the persistence of time...
Time is such a funny thing.
In high school and in college I feel like I never had enough... like I was always running out of it.
Here, don't ask me how, but time is different. It just is. I don't know how imaginary lines seemingly haphazardly drawn on an allotment of land can have such undisputed authority as to govern everything... from the language one speaks to the cultural etiquette and conventions to which one concedes and abides. Time is one of those things that just magically and mysteriously changes upon entering Spain.
First of all, the amount of time it takes to do something is multiplied by 3. For instance, in the United States it takes about 10 minutes to get pretty much everywhere you want to go... maybe 15. (Think about it.) Here in Spain, you need to allot 30-45 minutes to go and do whatever you do. But the trick is... it does't feel like what 30-45 minutes feels like in the U.S... somehow, that becomes the norm here and it just feels equivalent to the U.S. 10-15. Walking 30 minutes to go somewhere = normal. No pasa nada.
The bus. I ride the bus anywhere from 30-45 minutes every morning I go to work. That's just to meet my carpool. Then I ride with my carpool 45-60 minutes to work. No pasa nada. Normal. Otro ejemplo... I take an 8 hour train ride to Valencia to visit two of my very favorites , Shay and Drew... no big deal, plus toootally worth it. (See picture with me and said fabulous former 106 members in traditional pose.)
In this world, the amount of time it takes to do simple tasks like picking up train tickets or running to the store is increased exponentially. And this is all OK. Because here's the second thing about time in Spain... although everything takes longer... somehow I feel like I have more time in which to accomplish whatever I need.
This idea is perfectly exemplified by the typical Spanish approach to "going out." Saliendo por la noche consists of perhaps eating dinner at 9:30 pm, "botellón"-ing around 11:30 pm (a botellón is simply when people buy their own beverages with which to make drinks and stand outside on the streets and hang out in large groups of people drinking) , going to a club to dance around 3:00 am, and then making it home around 6:00 am. Where did all this time come from? How do they survive the next day? Questions I have yet to answer. This is a custom to which I have yet to completely adapt and to which I pretty much lack the desire to do so.
But in a culture where there is a set amount of time to rest each day from 2 til 5... where everything dies for three hours... things last longer into the night. Everything is pushed back about those three hours, and all of the sudden, there are about three hours more in the world.
I feel like I've done a poor job explaining this... however, I still don't completely understand it myself... so go figure. Well... I think I'm gonna go running... and soon enough I'll write about my school... and THAT is a very fun subject. (read: sarcasm) :)
In high school and in college I feel like I never had enough... like I was always running out of it.
Here, don't ask me how, but time is different. It just is. I don't know how imaginary lines seemingly haphazardly drawn on an allotment of land can have such undisputed authority as to govern everything... from the language one speaks to the cultural etiquette and conventions to which one concedes and abides. Time is one of those things that just magically and mysteriously changes upon entering Spain.
First of all, the amount of time it takes to do something is multiplied by 3. For instance, in the United States it takes about 10 minutes to get pretty much everywhere you want to go... maybe 15. (Think about it.) Here in Spain, you need to allot 30-45 minutes to go and do whatever you do. But the trick is... it does't feel like what 30-45 minutes feels like in the U.S... somehow, that becomes the norm here and it just feels equivalent to the U.S. 10-15. Walking 30 minutes to go somewhere = normal. No pasa nada.
The bus. I ride the bus anywhere from 30-45 minutes every morning I go to work. That's just to meet my carpool. Then I ride with my carpool 45-60 minutes to work. No pasa nada. Normal. Otro ejemplo... I take an 8 hour train ride to Valencia to visit two of my very favorites , Shay and Drew... no big deal, plus toootally worth it. (See picture with me and said fabulous former 106 members in traditional pose.)
In this world, the amount of time it takes to do simple tasks like picking up train tickets or running to the store is increased exponentially. And this is all OK. Because here's the second thing about time in Spain... although everything takes longer... somehow I feel like I have more time in which to accomplish whatever I need.
This idea is perfectly exemplified by the typical Spanish approach to "going out." Saliendo por la noche consists of perhaps eating dinner at 9:30 pm, "botellón"-ing around 11:30 pm (a botellón is simply when people buy their own beverages with which to make drinks and stand outside on the streets and hang out in large groups of people drinking) , going to a club to dance around 3:00 am, and then making it home around 6:00 am. Where did all this time come from? How do they survive the next day? Questions I have yet to answer. This is a custom to which I have yet to completely adapt and to which I pretty much lack the desire to do so.
But in a culture where there is a set amount of time to rest each day from 2 til 5... where everything dies for three hours... things last longer into the night. Everything is pushed back about those three hours, and all of the sudden, there are about three hours more in the world.
I feel like I've done a poor job explaining this... however, I still don't completely understand it myself... so go figure. Well... I think I'm gonna go running... and soon enough I'll write about my school... and THAT is a very fun subject. (read: sarcasm) :)
posted by Julie Ann at 1:48 PM
1 Comments:
seriously? you write a blog and its not about me and drew and has no pictures of us in it? seriously???
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