If any part of your body touches any other part of your body or God forbid anyone else’s, you are done for. Good luck prying those two unfortunate pieces of flesh away from each other. The sweat (el sudor) is more effective than super glue at ruining your life. While native Granadans saunter around luxuriously waving their fans, the Americans are easily identifiable by the “healthy” glow we are constantly bathing in at 35 degrees Celsius without air conditioning in a drought.
That being said, I am not complaining at all. Sure, I missed my siesta today (something which I thought was a luxury but in reality is a necessity), and I am living with my madre, my padre, and my dos hermanos que tienen 30 y 40 anos, but I am speaking Spanglish like a professional and living in one of the oldest and most beautiful cities ever.
I hate to sound culturally lazy, but my favorite part of Spanish culture may be the food. In Madrid, I ate cheese and bread with tomato and onion jam for dinner which sounds weird, but I still fantasize about it. In Granada, my senora cooks every meal and each one is better than the last. For breakfast we have toast with apricot marmalade which (sorry, Mom) may be the best thing I have ever eaten, with coffee con leche which is far and away the best coffee I have ever had (sorry, Doma). Everything you’ve heard about European food is true and better. The only bad aspect of Spanish eating is that my senora doesn’t take no for an answer. To her, “estoy satisfecha” means “maybe if you ask me again I will say yes, and if I say no again you should take it as a personal insult.” Cooking really is an art and for her, it is life.
I don’t know what else to begin to say about Granada, so I probably won’t say anything for now. It’s weird to be writing in English anyway.