An American in Madrid
by Sima Kalmens
I arrived in Spain from the United States last week with the awareness of cultural differences seated somewhere in the back rows of my mind. The rest of the seating area was densely occupied by my excitement. I was finally in Madrid!
Conveniently forgetting all the Spanish I know as soon as one of the Barajas employees asked me something, I incoherently mumbled something along the lines of es bueno while lugging my stuffed suitcases towards the row of taxis. As soon as I got into a taxi, I realized that I was completely clueless as to how tipping works in Spain; this preoccupied me for the entire 30-minute ride. I knew that tipping is not as big a deal in Europe as it is in the United States, but that was the extent of my knowledge. How much less of a big deal is it? What if I undertip and the taxi driver hates me? I realized I didn’t even know how to say “keep the change.”
The total came out to 34E. I decided it would be acceptable to round up, so I gave the driver 40E. To my confusion, I got 6E back in change. Apparently, expecting the driver to keep the extra 6E as a tip was a purely American thought, one that has not yet crossed the Atlantic Ocean.
Although I must admit that it is considerably easier not to have to fiddle around with a pencil after receiving the check at dinner, trying to figure out the tip (basic arithmetic is not one of my fortes), the odd feeling of leaving only 50 cents or so still remains. Which brings me to another point.
I am simply not accustomed to change being worth anything. In the United States, change is petty money. People often forget they even have any. Here in Europe, clanking change has more variety than anything with the word variety in it. There is a 2E coin, a 1E coin, 50 cents, 20 cents, 2 cents, and 1 cent. Seeing the number two on American money is rare, with the exception of $20 bills and quarters (25 cents), of course. A $2 bill in the US is ooh-d and ahh-d over, and kept as a collector’s item, while 50 cent coins are rare and 2 cent coins are virtually unheard of. So you can imagine my unrest when I leave a restaurant table adorned with a huge pile of coins; in the US it is considered disrespectful.
Cab fares and restaurant tips aside, in the past week I have come to the realization that the metro is a prime location for cultural observation. While it is not necessarily the corazón of Madrid life, it is nevertheless a bustling center of people coming, going, and interacting. Greetings aren’t hugs or macho slaps on the back. Quite the contrary; they’re docile kisses on the cheek full of cariño or hearty handshakes.
The madrileños seem genuinely interested in each other, a refreshing change from American indifference, where the phrase “how are you?” is usually a mere equivalent of “hello” and the speaker does not stop to hear the answer. Having gotten lost more times in the past week than I would care to admit, I have gotten in the habit of asking fellow pedestrians for directions and have discovered that they are more than happy to ensure that I reach my destination, even if they themselves cannot offer adequate directions.
I could get used to this.
Tags: culture, Madrid, Sima Kalmens, spain