There is no such thing as being late for tapas.
After class one night, a group of friends from my program planned on getting tapas to explore more of center city Alcalá. My roommates and I enjoyed our siestas and started getting ready, but our timing wasn’t quite right and I realized we would not get to the restaurant by the time we planned. I do not like being late. I imagined us arriving to the table with no seats available and having to take our 15 minute walk back, heads hung in shame and stomachs deprived of patatas bravas.
Once we did make it out the door, I rushed our walk, passing people on the sidewalk and constantly checking the time. I don’t think that a single person in the street, not even the cars, were moving as quickly as me. This was my first lesson in an essential aspect of Spanish culture: life in Spain isn’t rushed.
Learning to live slowly has been a major cultural adjustment for me while studying in Alcalá. I am not always a patient person and I have a major fear of being late. These two characteristics have turned upside down while living in Spain, and I am grateful for the change of pace. In my two weeks in Alcalá, I’ve gone from rushing to the class building to make it on time, to expecting the daily wave I exchange with my professor as we both reach the Franklin Institute building, comfortably 2 minutes late. I now value the extra minutes of meandering that my friends and I take during class breaks, rather than insisting we return to our desks as soon as 10 minutes is up. I’ve even grown fond of the long, endless waiting for the check at restaurants, because the waiter never brings it until you ask. The extra expanses of “sobremesa” have led to new friends, funny questions, and lasting memories of my time in Alcalá. I look forward to the slow start to classes, as our professors intently inquire about weekend plans and offer suggestions for day trips. I appreciate the ability to try every flavor of gelato before deciding one, as the waitress offers each spoon, knowing the importance of a decision like dessert.
Although my month in Spain is passing all too quickly, time here moves slowly. In my last two weeks, I’ll take my time on the way to tapas. I’ve learned I don’t have to rush through side streets and weave through people to reach the Plaza, because no matter how late I might be, it is more than likely that my friends are still there–chatting and laughing–waiting for the check.
