June 15, 2013 by ebostick1212
So, I may not be sparkly, like that guy from Twilight, but I am guessing we are probably related in some way. I am pale. Super pale in comparison to most of the people here in the south of Spain. Even in America, I struggle finding any sort of face makeup at the drugstore, since it all seems too dark to me, and I have the ability to camouflage myself into pale surfaces. I think that my skin is more translucent than any actual color.
My long gone ancestors hailed from the snowiest regions of Sweden. Sweden. A country that is basically the exact opposite of Spain. As my family tree evolved, it seemed like melanin in the skin wasn’t considered important, and paleness was encoded into my genetics.
So, why, do you ask, would you move to a city that is basically the surface of the sun with a cathedral? The truth is, I don’t know. At least I was wise enough to stock up on sunscreen.
It almost reached 100 degrees the other day. I was here last August, so I shouldn’t be surprised when the temperature leaps to three digit numbers, but it never ceases to amaze me, especially because I come from the land of air con. In all actuality, my house in Rhode Island doesn’t have air conditioning, either, but I was spoiled by years of cool sea breezes, and the occasional rumbling thunderstorm offering up respite.
Here, it is just hot. All the time. There isn’t a break. The temperature soars all day and all night. People here live without air conditioning, retreating into their cool, dark houses for the hottest part of the day.
You know what is the worst, though? Having obligations during the hottest part of the day. I can’t retreat into my dark little cave and hide from the sun. Yesterday I walked around for an hour and a half in direct sunlight, in order to get to my private class. This wasn’t a problem a few months ago, but yesterday I could practically feel myself cooking.
I head home next week, back to the land of air con and sea breezes…but not before having a few more killer afternoon obligations. I keep having this
totally rational irrational fear that people will emerge from their refreshingly cool homes at the end of the day, and find me; stuck to the sidewalk like a burnt cookie. Even worse, I fear someone will have to scrape me off with a spatula. Pobre rubita, poor little blond girl, they will say, as they peel my scorched, once pale self off the still-broiling asphalt.