On our way out for a walk soon after we first arrived, Charlotte and I stared at the various knobs on the door to our apartment. There was a sliding metal bar at the bottom, which was easy enough to figure out. On top, though, were chains, a slider, a triangular switch. Hearing our confusion, our host mom, Beatriz, came over and unlatched everything with the swoop of a hand. “Gracias,” we said, then locked the door on our way out. (It’s kind of fantastic—you can’t lock yourself out, because the door only stays closed when it’s locked.)
Later, before dinner, Charlotte bent over the cabinet in the dining room from which Beatriz had procured placemats at lunch. The wooden doors didn’t have handles. She tried sliding a fingernail between them, with no luck. I pried at the bottom. No go. Finally, Beatriz came over and showed us: we had to push in the top right corner, and the door would bounce open.
The next morning, I stood naked in the shower and stared at the controls. The knob on the left was unmarked. The one on the right said 45 and 50 and had a little red dot… something to do with temperature, I figured. I fiddled with the blank knob until water came out of the hose. It was steaming. I turned it off to soap up and rinsed off as quickly as I could. When I asked how to adjust the temperature, Beatriz tinkered with the water heater in a kitchen cabinet. (I’ve taken to using the other bathroom, and the first time I went to turn on the shower, I avoided the C knob thinking it was cold. C is short for caliente, which means hot.)
Yesterday, Charlotte and I made banana bread for Beatriz’s birthday. We went all over the neighborhood in search of a loaf pan, overripe bananas, and a bouquet of flowers. We found everything within a 50-foot radius. At home, after mixing the batter in a saucepan, I turned on the oven. Well, I thought I did. We had to set a timer and choose a setting for the oven before it began heating up.
I know how to open doors and cabinets, take showers, and turn on ovens. I’m 20 years old! But in front of different systems, I might as well be from another planet. Unfamiliar manufacturing isn’t to blame; the cabinet is from Ikea. And it’s not that things here are harder to use—I’m already a pro with the door. But with anything, like turning down the water temperature or buying a loaf pan, it always helps to ask.
Flowers, a card, and banana bread for Beatriz on her birthday
A shot from the Judería