In Spain, (ackward) conversations across cultures

     I knew going into my semester abroad in Granada that life was going to be very different and had tried my best to prepare myself.  My friend, who studied abroad in Spain two years ago, had told me many stories about her time there, and I knew that life in Spain was going to be very different from life in the United States.
     I had prepared myself for the change in meal times.  I knew that I would be eating on a very different schedule than I do in the U.S. (where I eat lunch at noon and dinner at six everyday).  Sure enough, on a typical day in Granada I eat lunch around 3:30 p.m. and dinner around 10:30 p.m.  I don't think I have ever been hungrier in my life as I have been this semester.
     I had also prepared myself for the change in types of food I would be eating, knowing that I was either going to have eat things I normally wouldn't go close to, or starve.  Luckily, I lied on my application and said I was allergic to shellfish, which has saved me from eating shrimp and squid several times already (although it hasn't saved me from eating other types of fish, rabbit, lamb, and blood sausage).
     One aspect of life in Granada I had not fully prepared myself for, however, was how blunt and direct the people are here in Spain.  I had heard stories, yes, but nothing but being here could have completely prepared me for the actual experience. 
      I got my first taste of the extreme honesty that Spanish people seem accustomed to the first night I arrived in Spain.  After telling me I looked like I was very nervous and about to cry (which I was, and certainly did not need reminding), my host mom then turned to my host sister and said, "Azahara, I can see your thong sticking out of your pants and your shirt is way too low."
      She then turned to me and asked, "Can't you see down her shirt?"
      Having just met my host sister, I did not want to offend her by admitting that yes, I could in fact see down her shirt, so I simply smiled, shook my head, and put on my best confused face.
      My next taste of blunt conversation came when one afternoon I told my host father that I was going to a cafe down the street with some friends to get pastries. 
       "If you keep eating so many pastries you are going to get fat," he said, quite matter-of-factly.  "When your boyfriend comes to visit he will step off the plane and want to turn back around, saying ‘Ah! My girlfriend has gotten very fat!'" 
      My jaw dropped.  I was not sure what to say, so I laughed and assured him that I walked a lot and would not get fat, and that even if I did I was sure a weight gain would not cause my boyfriend to go back to America right after arriving.
      My host father did not seem convinced, but I left to meet with friends feeling a little less hungry than I had a few minutes before.
      Bluntness became a part of my life yet again about a week ago when I returned home from a trip to Madrid, Toledo, and Segovia.  When I told my family that I had gone to Segovia, my host mother asked, "Did you see any good-looking men in Segovia?"
     I thought about it before replying, "I don't really remember, but I wasn't really looking for them either."
     "I doubt you saw any," my host mother said.  "There are no good-looking people in Segovia."
     "What?" I asked, sure that I had simply misunderstood, something that happens at least five times a day in Granada.
     "Everyone in Segovia is ugly," she said, emphasizing her point.
      Once again, my family had made my jaw drop. 
      "We went to Segovia once and I seemed handsome there," my host father, who is fifty-two and an obvious lifelong smoker, chimed in.  "I walked around and thought, ‘He is uglier than me, he is uglier than me, even he is uglier than me'.  I wanted to move there!"
       As often happens when I speak with my family, I was at a loss for words.  And so, as also often happens, I just laughed until my family joined in.   
       Life in Granada, if blunt, is at the very least entertaining.