Rocio

Moving into my piso (apartment) in Puente Genil last September was a whirlwind. I got to town and called my boss, whom I had never met, and he told me he had a place for me. I was feeling vulnerable, unable to cope with the foreign language all around me (increasingly difficult because of the thick pueblo accent--it was Spanish I had never heard before), and just wanted a place to crash after 48 hours of travel on planes, trains and buses. He said there was already another girl living there but she was fine with me moving in, American and all.

I don't have the closest relationship with my boss, but I am indebted to him for bringing me to this piso and my roommate Rocio.

I absolutely adore and love Rocio.

I moved in on the weekend while she was away at home, and when she arrived on Sunday night she immediately reached out and attempted to help me understand her and to understand me. Rocio speaks no English but is infinitely patient when I stumble over Spanish. She never ever makes me feel condescended too. When I feel down about my ability, she bolsters me up and swears over and over "Kate, tu hablas Español bien!"

The first weeks were awkward. She was so kind and I could feel how genuine she was, but I was constantly nervous. Every silence felt like an awkward silence to me and I spent every second trying to form my sentences in my head before I dared speak. She asked me to go for walks (very common to "dar una vuelta/un paseo"--go for a walk--here in Spain, especially in nice weather) and I was tormented by what to say or do.

I remember the first time we really got into a conversation. Suddenly, I was more excited by the ways we were connecting over shows/movies/books/other interests to worry about if every word I said was semi-right. I just wanted to keep getting to know her and feeling this comfortable flow--it was like a normal conversation with a friend in English. I remember calling my parents to share my exciting news. It is a very different experience getting to know somebody in a language you're not quite comfortable with. It's a slower process. It probably took about a month to get to the point I might in a week with anyone else. But we got there. In that same first long flowing conversation, my roommate told me that she was shy when she first met people, but then she was a talker. (I can attest this is true.) She also mentioned that she speaks fast, even for a Spaniard, and her Dad had reminded her to slow down around me--I laughed because I am exactly the same in English.

For the first few months I always felt a thrill when we really got into a conversation, ones that lasted hours. It was like a growing testimony to my ability to function and to our ability to be real friends.

Now, conversation is normal. I never stop to think before I speak--well, ok, I do but only because I can't remember a word not because I'm afraid to mess up in front of her. I mess up all the time and she helps me through it. I gesture wildly to indicate a word I can't think of, and somehow she's able to guess what I'm trying to say and tell me the word. We talk for hours, or sometimes we barely exchange words all night because we're comfortable watching t.v. and doing our own thing in each other's company. No silence feels awkward to me anymore.

Rocio brings me treats from home. Her mom sends extra home cooking my way. Once her Dad (a trucker) passed close by town so we drove out to the campo to meet up with him. He bought me a coke and teased the waitress asking if she could tell that Rocio and I were long lost sisters...he told her I had been raised in America. I could barely understand his heavily accented Spanish, but I felt welcomed and I laughed and laughed.

I had to restrain my parents from hugging Rocio to death when they met her--they were desperate to tell her how much she meant to them for helping their daughter. Luckily, I had some control because they had to count on me to translate what they were saying for her. ;) They brought her Girlscout cookies--the only super American thing we could think of! Ja! (By the way Mom & Dad, Rocio LOVED them, but barely got to eat a few before her father and boyfriend polished them off.)

So here we are, 7 months later. This afternoon we went to the grocery store. We both shopped hungry, always a bad idea. When we got home, we sat around eating from our not-on-the-list large jar of aceitunas (olives) that we bought to share. (Seriously, don't grocery shop hungry!)

I don't think I could ever say enough how much I appreciate Rocio. It will never be sufficient. But here's a little blog post because I wanted everyone to know how much this sweet girl means to me and that I'd never have made it this year without her.

As Spring arrives I feel more of an itch to go home. I'm very happy here and still have much to enjoy, but I am beginning to daydream of summer in Colorado (and baby nephews! and puppy nephews/nieces! and friends! and parks! and hiking! etc.)

But it's people like Rocio who make me happy that I'm not quite done with Spain yet.

{And I daresay, Spain's not quite done with me.}