one piece of advice to anyone moving here, what would it be?” It’s a difficult question for me, because I’m not one to give advice, at least not without advising you to take whatever I say with a large grain of salt. You see, everyone is different, and I don’t think my experience is the only one, or that you’re like me, or anything of the sort.

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Maybe you don’t like garlic. But why would you come to Spain then?

But when I first came to Spain, to study abroad in Toledo in 2008, I was very unprepared for what was ahead of me. I was excited to travel and to see Europe, but I had no idea how it would be to live in a culture that is like your own but unlike it in so many subtle ways. Perhaps it’s silly for me to say that it might be less shocking to go somewhere in Asia or Africa, because at least then you’d be expecting big culture shocks.

I had to learn to live in another culture, a culture that feels more and more familiar every day, but that will never be truly my own. I had to learn to embrace it for what it is—and not what I wish it could be. I had to learn to stop blaming Spain or Spaniards in general when something went wrong.

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They’re not so bad, Spaniards

Right now I’m tetchy about the numerous and unending strikes—huelgas—in Spain. So far we’ve had three transportation strikes, a general strike, a health-care workers’ strike, and now we’re set for an Iberia (the airline company) strike for Christmastime. I understand that things are tough in Spain right now, but messing with my Christmas plans? Understandably, I’m irked. Everyone needs to be home for Christmas (if they want to), am I right?

Before this year, I would have readily and easily placed the blame on Spain or Spaniards in general, forgetting that many Spaniards don’t agree with the strikes and dislike them as much as I do. In the past, I would have let that negativity overwhelm me and color my view of Spain for a good long time. But this year, this year I’m trying something new and difficult: not placing the big bad blame on Spain. Someone’s to blame, sure. But nothing bad has even happened yet!

Learning to live in another country is easy for some, not so easy for others (me). It has taken me four years, but I’m finally getting the message: you’re in Spain, Spain’s not home, and that’s just fine. Take it as it is. After all, we all know: Spain is different.

La Ofi

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Ah, la oficina—the office. So many of my fellow Americans come to Spain, desiring to escape the droll forty-hour workweek. They’re so brave. Or not. I can’t help but feel a bit of disdain for those who travel and blog, urging their readers to “Leave it all behind!”

Americans often idealize the European lifestyle, thinking that they just “get it,” because they work fewer hours, pay higher taxes, and enjoy greater health-insurance benefits. It’s not always true. For the most part, the eight-hour workday is quite common in the United States, and a few more hours aren’t so bad in the end. In Spain, the country of sun and siesta, you would expect fewer hours, more enjoyment, and a somewhat less stressful workplace. You’d be wrong.

I’d like to use a rather personal example. My husband, Mario, works at a fairly typical Spanish office in Madrid. He’s the hardest worker I know, so I don’t expect anything less of him, but he often goes in at 9:30 or 10 a.m. and leaves around 10 p.m. He arrived home at 12 a.m. two weeks ago, though, and he’s arrived at 11 p.m. more than once. It’s not atypical. He doesn’t complain, but there’s no question that this type of schedule is stressful. No matter if your job is easy or not, staying at the office for a full twelve hours isn’t healthy or fun.

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Especially not if these people are your coworkers

Mario is not the exception; he’s the rule. We have another friend, a Spanish woman, who works for a national company. Having worked in another country for many years, she returned to Spain to be a big boss and earn the big bucks. That she does, but she also is under a lot of stress and works more hours than seems humanly possible.

I realize that this is all anecdotal evidence, that I’ve yet to cite proven statistics. But Mario and I, along with other friends, have formed a sort of hypothesis—Spain lacks work, yes. But the work it does have is quite poorly distributed. Those who do have a job work twelve-hour days, while those who don’t spend months and years earning nothing. Maybe they should hire more eight-hour-shift workers. Maybe then the burnout rate would drop dramatically. Who knows?

What about the Spaniards you know (maybe disregarding funcionarios)? Do they work too much?

What’s Cheaper in Spain

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Starting a new life in another country requires time and money. (But having a wedding means people give you presents, so that helps.) We have to acquire—in one way or another—all the necessities: appliances, kitchen equipment, linens, and on and on. Things can add up. And quickly.

A lot of things seem to be more expensive in Spain: makeup, toiletries, electronics, cell phone rates, books, cars. It can seem overwhelming when you’re trying to furnish a new apartment!

Luckily, not everything is expensive in Spain, especially if you can find some cheap flights! Here’s what I’ve found to be cheaper

  • Fruits and vegetables, but you have to know where to buy them. (Hint: It’s not Carrefour.)
  • Alcohol, but wine in particular. I can find one of my favorites, Elias Mora, for around €6.
  • Olive oil. I don’t get it, because we make olive oil here (in California, for example), but it’s not cheap. I’ll be honest and admit that my favorite olive oil is Carrefour-brand Arbequina.

  • Traveling to other countries, which—duh!—is due to shorter distances, but still. It’s cheaper!
  • Climate control. Okay, this is a cop out, because the reason it’s cheaper is because of a lack of a) heating in the south, or b) air conditioning in the northern regions. I have heard there are apartments in Madrid with some air conditioning, though. My environmentalist friend Kristin would remind me of all the good this is doing for the environment, however, and thus I try not to complain.
  • Eating out, but only if we’re talking about tapas-style eating out. There aren’t nearly as many chain restaurants or fast-food restaurants in Spain. (Thank goodness!) Thus, you can’t go grab Chipotle for $8 any time you want. But going out for tapas is cheap, fun, and filling. The idea of tapas is getting big in the US, but I honestly don’t think it’ll ever work out. There’s no culture of tapas, and the idea of going from place to place for dinner, which we eat way too early anyway, won’t likely catch on here anytime soon.
  • University tuition, but keep in mind it’s actually paid for by your taxes (85% of it, according to Público.es). So, you may only spend between 535 and 1,280 per academic year, according to Master’s Portal. (Mario came up with this one, and he wants to clarify that the trade-off may have to do with Spanish universities not exactly being world renowned.)

In the end, I realized the one thing that’s chaper in Spain is food. Good food, that is. Thank goodness. I love food!

What do you find cheaper (and/or better quality) in Spain? What do you find more expensive?

Spanish Weddings vs. American Weddings—The Reception

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So, we’ve heard about the actual wedding ceremony. What about the reception?

A wedding party in Spain is, without a doubt, way more fun than in the US. Now, I love the US, but … seriously, just go to Spanish wedding and try not to have fun. Once you go Spanish, you can’t go back.

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I’m in it for life. With the godmother and godfather (L-R): María Jose (godmother), Mario, Alberto (godfather), me.

Photo by Mario’s talented cousin, José Antonio Fernández Sánchez.

  • Who’s invited? That depends on how much you want to spend, of course. In our case, we only had about 85 people, because most of my family wasn’t able to make it.
  • Who pays? As Erik explained on my Facebook page, “Typically the guests pay for it themselves. When you attend a Spanish wedding, you’re expected to bring an envelope with, at a bare minimum, 100€ per member of your party. We had just over a hundred guests for my Spanish wedding, and the bill (mainly for the exquisite meal) was about 10,000€. We broke even with the cash donations.” I remember my first Spanish wedding, and I was (naturally) surprised by our gift to the couple. I soon realized, however, that it’s the norm, and you’re paying for a great party, great food, dancing, and an all-you-can-drink bar. So, you’re getting a pretty good deal in the end.

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  • What do you eat? Everything. No, but there’s always a lot of food. In my experience, the eating has been as follows:
    • El cóctel (Hors d’oeuvre): After the wedding ceremony, the bride and groom generally go and take pictures. Thus, the guests are left waiting. Said guests are usually hungry. Thus, the Spanish people, great eaters that they are, invented what they refer to as the cóctel, the cocktail party before the reception. There are waiters carrying trays of drinks (beer, wine, soda, water) and all sorts of appetizers. I’ve been to weddings where they served freshly-sliced jamón ibérico.

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  • Entrante (Appetizer): After the bride and groom arrive, the guest are ushered into the dining room, after which the bride and groom will enter, with or without music. The drinks are served (white wine, red wine, and water), and the appetizer comes out. This dish can vary greatly. At one wedding I attended, the appetizer was merged with the fish dish, because no one really needs the appetizer anyway. But that’s besides the point.
  • El pescado (Fish): Next comes the fish, which can be any sort, from merluza (hake) to rodaballo (turbot), which we had at our wedding.
  • El sorbete (Sorbet): Time to cleanse your palate. Next comes the big dish, the meat! We had a mango-flavored sorbet at ours.
  • La carne (Meat): It all depends on where you are, but usually the restaurant has a specialty. In our case, the specialty was lechazo, basically lamb. In Castilla y León, they are known for their lechazo.
  • El postre (Dessert): Not many Spaniards have what we would think of as a wedding cake. In our case, it was a type of chocolate mousse (delicious, by the way). Nonetheless, we did have the pleasure of cutting a cake, though we did not eat it. And yes, we used a sword, which I found hilarious because Mario said such a thing was only done in the 1990s. He was surprised!

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The unification of two great countries. Juan is enjoying his mango sorbet in the corner.

Photo credit: José Antonio Fernández Sánchez

  • Are there toasts? Not officially. I suppose if someone wished to do a toast, he or she could do so. My father-in-law read a very special essay he wrote for us during the ceremony, which I felt was similar to a toast. (He made us all suspiciously teary-eyed.) We also had a wonderful wedding video made by someone who claimed to be anonymous, although information quickly leaked out, and we learned it had been Mario’s cousin and godmother, María José.
  • Can your clink your glass to get the couple to kiss? Well, no, but they have something better, shouting, “¡Que se besen! ¡Que se besen!”, meaning basically the same thing. Another fun thing they shout is, “¡Vivan los novios!”, which the others respond to with a hearty, “¡Vivan!”, meaning “Long live the bride and groom!” basically.

José Antonio Fernández Sánchez

Photo credit: José Antonio Fernández Sánchez

  • Is there a bouquet toss? Sometimes. Other times, like in my case, the bride can pick the person to whom she wants to give the bouquet, usually the next to marry. In my case, it was easy. My future sister(-in-law), Colleen, was there, and she’s getting married on September 15, so I presented her with it.

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  • What about the garter? Um, sometimes (like at the wedding I attended last June), but I chose not to do so. Not my thing.
  • What about the dancing? Oh, there’s dancing. Mario’s family is notorious for their dancing. They love it, and I’ve learned to love it nearly as much as they do. Usually the first dance is a waltz (much to my chagrin; I have two left feet), and we stuck with tradition. Almost all of the songs are very danceable, and meant for all ages. Thank God, there’s no such thing as the “Dollar Dance” or the “Cha Cha Slide.”

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My brother and Mario’s dad getting down on the dance floor. Mario’s dad is basically the best dancer ever. He gets the party started.

  • Open bar? Yes, always. There’s no such thing as a dry wedding, because “no one would go,” as Mario so delicately puts it.

Tell me your experiences with Spanish weddings. I’m sure they vary. Also, why are Spaniards so good at throwing parties?