Things here are slow...

As many of you out there probably know, about a year ago I decided to move to Spain in order to teach English and do a little traveling on the side. As a freshman guiri, slang for white foreigners in Spain, there was a lot for me to adjust to in that first year. From the language which I knew very little of thanks to a lot of nap time in sixth and seventh grade, to  impossibly minute proportions of appliances, to the general pace of life, I was basically reduced to being an infant again. And the general pace of life thing... that is where I want to kick this off.

Anyone who has spent a reasonable amount of time in any major metropolis in the US knows that there is a typical bustling pace to everything. Everyone walks, talks, eats, lives, etc. at a brisk pace. I grew up in and around Chicago so I am no country boy by any stretch of the imagination, nor am I a true urbanite. Most of my formative years were spent in the vast stretches of suburbia that encircle the city. None the less, I am familiar with the accelerated life that prevails in America.

Whenever I am walking down the sidewalk I find myself overtaking everyone in front of me as if they were standing still, and, well... a lot of the time they are. If I had to describe the speed at which Spaniards walk I would call it a slow, aimless meander to a complete stop. Which, if you like to cut things a little close with your commute, can be a serious problem. Often, when running late to a lesson or appointment, I find myself cursing under my breath as I wade my way through a sea of knobby-kneed octogenarian nuns, push over dwarfs, topple strollers and maybe punch a kitten or two in order to make it on time. You have to do terrible things to get somewhere on schedule.

And it's not just walking. Absolutely every activity in the Spanish day is preformed at a sauntering pace. On my way back from a recent trip to Berlin I couldn't help but notice that out of the dozen airlines that were assigned to that particular terminal at the airport, Iberia, the principle airline of Spain, was not only the only check-in counter with a line, but the line stretched halfway around the terminal. It goes without saying that if you have to deal with the bureaucracy here, you have to enter some god-forsaken limbo of a ministry filled with stacks of inane paperwork and people who generally don't give a shit about their job, and it is here you can expect to spend the next eon or two.

Though this comes off initially as ragging on the Spanish lifestyle, it is meant to be more a cathartic moment for me. I just need to get this out of my system. In reality I think that this "take life as it comes" approach is a drastic improvement over the work-yourself-to-death mentality that causes so many Americans to have heart attacks and strokes and buy guns to shoot everything at their office each year. Perhaps it is no accident that many Spaniards live to superannuated stages. This year I need to learn to slow down a little. Who cares if I'm four or five or twenty minutes late? Most of my students could care less, so there is no reason for me to build up massive pit-stains in an attempt to appear "professional," or "punctual."

The title of this blog is meant to be a reminder to me to do exactly this... Slow The Fuck Down! It is a sort of saying here in Madrid... mañana. "Oh, you say that you need that ASAP?" mañana. "It's of critical importance, now is it?" mañana. "You think your having a heart attack and need emergency medical assistance?" mañana.

By the way, mañana means tomorrow.