Saludos de Salamanca: A homecoming in a Spanish city

I shook awake as the tour bus pulled to a stop at a crosswalk.

“Chicos, welcome to Salamanca,” Carmen, our resident director, said in her endearing Spanglish.

She added that she hoped we took a nap because we needed to be awake to meet our host family for our six-week travel study program.

Butterflies suddenly rushed into the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t been anxious to meet my host mother at all until now, when we were five minutes away from the bus stop.

At the same time, the beauty of the small Spanish city struck me in a way unlike any town I’d seen before.

Sandstone buildings with charming little balconies, stores with meat dangling from the ceiling and centuries-old cathedrals lined the streets. The bus driver must have struggled to navigate the narrow, gray-speckled cobblestone roads that twisted around each corner. Yellow and orange light on the blue Río Tormes reflected the fading sun.

From the bus window, we watched a crowd of older women, teenagers and fathers on the street chattering and staring back at us as we stopped in front of them.

“I feel like I’m getting adopted,” one student on the bus said, a statement that our group of about 20 found extremely comical.

After three whirlwind days of adjusting to the nine-hour time difference, living out of a carry-on suitcase and walking the entire day around Madrid and Toledo, it did seem like a sort of homecoming.

But still, my heart was racing with anticipation as we filed out of the bus, giggling nervously.

A chorus of “hola” and “¿qué tal?” met students whose names were read off a list to meet their new families. With a kiss for their family members on each cheek – as is the Spanish way – each pair of students departed until my roommate and I were the last ones left. The knot in my stomach tightened.

Finally, she arrived.

She was strutting down the street in white pants, rhinestone-studded flats and sleek blond hair secured in a ponytail – this was my first glimpse of Milagros, my host mother, or señora.

“Hola, buenas tardes,” she said, wishing us good afternoon before leaning in for a kiss.

The kissing on each cheek with a total stranger was just one custom I needed to get used to in this Spanish college town.

Before we left the monastery of El Escorial to come here to Salamanca earlier that afternoon, Carmen had told us we had nothing to worry about in living with the Spanish families and changing our lifestyles to fit theirs. The only difference between Spain and the U.S. is the espacio – space – she said. Physical space is much smaller in Spain than in the U.S. Elevators hold at most four or five people. Almost everyone lives in apartments rather than houses.

And so personal space is smaller too. Kissing strangers to greet them rather than shaking hands, grabbing someone’s arm to make a point and talking closely with another person were just a few of the more intimate interactions I observed.

Interactions weren’t always so friendly upfront though.

Walking down the street, Spaniards usually make eye contact with other passersby. Yet, smiles are rarely exchanged, even if one mutters “buenos días” (good day). Flashing a smile to a stranger is often considered forward.

But whenever we asked Españoles for directions, they joked with us, acting more than happy to help.

The emanating warmth and kindness of the people I met surprised me. Though some mannerisms were unfamiliar, and the language barrier will be a hurdle to clear, Carmen was right: The only difference I really needed to adjust to was the new espacio.

And that was more than “vale,” as they say here – “OK.”