My New Family.

I live in a decent sized apartment on the river with the mother, her youngest son (who, if I ballpark it, is 27ish), and my roommate, Marissa.  Plus the two Italian girls who are here another week.  Then the three older brothers come in and out every so often but they are married and live elsewhere.  It took us till Wednesday to figure out our host brother's name was Tony.

We have interesting interactions with Tony.  The first night Marissa made the mistake of asking him which fútbol team he preferred, Madrid or Barcelona.  He raised his eye brows and answered Granada, pro supuesto.  (Granada, of course).  Then she started talking about tennis and Rafa Nadal.  Tony had no interest in tennis and Rafa Nadal.  We can't tell if he is teasing us or not.  Then I accidentally took his water glass at dinner and he had to go back to the kitchen to get a new one.  At breakfast Marissa needed help with the toaster.  I scared him by accidentally flashing my flashlight phone app in his eyes when we both arrived home at the same time at night.  The list goes on.

For the first half of the week my host mother was convinced that I did not speak Spanish and spoke only to Marissa.  To be fair, this really is my fault.  When we arrived, I was tired and nervous, and barely spoke.  When I did, I stumbled over simple words.  It looked like I spoke no Spanish!  Within days I was ready to speak Spanish and no one would speak to me. Instead, my host mother would speak to my roommate and ask her to translate.  Eventually the whole thing got figured out but even now, her older sons come in, hear me speak Spanish and turn to their mother in surprise and says "she actually speaks Spanish?!"

Yes.  Yes I do...I've been studying it a while.