The issue of space.

One of the first things an American will notice upon arriving in Spain is the difference in which personal space is taken, given and appreciated. Americans from large cities may not find it so different, as I assume each person's space bubble is a bit smaller in NYC than in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, but I'm from the sticks, where you're given a wide berth in basically any situation where you're near other people, and you're likely not to be touched by anyone unless you ask for it. Once you get to el planeta aceituna (the olive planet, a.k.a. Spain) however, your bubble pops and your left as tangible and approachable as any other object. If you are in someone's way, they, hopefully gently, nudge you out of it; casual conversation demands an average distance of about six inches from face to face (perhaps a slight exaggeration) and strangers tousle the hair of other people's kids in the street. Men and women exchange two kisses, one on each cheeck, the first time they meet. Guys shake hands when they first meet, but if they know each other they hug, and it's becoming more frequent that they exchange a kiss on the cheek as well. It's also traditional for male family members to swap a kiss on the cheek. It was somewhere between an honor and an unbearably uncomfortable situation when Bonita's large hairy uncle grabbed me and planted a big fat one on me when we met. If you're not one who is accostumed to such touchy-feelyness, be forewarned, it can be slightly unnerving.

Case in point: I went to concert a while back, in the town of Conil in far southern Spain. I was
really stoked to see "Muchachito Bombo Infierno" ("The Little Drummer Boy from Hell"), a big
band with lots of horns that play a fast paced, animated style of music that to these American ears sounds somewhere between ska, rock, and swing, of course with a noticable Spanish feel. The concert was pretty packed, no where near the most crowded venue I've been in, but regardless, I was constantly, let's say...covered by other people. As people walked by, they very casually and nonchalantly rubbed up against me, stepped on me, and occasionally just slammed right the hell into me. More than once an ass bouncing to the rhythm of the music gradually gravitated toward my crotch, which was more disturbing when it was that of a man, but a bit odd nonetheless. I should add here that I'm no stranger to crowds. I've been to countless concerts where the tightly packed audience was nut to butt, and I've been pushed, bumped, punched and kicked in the head by more crowd surfers that said head kickings allow me to remember. But this was due to the fact that there was nowhere else to be; we were touching because we had to, not because we wanted to. But at the Muchachito show there was more than enough space to accommodate everyone, but people naturally huddled, touched and rubbed. This night, along with countless other experiences, led me to a realization: It isn't that Spanish people don't respect personal space...it's that they don't acknowledge it to begin with. The space you occupy is in no way "yours" and it belongs to them just as much as you, despite the fact that you may currently be using it.

Personal space issues aside, I had a good time at the concert and I'd like to take this opportunity to sing the praises of Muchachito Bombo Infierno, they are an awesome band that puts on a killer show. In addition to the great music and high energy, they employ an element I'd never seen before. As a part of the band, they have a painter, Santos de Veracruz, who tours with the band and throughout the duration of the show, he dances around and creates huge, awesome paintings. It's really cool to see the empty canvas at the beginning and watch it be transformed into a work of art while enjoying the jams. Below are some vids. One is a live performance from a Spanish TV show and the other is one of thier videos. Enjoy.