Not every moment is glamorous, despite what the glossy study abroad brochures insist. Sometimes, instead of participating in a fantastic cultural tradition and winning the hearts of all of the country's people, your time is spent on the more mundane. After all, you are supposed to be studying abroad, and the 262 pages assigned today (and due tomorrow) are not going to read themselves. I invite you to take a journey with me. Journey past the illusion of exotic splendor and take a few moments to appreciate the daily adventures.
As I may have mentioned before, my apartment shower is literally death waiting to happen. The thing is a death trap. Not only is the temperature control far more finicky than any I've ever come across, but the shower's four-inch-deep basin does not drain. This means that after several minutes of moving millimeter by millimeter from ice bath to Pompeii and back again, I find myself comfortably enjoying water either just below scorching or just above freezing. My feet are always quite clean, however, as they manage to receive both a shower and a bath. I asked my peers and was told to just use my foot to start a whirlpool around the drain and the problem would manage itself. This did not turn out to be true.
On top of that, the shower itself is tiny. In the pictures above, I have crammed myself into the corner and then against the shower door. The basin's about 2.5 square feet. I spend most of my shower time spinning around, chasing down my travel-size shampoo as it bobs around my submerged feet.
I attempted to shave my armpits during my first shower. As I bent to create space and raise my left arm, I backed into the pipes, which practically cooked my back. Surprised and in pain, I then whacked my funny bone against the wall when trying to bring my arm back down and escape the pipes. Between that and having to use yoga poses to reach my calves while soaping up, I knew there was no way I could possibly shave my legs in the shower. I decided to postpone that as long as possible.
Two weeks had passed between my last shave and the day it was warm enough to require that my legs breathe. I had, up until this point, been getting by in jeans, maxi dresses, and tights. But that would last no more. Having spent quite some time staring at the shower in deep reflection, I thought it might be possible to use the movable shower head to soak only my legs and shave with the door open so that I could reach my legs easily. I quickly learned that this was not a possibility. In spite of my best efforts to contain the shower head, it seemed to gain a mind of its own. Like a thin, polished serpent, it whipped around the shower's basin before I'd had time to adjust the temperature. The bathroom and I were soaked in what seemed to be a fascinating discovery: clear, very viscous lava. All I could do was shriek and lunge for the temperature control.
So long as my legs were wet, I figured I may as well give shaving a go. Hoisting up my long and surprisingly flexible leg, I balanced on my left foot while my right sat in the basin of the sink. I smeared on shaving cream and took my first swipe. It was then that the power went out.
Like a squirrel whose plans to cross the street have been interrupted by an approaching car, I froze in shock and terror. Then I took off in a hurry. I scrambled for my phone's flashlight to guide me. In the dark, I dragged the razor over my legs until I'd cleared away all the shaving cream and hair.
I felt successful and sick of the dark, so I picked up my camera and set off to take some photos of Barcelona's beauty.
I strolled freely through the streets with my bare legs. I meandered to the far end of the Parc de la Ciutadella, almost a mile from my dorm. I basked in the sunlight. I looked down at the flowerbeds around me and noticed in the brilliant sunlight that, to my horror, my left leg did not seem to have lost any hair despite my best efforts. The hair was long enough that it no longer qualified as negligible or "basically blond", the way I'd typically describe it. It had come in red and was shimmering. My right leg was completely bald, so there was no playing this off as if I'd simply chosen not to shave. Cursing the apartment's faulty electricity, I decided to carry on.
As I cruised the park, I came across a group of men playing drums. I've never been able to control myself around a beat, so I was swaying and clapping along. When a man selling Coca-Cola decided to start dancing in the clearing in front of the musicians, I was tempted. Sure, his dancing was better than mine would ever be, but why should that matter? So I quickly translated, "Can I dance with you?", took a breath and a step forward, looked down to step around a child and....
noticed my Victor/Victoria legs again. I decided I should enjoy the music from the background. I snapped some photos and was immediately busted. The dancer asked me for a donation. I hadn't brought any money with me because I was only going to take pictures, not purchase anything. I apologized, stumbled backwards, and figured it was time to head back anyway.
Such is the life of a true adventuress! I have since had my shower professionally repaired (no more whirlpools for me!) and attempted shaving with the lights on (much more successful). Stay tuned for more misadventures, including, but not limited to "The Washing Machine Has No Water" and "How The Hell Do I Get My Mail in The Mailbox?!".
Until next time!