For those of you who were unaware, I do not look like a Spaniard. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that all Spanish people look alike. There is definitely a fair amount of variation, but they also share a base of common characteristics that allow people to identify someone as “español” o “española”. With my blond hair and (super) pale skin, I stick out like, well, like a white girl in Spain. Even some of the Asian kids from my program have a better time blending in since there is a decent-size Asian community in Madrid. I don’t have a huge problem with being the “blanca” and the “rubia” in Spain, though. I have come to accept people’s curiosity about my nationality as normal. Like the two people on the Metro a few days ago who didn’t know I spoke Spanish and spent 5 minutes debating where I was from (the girl was vehement I was from England and the guy was more skeptical, betting Canada). Not even for a moment did they think I was Spanish, and they both agreed I must speak English, even if they couldn’t agree on my country of origin. Did I mention they hadn’t heard me say a word?

Yesterday I witnessed two opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of Spanish people’s views on foreigners. For the most part, people have been really nice to me (although they tend to be nicer when I’m with my host mom). However, there is a fair amount of, if not racism, then stereotyping, in Spain. When I was on my way to the Parque del Retiro (http://the195.com/northwestern/2012/01/22/madrid-trumps-new-york-city/), two women got on the bus. It seemed one of them knew a woman sitting near myself, so I moved to the window seat in case she wanted to sit near her friend. The first woman sat in the seat behind her friend and the second woman to get on the bus sat behind me. As soon as I moved over, the first woman began saying, loudly, a whirlwind of phrases about Spain and what is normal here. Her refrain was always, “¡Estamos en España! ¡Aquí, usamos la boca, no la fuerza!” (“We’re in Spain! Here, we use our mouths, not force!”). Her rant lasted about 5 minutes, until she got off the bus. I could understand her words, but I was still confused as to why she was saying it because I hadn’t seen anything that could provoke such a reaction. I couldn’t tell if the woman was addressing me, or the woman behind me, so after she got off, I asked. It turns out that the woman behind me was Latin American and that the rant was aimed at her for waving her arm to flag down the bus (something I have seen many Spaniards do). A friend later told me that there are many immigrants from Latin America in Spain, and they aren’t always treated with respect. In fact, they are more often confronted with discrimination. The public broadside of this woman stands in stark contrast to the genial grandpa who sat and talked to me for 40 minutes in a Starbucks later that day because I was sitting alone, waiting for a friend.

I am definitely treated differently in Spain. As a novelty, almost. Everywhere I go, the question lingers, “¿De dónde eres?” – “Where are you from?” Even if no one asks, I know people are thinking about it, from the cashier at a local café, to the two kids in the park, the security guard in the department store, and the people in my apartment building. The grandpa at Starbucks happily announced for everyone who was wondering,“¡Es americana!” (“She’s American!”). We’ll see how my first day of classes with Spanish students and professors goes tomorrow… hopefully they’ll remember my name and not just my country of origin.