Mañana...

Depending on how long I can stay awake, this entry has the possibility to be a long one. It's been about 48 hours in Mallorca but somehow, it feels far longer. I've settled in nicely to my apartment style hotel room, and have oriented myself with the immediate area, which is full of other hotels, skinny roads, surprise staircases, palms and flowers, and German tourists. It's been a lot of fun people-watching and trying to figure out who belongs to what country. Mallorca is a popular destination for German and Dutch tourists, which I was well aware of before I came here, but I sometimes think I hear more German than I do Spanish! My Spanish comprehension--and even production--has improved a lot in just a couple of days. And by improved, I mean that my initial knowledge of a bout 25 words is now up to maybe 50 which isn't tremendous, but I get by. I find that I can clearly understand everything that is said to me in Spanish and everything that I read, but I can still only speak in broken two or three word Spanish sentences. Luckily, most people are willing to speak in English and can do so quite well, since it's a tourist area.

One of the things I've been realizing since I arrived here is how quickly I'd forgotten how American I am. And I don't mean the typical defining characteristics of the American tourist like the clothes I wear or my immature Spanish accent or my overly exaggerated American facial expressions and ridiculous hand gestures. Those things I accepted about myself a long time ago. What I've become keenly aware of is my American mindset. I spent the past couple of weeks in non-stop prep mode for this trip. Which was added to my usual schedule of being practically everywhere at once. Which normally, is the way I like it. That kind of full week always gives me a feeling of accomplishment and purpose and productivity. But here, where the national slogan is "mañana," and everyone is on vacation, no one answers to a schedule.

Yesterday, my first full, lucid day in Spain, I woke up ready to take on the city. If you know me, you know I've been reading my Mallorca guidebook since May and that it's currently color-coded, highlighted, and marked with (super American-looking) neon post-it flags. And I wanted to start checking off my list. The night before when I called home, my mom so kindly recommended that I simply relax and take it easy because I had no where to go, no timetable to keep. And I decided to take that advice, but it was so much harder than it sounds. I spent a few hours at the hotel pool instead of rushing into the city, but my brain refused to turn off. I kept having the feeling that there was somewhere I needed to be, something I needed to do. But there wasn't. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. And I just had to keep taking deep breaths all day to remind myself of this. Apparently, America can really screw with your head.

I've learned pretty quickly that the concept of time here is a mere suggestion. I first noticed this at the hotel breakfast yesterday which, according to my room information pamphlet, ends at 10:30am. In my jet lagged fog, I woke up at about 9:45 and rushed through my morning routine so as not to miss breakfast--mt first fresh meal of the trip. I made it shortly after 10 and was amazed not only at how many people arrived at breakfast along with me, but at how many people showed up long after I did. And had no problem taking their time to eat. I've stayed at plenty of hotels in my life and I can distinctly remember showing up to continental breakfast just before the end time and the hotel staff had already started removing the fresh food and empty coffee carafes. Points for Spain. 

The American in me came out later on when I began to search for a way to figure out the time. There is no clock in my hotel room. Which I didn't think much about until after I'd picked up a mini travel one at the store. There is also no clock or time displayed in any other part of the hotel or pool area or nearby mall. Which was initially frustrating since I can't tell day from night at the moment, but I eventually realized that this wasn't an oversight or a way to save on hotel expenses. There aren't any clocks because no one (except the insane American) is ever looking for the time. Time does not exist. I'm on an island. In the Mediterranean. And I am finally accepting this fact, starting now.

I did get into the city part of the island today, and it is beautiful. I plan to write about it and post pictures within the next day or so. It's late here, and I just witnessed my first enormous "island bug" which is another story for tomorrow. Mañana . I like the sound of it already.