by Mary Doman

After a month in Madrid, I had expected the late nights, alcohol, miles of walking, olive-oil overdoses, and boiling heat to get to me, somehow. A little tummy ache? A sunburned shoulder? The slightest hangover? Though none (miraculously) of these symptoms have crept up on me yet, I still await the effects of my extreme lifestyle change to pounce on my poor body soon. When the time comes, though, I won’t be afraid. I know there are pharmacies waiting for me at any hour, on any street.

They’re everywhere. Almost every corner in this city has a bright green cross on it, glowing 24 hours a day: “farmacia.” Why do Spanish people need so many pharmacies? I wondered. The massive number of cervercerias is an excess I don’t mind a bit. The neverending tiendas de alimentación are curious, but convenient for chocolate, candy, and soda cravings. But pharmacies? What can explain this over-abundance? I took some down time to really focus on the dilemma (tears, empty coffee cups, chocolate bars…you know how these things work themselves out) and came up with a few ideas.

Some things I’d read a while back came to mind. When I was getting ready to leave for Spain, I thought I’d do a bit of research on the healthcare system in Spain, just in case something happened. I took a big sigh of relief because I realized that drugs are quite easy to get in this country.

Drugs! Without a prescription! And cheap, too. MadridMan writes about how his $20 prescription in the states only costs him 2.40€ in Madrid! What a steal. I also read about a lady who used the same British prescription slip in Spanish pharmacies for over a year. When she forgot the prescription, she just asked for Prozac or showed the pharmacist an empty pill box. Ta-dah! Antidepressants at every corner, no hassles. Of course now, the woman reports that actually doesn’t need her Prozac anymore because sunny Spain keeps her happier than the grey days of England ever did!

Another aspect of the Spanish government’s unique drug regulation system are the requirements for pharmacy store hours. At least one pharmacy must be open at all hours within a certain catchment area and, while some stores never open at night, there are plenty of farmacias that rotate an all-night service. So I suppose in a large city like Madrid, keeping a pharmacy on every corner is a pretty sure way to make sure all the residents, and especially all the pharmacists, get a healthy night’s sleep.

But simple regulations and drug availablity couldn’t be all that was keeping so many pharmacies in business, was it? I thought I would go to a farmacia myself to look for more clues. Taking a 30-second detour on my walk to work, I stepped into a farmacia and had a peek. Here I realized that the Spanish concept of “farmacia” doesn’t directly translate into the English word and American concept of “pharmacy.” Instead waiting seats and long lines, there was 90s music and aisles stuffed with snacks and drinks. The amount of creams, lotions, hair and dental products was impressive. The pharmacist was friendly and customers purchased everything from bottled waters to birth control.

Since the pharmacies have to be open so late and have so much competition, it’s no wonder that they pack their shelves with goodies and snacks, play fun music, and try to appear as appealing as possible. I almost wish my Spanish lifestyle would hurry up and take its toll on me so I could go for a chat with my friendly pharmacist! Not really, but if it rains I might drop in for some Prozac.

by Jeanne Reidy

It made me feel a little bit better and like less of a baby to hear the others in the European Vibe office complaining about the heat. Where I live, in Chicago, we don´t see this kind of heat until mid-July. Until then, we crave it, beg for it and seek out every bit of sun we can find. Then, once it hits, we whine, crank up the air conditioning and go to the beach. In other words, I´m not used to this kind of heat at this point in the season, with few options to counteract it.

Honestly, I´m scared for what this Mediterranean climate has to bring. I don´t have a house on the coast to escape to every weekend like other Madrileños. Whenever I tell someone from the city that I´m staying in Madrid for the summer they look at me like I´m crazy and say, ¨You do know how hot it gets here, don´t you?”. A French man living in Madrid told me that he is moving back to Paris for the summer because he can´t handle the heat. To that I thought, ¨What have I gotten myself into? Why am I coming to a city that everyone else is deserting?”.

I´ll do my best to jump on the band-wagon of running off to the coasts every chance I get but after a semester of studying abroad, my bank account is about as dry as the summer air.

This past weekend was the first time I noticed a drastic difference in the number of people in Madrid. Everyone has told me that the city is empty in July and August but I never thought it would be so noticeable in a huge city like Madrid. I was wrong. Retiro on Saturday afternoon seemed like a ghost town. Heading to the park, I thought I´d have to overlap my blanket with the person next to me due to the crowds. I thought there would be a line around the block for water and popsicles on such a gorgeous summer afternoon. Never did I think that I would have my choice of location on the grass, far enough away from any of the other park goers.

It would be one thing if I didn´t feel the stares at my flip-flops and shorts from Spaniards on the street and the Metro. I know they think I´m crazy to be wearing a bathing suit in Retiro. I´m still amazed to see girls in leather boots and men and women in jackets and scarves in this kind of heat. If they don´t think this is hot, I´m worried to see what is to come.

I guess for now I´ll just suck it up and wear my sandals and sit in the shade whenever possible. But if it gets any worse, I´ll be on the next train to the coast. Who is with me?

by Stuart Yochem and Mary Doman

Two young American girls were about to take off for a summer in Madrid, neither of them knowing what the future would hold. In their first blog, readers will see that Madrid welcomed them, confused them, robbed them, got them lost… but somehow always led them back to a nice home and a soft bed.

Stuart: Only a week ago, I was sitting in my bedroom in Charlotte, North Carolina anticipating (or more accurately worrying myself sick) over what the next six weeks would bring. I was headed to Madrid solo, where I would take up a new lifestyle, job, and have to make friends all over again. It seemed that my adventurous nature escaped into a vast forest and was not planning on returning. Upon arrival, however, my fears and insecurities magically disappeared. In a matter of minutes, I became entranced with what I saw outside the taxi window en route to my new casa. Within three days, I began adapting the Madrileño life style, eating meals later and taking life slower. In no time, I realized that venturing to España may have been one of my best decisions yet.

Mary: Only a week ago, I was enjoying some drinks and conversation at my friend´s wedding. Between sips of Bud Light and bites of chicken fingers, I strained my ear to hear the jokes and high school stories of my lifelong friends over the loud classic rock band. I smiled and nodded. And they smiled and nodded back. A very American understanding, I´d say. After a while, we headed to the dance floor to join the traditional dance train and obnoxious sing-along to ¨Sweet Home Alabama.¨ The next day, I´d be leaving my sweet home in Tennessee for a casa in Madrid. Like Stuart, I was seeking after a new lifestyle, a new job, and new friends.

Day 1, Stuart: In my twenty-one years of life on this earth, I have yet to sleep on any moving object. As I stepped onto the US Airways jumbo jet in Philadelphia, though I had sleeping pills in tow, I anticipated the next eight hours would be filled with reading my new book, watching TV, and perusing the cabin while other travelers remained in deep slumber. Over the years, I have learned that instead of getting angry at all those people who can fall asleep on the spot, I must accept that motion insomnia is a part of who I am.

Upon arriving in the Barajas International airport, the color under my eyes turning darker by the minute, it took little time to collect my bags and make my way to the Instituto Internacional. As the taxi driver moved into Madrid, I suddenly forgot about my sleep deprivation and began marveling at my new surroundings. Other students in the program arrived within ten minutes, and most, looking and feeling as tired as I, were friendly from the start. After a two hour briefing on our new homes, school, and careers in Spain, I walked with my monster of a suitcase to my home stay, conveniently located two blocks from school.

After meeting all of my housemates, including my senora Juana, her two daughters, a family friend, a French exchange student, and a Spanish student from Alicante, all of whom were as nice as can be, I settled into my new room and lay down. The next thing I knew it was dark out, and time for my first homemade cena! It seemed, surprisingly, that I was settling in pretty nicely and warming up to the idea of a new home a new people.

Day 1, Mary: Unlike Stuart, I slept quite a bit on my first day (Or, depending on what time zone you´re in, my first and second day). A late night of packing, plus general excitement and anxiety, gave me a large sleep debt that I was happy to pay off on my way to Spain.
The napping began in Nashville, and continued to Chicago. I was nodding off towards Philadelphia when something actually startled me awake. No, not flight attendants with free pretzels, but rather, the pilot´s voice on the intercom, saying he had to turn the plane around. Something about a small technical problem, something else, something something something, but we weren´t in danger of crashing, so that was a good thing. The bad thing was that I would definitely miss my flight from Philadelphia to Madrid.

Back in Chicago, a US Airlines employee handed me a meal voucher and a ticket to Frankfurt, departing at 10 p.m. After that, I slept for 6 more hours in Chicago´s Terminal 2, taking a 2 hour break for a turkey sandwich and beer at a Chili´s bar. Then more sleep, more planes, yada yada yada.
I made the most of my short journey to Germany, though, by purchasing an overpriced soft pretzel in the airport! While I sat in the terminal eating it, I met a girl named Jacklyn, also heading to Madrid for the summer.

When our journey ended, finally, in the Barajas airport, Jacklyn and I rubbed our eyes and began a 2 hour quest to find our luggage, tucked away in one of the four baggage claim arenas. After we found it, my new friend Jacklyn informed me that she needed to call a friend to arrange a ride. She didn´t have any euros, and after the information desk didn´t understand/help us with the situation, we put our trust in the Spanish people. I asked a man in a coffee shop if I could borrow his phone, and handed his blackberry to Jacklyn, who stopped crying and called her friend. Jacklyn and I parted ways after that.

Instead of giving the taxi driver the address to my school, where I was supposed to go when I landed, I gave him the address of my homestay instead. It was 9 pm by this time, and I´m pretty sure I missed that group meet and greet/orientation that you enjoyed so much, Stuart! I didn´t know if my senora knew I was coming, but I didn´t have a phone, or her phone number, or any phone numbers, for that matter, to call.

Of course I had written the address down wrong in my diary, and my driver and I spent an additional 45 minutes driving in the wrong direction before we found my casa. We had good talks, though, about Obama and paella. He dropped me off, and I knocked at my senora´s door, where, luckily, she answered.

Despite my unique journey, my day one ended up just like yours, Stuart- a welcoming Senora, a nice dinner, and a good night´s sleep.

Day 2, Mary: Day two was going well! I managed to get in touch with the school, catch up on orientation, and meet with my internship advisor. Then I met some kids and we enjoyed a nice afternoon in El Parque Del Buen Retiro and our first Spanish beers. In part due to my academic and vocational progress, and also in part due to the beer, I was feeling very Spanish and very worldly when I stepped onto the metro for my first ride.

When I stepped off of the metro, I was feeling very touristy and very stupid. My purse was feeling very light, now that it was mostly vacant and my wallet (complete with an ATM withdrawal, credit cards, and a driver´s license!) was in the sneaky hands of a thief, long gone. I had been robbed.
My second night in Spain was similar to the first, but this time topped with tears and poverty. I managed to cancel my credit cards over Skype, and discovered that my laptop´s touchpad is surprisingly waterproof. My senora delivered a nice bocadillo right to my room, with a coke and a chocolate bar. Her act of kindness, I told myself as I lay in bed, could maybe cancel out the act of injustice I´d encountered for day 2…

Day 2, Stuart: It sounds like you had quite an eventful couple of days, Mary! First, missing your connecting flight and airport hopping through Europe, and second, when you finally get here, someone robs you! I think this means that things can only look up from here. Plus, your story gives both readers and myself reason to ferociously grasp onto our belongings, so in a way you were helping out mankind by being robbed on the metro. So thank you, thank you, Mary.

Mary: No problem.

Stuart: So, as a new day dawned, I made my way over to Fernando el Catolico for my first day on the job at EV. The morning turned out great and after meeting a lovely staff with whom I´d be working for the next weeks, I was off to the metro. En route to the Moncloa stop, I took a detour to check out what shopping in Madrid had to offer. All I can say is bravo. Lots of boutiques with lots of good prices. After my half hour detour, I came upon my first metro station in Madrid. Feeling accomplished after I purchased my first metro pass, changing trains without error, and making it to Ruben Dario, I was beginning to feel like a native! (or at least a native who looks and acts utterly American).

I exited the metro station and began walking up the hills towards what I thought was my calle. Wrong. Somehow, I made my way at least two miles away from Calle Miguel Angel. As an hour passed, I, stubborn as ever, refused to ask for directions. With time, however, the frustration settled in and I began asking passerbys to point me in the right direction. Funnily enough, no one seemed to know the street, or know which direction to point me in. Plus, it was quite difficult trying to re-hone my Spanish speaking skills. I began to encounter some pretty bewildering looks.

After two hours, I began to ignore the fact that I was completely lost and started admiring all the different neighborhoods and natives. I´ve had a bad sense of direction for quite some time now, so instead of going into panic mode, I´ve learned to just deal with my inadequate map reading skills. The street just takes me where it wants to, what can I say?

Throughout my time wandering about the city, I stopped in at a phone store, where I purchased my first Spanish cell phone! Proudly walking out of the store with pre-paid cell phone and mobile plan, which I later learned was a complete rip off, I went from bank to bank in an effort to change my dollars into euros. I must have forgotten that most banks close mid-afternoon for siesta, so my effort was doomed from the start. Exhausted from walking, I grabbed a coca cola light and sat at the park as young children dressed in full uniform greeted their parents after school. Oh to be young.
As I sat in the park, fully realizing that I was already an hour late for the lunch my Señora had prepared for me, I began a people-watching marathon and began to get what was so great about the carefree nature of the Madrileños. (For those who are interested, I did finally make it home where I was heartily fed and after a long day, I turned in early).

Day 3, Stuart and Mary: On our third day in Madrid, we met and became instant friends. After sharing stories of our first two days, we decided that we both needed a coffee break. Stuart paid, of course. We sat in a Spanish bar for quite some time. Speaking English was a relief for both of us, and we bonded over senora stories and ideas for the summer. We began brainstorming our first blog entry. This is it.

What a bunch of foreign residents of Madrid love and hate about living in the Spanish capital.

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